The many teachings of spring

Opinion

The spring equinox occurred around 4 a.m. on Thursday.

It’s a time when the Earth’s axis and orbit line up relatively perfectly, creating an equal amount of sunlight in both the northern and southern hemispheres. It’s also a time when the seasons begin to change, the animals migrate, and T-shirts start to appear.

In other words: this week represents a time of balance, renewal, and growth for people across the world, including Indigenous communities and cultures here.

For most Indigenous nations, springtime is our new year, the time we would emerge from our homes, return to the land, and commit to the work of the coming year.

For my people, the Anishinaabe, we call this ziigwan, or the time of letting go.

I’ve written about ziigwan before — including a column in 2019 about the story of how the spirit of ziigwan puts biboon (the winter) to sleep, but there’s always more to learn and more to know about this incredible time.

So, here’s more to know about it.

Ziigwan is the time of change. It’s when the snow disappears into earth, the ice turns into water, and the cold gives way to warmth.

It’s also the time most Indigenous communities — in this territory, anyway — would emerge from our large multi-family lodges after a long, often freezing and deadly, winter.

You can imagine how incredible — but also how challenging — it would be to live closely with a large group of relatives since the time the leaves fell to the ground. By springtime, any community would be at their most challenged, having endured the most difficult time of the year, when the food and medicine stored away had grown short and, with it, perhaps some patience and kindness.

This is why the springtime is such an important time — for it teaches about how to re-build, re-commit, and re-learn the value of the person beside, in front of, and behind you.

For Anishinaabe opening the door of the lodge around the time of spring equinox, my ancestors were reminded of everything that makes the world remarkably connected, beautiful, and in motion.

This is why the month of March carries multiple names.

Anishinaabe often call this month Ziisbaakdoke-giizis, describing how families would start to prepare sap from thawing trees for maple sugar.

At the same time, people also use the term Aandego-giizis, or the “Crow Moon” to describe March — referring to the time when the crows, the first birds, return from their migratory homes, cackling and crowing announcements of the change in season.

Cree and Métis people, especially in Manitoba’s north, use the term Niskipîsim, or the “Goose time” — referring to how the geese do the same thing.

Some, like the Dakota, use the term Maġa Okada Wi, or “Geese Egg laying Moon” — referring to what animals do almost immediately after coming home.

There are many other names for March, too, with many describing what happens as winter transitions into spring, and how this is a teaching.

Names for this process among my people are Onaabani-giizis, or “The Moon of Crusted Snow” — referring to how the snow melts during the day and freezes at night at this time — and Bokwaagame-giizis, or “The Moon of Broken Snowshoes” — referring to how rough the snow is to travel on.

Regardless of what name though, ziigwan provides an opportunity for a re-beginning. In nearly every part of this season, one witnesses constant, consistent motion.

This is the time, for example, when the old lets go to make way for the new.

It’s the time when old, less productive cycles are re-birthed into stronger ones, new buds appear on the trees, and seeds hatch into the food and medicine of the future.

It’s the time when paths emerge or even re-emerge into sight, different than before.

In Anishinaabemowin, this teaching during springtime is called webnigewin — the time of letting go.

This is why during this time those who need to take new steps, shed old cumbersome things and try alternative paths are encouraged to offer a gift to creation (usually tobacco) to commit to take new steps into the future.

Anything new must be considered with care, concern, and carefulness. This is why the term aabawaa is something one often hears when Anishinaabemowin speakers describe how snow melts in March.

Directly translated, aabawaa means “mildly” but it’s meant to illustrate that change must happen slowly and gradually, not quickly and forced.

A great Anishinaabe teacher of mine, the late author Basil Johnston, used to say that ziigwan is therefore the great teacher of forgiveness, or aabwendamowin, which means “loosening our thoughts and feelings towards one another.”

So, this springtime, in a time we are witnessing tumultuous change and challenging motion, it might be good to re-build our community.

Re-commit to loving your neighbour and trying a new path.

Re-learn the value of those beside, in front of, and behind you.

This is the teaching of ziigwan, the spring.

niigaan.sinclair@freepress.mb.ca