The Land is a Beloved Elder

Winter 2024-25, FORUM Magazine

REACHING SPRUCE BOUGH ARMS and cottonwood branches yearning towards daylight accompany me on my walk to the tundra. I crouch down and find ayuuq, tundra tea, also known as Labrador. I rub the scaly, needle-like leaves with orange hairs underneath and take a deep breath: this is home. When I step onto the tundra, the life beneath my feet subtly pulses with energy. The cool lichen, damp from a recent rainfall, feels pillow-like to my footsteps. The whorling, tiny leaves of my chosen namesake, tan’gerpiit tickle my toes. The slender, woody stems of curat shrubs brush against my ankles.¹ The landscape gradually shifts into wetlands where spongy mosses squish against the soles of my feet as I try to dodge the delicate, carnivorous Sundews. The glacially slow-growing sphagnum moss has known this place for thousands of years. It also holds a special place in the ecosystem, as it provides sanctuary to astalugpiat. With each step, images of who may also have walked this same path float through my mind–human relatives, we know, have lived in this area for at least 8,000 years. The hooves of other-than-human relatives like the tuntu, caribou, and tuntuvak, moose, have likely trod where my feet step, also searching for sustenance from the nuna, tundra.

I pause and listen, not just with my ears but my whole being. I stretch my consciousness to become more aware–something I now have a word for after reconnecting to my Yup’ik heritage: Ellangluni. Ellangluni is the Yup’ik word for the moment when one becomes aware of their surroundings. In this awareness, I absorb the rhythms of this land—whispers carried in the breeze and in the delicate sway of the cottongrass in the distance. The tundra holds wisdom and stories in its intricate ecosystem and humans are only beginning to understand that our place is amongst–not above–others on Earth. In the timelessness of the tundra there is a sense of belonging through ellangluni: a reminder that we are woven into this intricate world, and it into us. This connection to what the Yup’ik people call Ellam Yua–the Spirit of the Universe is a gift. This is a practice I am thankful to my sister Alairituli–Mary Hostetter for introducing me to. Her deep love of the land shines through in everything she does, and through this she helped me become more aware by encouraging me to walk through the tundra barefoot one day. I invite you to do the same. Perhaps, like me, you’ll feel the spirit of the land pulsing beneath your feet and lifting up around you, and maybe find yourself becoming more aware.

I work with my sister Mary and her partner Bill in Igiugig Village Council’s Tribal Stewardship Office. For the past couple of years Igiugig Village Council has been working with an Ethnobotanist, Erica Wood, to develop a plan to monitor our berry relatives the atsalugpiat (plural) and collect data to learn how they are being affected by climate change. In this work, I have come to know atsalugpiat more closely, and have found connections of Yup’ik values I am learning and how atsalugpiat live and endure in our ecosystem.

I am proud of where I am from and who I am, but I have not always been deeply connected to Yup’ik culture. As I have grown and become more aware, by learning to pay more attention, I am rebuilding myself as a Yup’ik person while letting go of internalized views of being somehow both too native and not native enough. In this endeavor to connect to my Yup’ik-ness, the land has been an incredible teacher. In wanting to learn from those who came before me, to make the world a better place for those that come after–the land can be a beloved Elder if only I can truly listen.

In efforts to learn the language spoken by my maternal grandparents and generations before them, I had a realization that the word for our people, “Yupiaq,” is similar to the word for salmonberries,² “Atsalugpiaq,” they both hold “piaq” which means, “to be real, to be genuine.” Once this thought struck me, other similarities began to unfold.

Just as the atsalugpiat grow and thrive within the unique environment they inhabit, so do the Yupiit (plural of Yupiaq) flourish, grounded in the land that shaped them. Atsalugpiat find sanctuary among the sphagnum moss, whose gentle embrace keeps them cradled and nurtured, particularly through the harsh winter months. The moss provides warmth, moisture, and a foundation, giving the atsalugpiat a chance to flourish come spring. In much the same way, the nuna, the land–the tundra–has shaped the Yupiit, offering sustenance, support, and guidance, cultivating resilience that has grown through generations. The land, like the moss, gives the Yupiit both identity and life.

While the female atsalugpiaq channels her energy to bring forth a berry bursting with life, the atsalugpiaq is simultaneously creating the next generation through the tiny offshoot called a rhizome. In the same way, the Yupiit are always aware of and planning for the future, as friend and colleague AlexAnna Salmon taught me a Yup’ik value: upterrlainarluta: always getting ready. Just as the atsalugpiaq gives of itself to provide for next season’s growth, each Yupiaq is taught to think not only of how to prepare for upcoming seasons but also generations ahead, ensuring that their choices honor both those who came before and those yet to be born.

Life for both beings is not always easy. Atsalugpiat face threats to their existence with human-catalyzed climate change. Yupiit face lasting impacts of colonialism including land dispossession, cultural and linguistic erosion, economic marginalization, and systemic oppression which have led to health disparities, environmental injustices, intergenerational trauma, and disruption of traditional ways of life and governance. Despite facing such adversity, astalugpiat and Yupiit are resilient. While a single atsalugpiaq might appear solitary on the tundra, it is never truly alone. Beneath the hummocks, atsalugpiat share an interconnected web of roots, each plant bound to others by enduring bonds. The sphagnum moss of those hummocks provides another haven as it can transform landscapes and absorb carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. The land, the nuna, has been stewarded by Indigenous people since time immemorial and provides the same sanctuary to the Yupiit as the sphagnum does to atsalugpiat. The Yupiit, too, are connected through the roots of family, community, and ancestry; we are thousands strong and have thousands of years of interconnectedness to draw strength from. Elders, aunties, uncles, cousins, and friends intertwine in a network of mutual support, each Yupiaq uplifted by the presence and wisdom of their loved ones. No Yupiaq stands alone; we draw strength from each other, learning and leaning as the atsalugpiat reach into each other under the tundra.

Thus, we find that the Yupiaq and the atsalugpiaq are reflections of each other's genuineness, reminders of resilience, connection, and continuity–both beings brought into existence from the environment. In these similarities, we can draw strength to carry forward and find inspiration to cherish the land more deeply and protect it as well as connect to our genuineness in caring for others. We can use this cycle of life and learning to ensure future generations have the chance to do the same. ■

¹ Tan’gerpiit is the plural Yup’ik word for what are locally in Igiugig known as blackberries and elsewhere known as crowberries or Empetrum nigrum. Curat is plural for blueberries Vaccinium uliginosum and in other dialects of Yup’ik known as surat/suraq.

² Elsewhere known as cloudberries or Rubus chamaemorus.

April Tan'gerpak Hostetter is Yup'ik from the Lake Iliamna region and currently resides in Igiugig, Alaska. In her work, she advocates for cultural revitalization, environmental stewardship, and Indigenous sovereignty, striving to weave together traditional knowledge with contemporary initiatives to uplift and advocate for the people, lands, skies, waters, and other-than-human relatives. April is a 2024 FORUM Writing Fellow.