MIAMI UNIVERSITY the Graduate School CERTIFICATE FOR

MIAMI UNIVERSITY The Graduate School

CERTIFICATE FOR APPROVING THE DISSERTATION

We hereby approve the Dissertation

Michael P. Gonella

Candidate for the Degree:

Ph.D.

Dr. Adolph M. Greenberg, Director

Dr. W. Hardy Eshbaugh, Reader

Dr. David L. Gorchov, Reader

Dr. Susan R. Barnum, Reader

Daryl W. Baldwin II, Reader

Dr. Mark R. Boardman Graduate School Representative

ABSTRACT

MYAAMIA ETHNOBOTANY

By Michael P. Gonella

The Miami people have a rich and long-standing relationship with the plants of their homelands. Much traditional Myaamia ethnobotanical knowledge has endured loss of homelands from governmental cessions, removal to Kansas and Oklahoma and societal and governmental pressures of assimilation. The purpose of this dissertation was to investigate the extent of existing Miami ethnobotanical knowledge and use that data to reconstruct the traditional Miami corn cultivation cycle and effects of harvesting and burning of two culturally important plants. Initiation of this ethnobotanical study was by the Miami people themselves, in their current efforts to revitalize traditional Miami culture, including educational programs and management of culturally significant plants on tribal lands. Myaamia ethnobotanical knowledge: This dissertation gathered and organized extant Miami ethnobotanical data and assembled it into a database for analysis. Survival of Miami ethnobotanical knowledge was evident in the abundant ethnobotanical data gathered in this study, from published and unpublished sources from historic and contemporary times, and from interviews with living Miami elders. Data on over 160 plant species were gathered, including data regarding traditional uses and stewardship. Comparisons of historic and contemporary data revealed changes in types of plant used, from pre- to post-removal times, and a non-traditional ranking of importance of habitat types was conducted. Myaamia miincipi: The most data was gathered on myaamia miincipi, Miami corn, and were used to reconstruct the Miami year as based on the corn cultivation cycle, and this cycle provided indirect information regarding the hunting cycle and Miami (lunar) calendar. Leninši (Aslcepias syriaca L.) harvesting and burning: This study examined the effects of simulated traditional Miami harvesting and burning on growth and reproduction of A. syriaca. Harvesting and burning were generally found to sustain growth and reproduction although traditional harvest timing was critical to sustainability. Ahsapa (Apocynum cannabinum L.) harvesting and burning: This study examined the effects of simulated, traditional Miami harvesting and burning on growth and reproduction of A. cannabinum. Harvesting was found to sustain growth and reproduction but mowing had a negative effect on growth. Burning was not found to increase growth or reproduction.

MYAAMIA ETHNOBOTANY

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to the Faculty of

Miami University in partial

fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Botany

Michael P. Gonella

Miami University

Oxford, Ohio

2007

Dissertation Director: Dr. Adolph M. Greenberg

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Introduction 1 Literature Cited 6

Chapter 2: Myaamia ethnobotany 8 Abstract 8 Introduction 8 Methods 12 Results 15 Discussion 31 Literature Cited 38

Chapter 3: Myaamia miincipi: Miami corn traditions 78 Abstract 78 Introduction 78 Methods 81 Results 84 Discussion 98 Literature Cited 102

Chapter 4: Effects of indigenous Miami harvesting and burning regimes on 124 growth and reproduction of common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca L., Asclepiadaceae). Abstract 124 Introduction 124 Methods 132 Results 135 Discussion 138 Literature Cited 148

Chapter 5: Effects of dormant season indigenous harvesting and burning on 173 growth and reproduction of dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum L., Apocynaceae) Abstract 173 Introduction 173 Methods 179 Results 182 Discussion 183 Literature Cited 190

