Reconnecting with the Land
By Katen Kelly
Reconnecting with the land is not just about being in nature—it is about remembering who we are and where we came from. The land is our first teacher, our relative, and our medicine. Everything has a spirit, has a name. It holds the stories of our ancestors, the lessons they left for us, and the knowledge that has always been ours. Colonization has worked hard to sever this bond, replacing our ways with concrete roads, Western institutions, and systems that disconnect us from the places that have always sustained us. But the land has never forgotten us, even when we have been pulled away from it. No matter how far we have been taken—physically, spiritually, or emotionally—the land remains, waiting for us to return.
For those of us who feel that disconnection, Indigenous or not, returning to the land can be a deeply personal journey. Many of us grew up away from our territories, in cities where the land feels distant, or in systems that did not teach us the importance of our relationship with it. Reconnecting does not require growing up on the land, knowing how to hunt or fish, or even speaking our language fluently. Reconnection begins with something simpler: acknowledgment.
Before stepping onto the land, I take a moment to recognize where I am—not just physically, but spiritually. The land is alive; it has a spirit, a presence, and a memory. I might offer tobacco, say a quiet prayer, or simply stand still and listen. I remind myself that I am not separate from the land—I am part of it, just as my ancestors were. This small act of acknowledgment is a way of rekindling that relationship, of showing the land that I am here with good intentions.
Once we begin to see the land as something living, something speaking, we can start to listen. Our ancestors knew how to read the land in a way that Western society has largely forgotten. They understood the language of the wind, the way the trees shift, and the messages carried by the animals. They knew when to move, when to rest, and how to live in harmony with the land, not as conquerors but as caretakers.
When I walk through the bush, I pay attention to the small things—the way the moss clings to the rocks, the scent of the earth after it rains, the sound of the birds speaking to one another. These details are not random; they are lessons waiting to be learned. The land is constantly teaching, but in order to understand, we need to slow down, to be present, and to let go of the distractions that pull us away from these moments of connection.
Trail walk with our horses.
But listening alone is not enough. In our ways, we do not take without giving back. Reciprocity is at the heart of our relationship with the land. If I pick medicines, I leave an offering. If I take food, I take only what I need and use every part of it, ensuring nothing goes to waste. If I am walking through the forest, I tread lightly, mindful that this space is home to many beings beyond myself. In the Western world, nature is often treated as something to be used, controlled, or consumed. In our teachings, the land is not something we own—it is something we belong to.
Reconnection is also found in moments of stillness. In the fast-paced world we live in, it is easy to forget the power of silence. Our ancestors knew how to sit with the land, to be with it without distraction. Sometimes, the best way to reconnect is simply to go out, turn off your phone, and simply exist. Sit on the ground, feel the earth beneath you, close your eyes and listen to the sounds around you—it is in these quiet moments that you will feel the most connected. There is something powerful in simply being, in allowing yourself to feel the presence of the land and to recognize that we are apart of something far older than ourselves.
For many of us, reclaiming our traditional practices—hunting, fishing, gathering medicines, cooking traditional foods—is a way of returning to the land. But for those of us who were not raised in these ways, it can feel intimidating, as though we are outsiders to our own knowledge. I have learned that reconnecting does not mean knowing everything; it means being willing to learn. It means reaching out to Elders, joining a community hunt, asking about medicines, or taking part in cultural camps. It means understanding that these practices are not just survival skills but acts of resistance, ways of reclaiming what was nearly taken from us.
Even when I am away from my home territory, I find ways to carry the land with me. The scent of sweetgrass and sage in my home, or a stone from a river I once stood beside—these small connections remind me that the land is always with me. It is in my blood, in my breath, in the way I move through the world. Reconnection does not always require vast forests or untouched landscapes; it can happen in the smallest moments, in the simplest gestures.
My best friend and I picking rocks and shells.
For those of us who have felt disconnected, it is important to offer ourselves kindness. Colonization worked hard to sever our ties to the land, to make us forget who we are and where we come from. But the land has never turned its back on us. It remembers us, even when we have forgotten ourselves. No matter how long we have been away, we can always return.
The land is not just a place—it is home, it is family, it is life. Reconnecting with it is not just about healing ourselves but also about healing our communities, our spirits, and our future generations.
The land remembers us. It is time we remember it, too.