The best books on Indigenous Natural History

My first birding trip to the Sonoran Desert of southern Arizona caught my fancy. Then I read this book, in which Dr. Nabhan recounts lively details of his encounters with Indigenous communities at home in the Sonoran Desert and learns how they engage with the desert plants and animals in their lives.

Nabhan is an astute observer, an intensely sympathetic storyteller, and a highly knowledgeable student of local natural history. In this book, he visits Tohono O’odham (Papago) friends as they harvest saguaro fruits to make an intoxicating brew to “bring on the rain.” He tells us about fiery wild chilis and bitter wild squashes that Coyote “shat upon.” End notes ground his vivid accounts in the academic literature.

I first encountered Nelson’s arctic stories in his account of the sea-ice survival techniques he learned as an apprentice to Inuit whalers of Wainwright, Alaska, on the Arctic Ocean shore. I followed his adventures south to the sub-arctic muskeg home of the Koyukon, an Athabaskan people at home on the Koyukon River, a northern tributary of the great Yukon.

His book, Make Prayers to the Raven, is a deep dive into the daily lives and worldview of the Koyukon. Their ancestors survived in the harsh climate of the Arctic Circle for 10,000 years by respecting the power of their animal and plant neighbors, their spiritual kin. Nelson's sensitive storytelling makes the Koyukon voices loud and clear.

Snorkeling in a Hawaiian reef took on new dimensions for me in reading this book. Johannes–a noted fisheries biologist–went to Palau in Micronesia to study the breeding biology of tropical reef fishes. There, he came to deeply appreciate the extraordinarily detailed knowledge of the local subsistence fishermen who had contributed to his research. Their expert knowledge of the behavior and breeding cycles of local reef fishes was hard-earned through a lifetime of careful observation in pursuit of their livelihood.

By contrast, the expert knowledge of Johannes and his academic colleagues was broad but shallow. Combining Indigenous and academic expertise enhanced both. We also learn how Palauan communities conserved the resources of their reefs, practices disrupted by colonial administrations.

I embarked on my ethnobiological career as a graduate student and shortly learned I was not alone. My fellow student north of the border, Nancy Turner, was likewise passionately engaged with ethnobotany for her thesis. Turner was trained as a botanist but then devoted her decades-long academic career to documenting how her Indigenous neighbors and friends in British Columbia recognize, name, cultivate, and respect the botanical riches of their millennial homeland.

A key principle clearly articulated by her Indigenous teachers is that plants are our kin and that “everything is one,” so we must all live together in a harmonious balance. People must “look after” the land and support its many “persons.” This Indigenous wisdom is never abstract, but in Turner’s telling, it is always exemplified by real people, specific plants, and particular places.

I have shelves full of bird guides to all sorts of places. However, this guide is unique. It is a “bird guide” to the exotic avifauna of highland Papua New Guinea as understood by and in the words of a native.

It honors a decades-long collaboration between the ethnobiologist Bulmer and his Kalam colleague and teacher, Saem Majnep. This began when Bulmer arrived to document the ethnozoological knowledge and ecological practices of this isolated Papuan community. Saem Majnep, then a young boy, eagerly assisted.

The book is a conversation: Saem Majnep describes all the birds of his local habitat, writing in his native language. Bulmer then provides an academic perspective on Saem Majnep’s ethno-ornithology. Here, we have the benefit of a binocular vision of the avian worlds of this little-known corner of our planet.