Chapter 6: Conclusion 211 Literature Cited 221

Appendices 234

Tables Table 2-1 Summary of primary historic ethnographic data sources 45 Table 2-2 Numbers of culturally significant plant and fungal uses by season 46 of harvest Table 2-3 Culturally useful spring plants of the Miami 47 Table 2-4 Culturally useful summer plants of the Miami 53 Table 2-5 Culturally useful fall plants of the Miami 62 Table 2-6 Culturally useful winter plants of the Miami 69 Table 2-7 Food use records before and after removal of Miami people from 72 ancestral homelands Table 2-8 All plant use records categorized by date 73 Table 2-9 Number of useful plants in five major Miami vegetation types in 74 ancestral homelands Table 2-10 Percent land cover and number of useful plants for three major 75 Vegetation types in ancestral homelands Table 3-1 Summary of primary ethnohistoric sources on Miami corn cultivation 110 Table 3-2 Miami language terms related to corn 112 Table 3-3 Pinet’s recorded Miami-Illinois corn terms 115 Table 3-4 Comparison of corn traditions of the Miami and other regional tribes 116 Table 4-1 Experimental treatments for A. syriaca genets in the harvesting 157 and burning experiments Table 4-2 Variables analyzed to examine growth and reproduction among 158 treatments of A. syriaca harvesting and burning experiments Table 4-3 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) A. syriaca 159 genet size from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005 Table 4-4 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) A. syriaca 160 ramet density from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005 Table 4-5 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) A. syriaca 161 ramet heights from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005 Table 4-6 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) A. syriaca 162 flowering ramet density from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005 Table 4-7 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) A. syriaca 163 fruiting ramet density from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005 Table 4-8 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) burned and 164 unburned A. syriaca ramet heights, 2003 to 2005 Table 4-9 Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) burned and 165 unburned A. syriaca pods per fruiting ramet, 2003 to 2005 Table 5-1 Variables analyzed to compare growth and reproduction of 202 A. cannabinum in both harvesting and burning experiments Table 5-2 Repeated measures ANOVA of ln(x + 0.5) A. cannabinum ramet 203 height across harvesting and mowing treatments, 2003 to 2005 Table 5-3 Repeated measures ANOVA of ln(x + 0.5) A. cannabinum fruiting 204 ramets across harvesting and mowing treatments, 2003 to 2005 Table 5-4 Repeated measures ANOVA of ln(x + 0.5) A. cannabinum 205 proportion of fruiting ramets across harvesting and mowing

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treatments, 2003 to 2005. Table 5-5 Repeated measures ANOVA of ln(x + 0.5) A. cannabinum genet 206 size in burning experiment, 2004 to 2006

Figures Figure 2-1 Myaamionki—Ancestral homelands of the Miami people 76 Figure 2-2 Myaamionki—Homelands of the Miami Nation in Oklahoma 77 Figure 3-1 Myaamionki—Ancestral homelands of the Miami people 117 Figure 3-2 Myaamionki—Homelands of the Miami Nation in Oklahoma 118 Figure 3-3 Miami seasonal cycles of cultivation and hunting 119 Figure 3-4 Comparison of ethnohistorical and contemporary food use records 120 for all varieties of corn Figure 3-5 Comparison of ethnohistorical and contemporary non-food use 121 records for all varieties of corn Figure 3-6 Examples of contemporary Miami corn dishes 122 Figure 3-7 Comparison of ethnohistorical and contemporary food uses of 123 Miami White corn Figure 4-1 Mean A. syriaca genet size response to harvesting and mowing by 166 treatment and year Figure 4-2 Mean A. syriaca ramet density response to harvesting and mowing 167 by treatment and year Figure 4-3 Mean A. syriaca ramet height response to harvesting and mowing by 168 treatment and year Figure 4-4 Mean A. syriaca flowering ramet density response to harvesting and 169 mowing by treatment and year Figure 4-5 Mean A. syriaca fruiting ramet density response to harvesting and 170 mowing by treatment and year Figure 4-6 Mean A. syriaca ramet height in burned and unburned plots 171 Figure 4-7 Mean A. syriaca pod number per fruiting ramet in burned and 172 unburned plots Figure 5-1 Mean A. cannabinum ramet height in harvesting experiment by 207 treatment and year Figure 5-2 Mean A. cannabinum fruiting ramet density in harvesting experiment 208 by treatment and year Figure 5-3 Mean A.cannabinum proportion of fruiting ramets in harvesting 209 experiment by treatment and year Figure 5-4 Mean A. cannabinum genet size in burning experiment by treatment 210 and year

Appendices Appendix 1 List of all Miami culturally important plants by taxonomic family 234 Appendix 2 Means and standard errors of A. syriaca growth and reproduction 244 parameters for all treatments of harvesting experiment

Appendix 3 Resulting t-test p values from all within-year comparisons between 245 treatments conducted in the harvesting experiment Appendix 4 Resulting p values from all between-year comparisons conducted 246 in the harvesting experiment Appendix 5 Means and standard errors of A. syriaca growth and reproduction 247 parameters for burned and unburned plots and t-test p values from all within-year comparisons in the burning experiment. Appendix 6 Resulting p values from all between-year comparisons conducted 248 in the burning experiment Appendix 7 Literature reviewed for harvesting experiment 249 Appendix 8 Literature reviewed for burning experiment 251 Appendix 9 Means and standard errors for all treatments of harvesting experiment 252 Appendix 10 Resulting t-test p values from all within-year comparisons conducted 253 in the harvesting experiment Appendix 11 Resulting t-test p values from all between-year comparisons 254 conducted in the harvesting experiment Appendix 12 Means and standard errors for burned and unburned plots in the 255 burning experiment Appendix 13 Resulting t-test p values from all within-year comparisons conducted 256 in the burning experiment Appendix 14 Resulting t-test p values from all between-year comparisons 257 conducted in the burning experiment

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It seems strange and nonsensical that this dissertation will result in only one individual, me, receiving a degree of Ph.D., while in truth it is a community of people that made it happen—it was not an individual, but a collective effort. This Ph.D. is dedicated to all the people who have been a part of the community of people that have helped make this happen, without which it would absolutely not have been possible.

By far, the largest contributors of time, knowledge, friendship and support have been the Miami people. I have been blessed to become involved in the Miami Nation’s efforts to revitalize their culture, and to have the opportunity to work with the Myaamia Project. Special thanks to the Myaamia Project director Daryl Baldwin, for his hard work and vision to start and maintain this important Project and for inviting me to become involved. It fulfills a long-held dream to study the ethnobotany of an indigenous culture and I could not think of a more rewarding people with which to do this than the Miami. Mišineewe (many thanks) to Daryl and Karen Baldwin and their family for their hospitality, many home-cooked meals, hours of discussions, harvesting trips, and unconditional inclusiveness of me and my family with theirs. Mišineewe to other tribal members and friends involved in the Myaamia Project, including George Ironstrack, Joshua Sutterfield, Scott Shoemaker, George Strack, Wes Leonard, whose research on the ecology, language and history of the Miami people greatly enriched my own research. Also, I thank David Costa, tribal linguist, for helping me learn some of the Miami language and for hours of communications analyzing Miami plant-related words.

I also thank master basketweaver, fiber expert and friend, Gwen Yeaman for sharing her knowledge and heart with me regarding the plant world. Bobbe Burke’s friendship and expertise at serving as a liaison between the University and the Miami Nation, helped me understand better both sides of this work and often provided helpful, encouraging conversations regarding my research and career.

Mišineewe to Julie Olds, Cultural Preservation Officer of the Miami Nation, for her friendship and administrative support from the Miami Nation, for helping me build relationships with

elders, and for her trust of my work with the Miami people. Mišineewe to Chief Floyd Leonard, whose leadership and kind manner always put me at ease and reminded me that I was welcome among the Miami people and at Miami events where I often spoke with elders. Neewe to Dustin Olds, Land Manager for the Miami Nation, for discussions regarding the ecology of tribal lands, and for helping me gain a historical perspective on Miami landscapes.

Mišineewe to all the Miami elders and their families that shared their plant knowledge with me so graciously and patiently, including Mildred Walker, Dani Tippmann and her family, Mary Swenda, Gary and Pam Shoemaker, Jay and Rebecca Hartleroad, George “Greg” Dorin, Ken and Sharon Prescott, Peggy McCord, and the late Phyllis Miley. Neewe to the Miami Nation of Indians of Indiana as well, who welcomed me into their tribal meetings and encouraged member support of the ethnobotany project.

Each of my committee members provided a unique and important aspect to this dissertation— collectively I owe them thanks for helping me learn to think, research, and write more effectively. Thank you to Daryl Baldwin who freely gave his time, resources and knowledge and working with me for many hours to make the dissertation as accurate as possible. His encouragement and collaboration were greatly valued and enjoyed, and I learned that this approach embodied the traditional way of Miami relationships. A special thanks to my graduate advisor, Dolph Greenberg, who imparted an uncommon, but impeccable ethical framework for working with indigenous peoples, for a hardy sense of humor which kept me relaxed, for his encouragement and his support through this whole process and for his somewhat anarchistic tendencies that served to consistently make me think ‘outside the box.’ I am his last Ph.D. student, and it will be a great loss to the Anthropology and Botany departments and future students who need a mentor who is in the University system, but not of it. Hardy Eshbaugh also deserves thanks for his consistent encouragement in this somewhat challenging, multidisciplinary field. At a number of critical times, I needed to hash out some ideas and situations, and Hardy helped me tremendously with advice and comments. I thank him for his rare ability to draw out in me (and other students) their own ideas, give them confidence to enact them, and never trying to push his own research agenda. Dave Gorchov is an exceptional plant ecologist and teacher and I thank him for his commitment and attentiveness to my research. His

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availability for small to large questions was indispensable—he helped me formulate my methods, assisted with statistical analysis and provided numerous editorial comments and corrections which vastly improved my chapters. I thank Robin Kimmerer, professor at SUNY Syracuse, for providing insightful comments and encouragement along the way, teaching me how to bridge indigenous knowledge with western science, and for reminding me of the importance of my work and helping me frame it in an interesting way. Thank you to Chris Myers, my graduate representative, for serving on my committee until near the end, and for providing comments on drafts and positive feedback. And thank you to Susan Barnum and Mark Boardman, for helping me at the last minute to make my defense happen in a timely manner, and for their encouraging words.

Thank you to professional colleagues that provided insights, information and guidance along the way, including Stewart Rafert, Nancy Turner, and John Cardina. I would also like to thank Kat Anderson, ethnoecologist, for first inspiring me to do this type of research and for encouragement and guidance during the early years of this dissertation.

Of course a place to conduct my field experiments was necessary, and for that I thank John Klein, Jim Mundy and Scott Peak of the Hamilton County Park District (Ohio) for providing access and use of oldfield sites, for working with me on exotic species removal in field sites, and for conducting my two burns for me, which used up a sizeable chunk of their precious spring field time. Also, I thank Tom Vogler of the Cincinnati Nature Center for allowing me to conduct the dogbane harvesting experiment on their property, and for maintaining the site during the experiment.

The Miami University Botany Department provided a multitude of resources and support during this multi-year endeavor. Barbara Wilson and Vickie Sandlin are incredibly patient and helpful administrative staff that I thank profusely for their daily help. Their knowledge of the workings of this department and University was instrumental in remaining focused on my research, rather than red tape. Thanks to Matt Duley for helping me with my maps, which turned out to be a major endeavor and would’ve been a crisis if not for his help. Thank you to Dave Francko, past- Chair of the Botany department, and current Chair Linda Watson, for providing me with

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administrative help, teaching opportunities, guidance and support in faculty meetings. I am also grateful for financial assistance coming from the department and University, including Academic Challenge Grants, a Dissertation Scholarship, and of course, teaching assistantships. I also am grateful for financial help from the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma, The Newberry Library Fellowship, and the Garden Club of Ohio.

Others I thank include Maggie Workman, librarian at the Brill Science library, for her years of friendly help with my research and for her wry sense of humor that always eased the ever-present tension of graduate research. Also, admirable, hard work was done by my field assistants, enduring hot-sticky Midwestern weather, ticks, poison ivy, and mosquitoes all for the sake of my research—thank you to Shizuka Buckner, Adam Lawson and Kristi Coombs. A special thank you to Kim Gronas (now Gill) who was my most dedicated field assistant, for friendship, hours and hours of monotonous measuring, and letting me go on and on about surfing.

Graduate students served a very necessary purpose in my grad school tenure, that of being friends with which I could vent without reproach. No one understands better the inner-plight of being a graduate student that my colleagues and I owe them thanks for their supportive ears. A special thanks to Eric Berry whose friendship and many hours of discussions provided research inspiration and clarity, and whose natural inclination not to take sides kept me level headed during departmental conflicts that now seem so small. Thanks to Mike Gilmore for great commiserations regarding the challenges of being an ethnobotanist at Miami University and for a great sense of humor, and to Steve Castellano for reminding me not to take all this academia too seriously. There were many others and I thank each of you for being a great colleague and for your support.

This dissertation has been very challenging and humbling, and there were many days during which I wasn’t sure I could do it. Thank you to all that reminded me I could, especially my friends in recovery that were available 24-7 to help me through difficult times, especially Larry M., Dave S., Lorraine M., Mike L., John M. and Mike B. It is still almost unfathomable to me how giving of yourselves and your time you are—you gave me much needed sustenance during

this journey. Thanks to my warrior brother, Christian Gallego, for his friendship and support no matter what was going on.

Again I return to the point that I am not an island, nor is this dissertation my own to claim. I am just one leg in a table that cannot stand without others. An ongoing sense of gratitude is expressed to my family: First to my parents, Paul and Marigene, and my stepfather Jerry, for their financial and moral support, and for believing in my academic career for decades. Second, I am forever grateful to my generous, loving in-laws, Dodie, Mindy, Danny, and Kathy, Patty and Jane—I thank them for the numerous ways they helped me including spiritually, emotionally, and financially. But by far, the most important support I have had, before, during and after this dissertation is my wife, Elisabeth. She saw me through the trenches of this research—like when my field site was destroyed, and the peaks—like my defense, and always loved me. Thank you Elisabeth, for continuing to believe in me, for sacrificing part of your own youth for this dream of mine, for being a great parent when I was unavailable, and for your genuine interest and belief in my research as important. Thank you Josie and Katie, too, for your unconditional love, your joyous, energetic dispositions and for always being a bright spot in my day. Lastly, I give thanks to the Creator of all things, including the marvelous plants that I studied, and all the incredible people who helped me—I hope that this work honors yours.

“It is always useful to remember that science is not designed to produce absolute knowledge, eternally true once found; for the most part it simply pushes back the frontier of that vast realm called ignorance” (Page 2003).

Chapter 1 Introduction Traditional ecological knowledge Traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) is the collective practices, beliefs, and knowledge of indigenous communities about their local environment (Berkes 1993) and includes a component of community membership of humans and the land (Pierotti and Wildcat 2000, Salmon 2000). TEK has many applications to contemporary science, serving as a source of hypotheses for ecological experimentation, generating new ideas for ecological modeling, providing novel strategies for land management and new insights for ecological restoration (Pierotti and Wildcat 2000, Kimmerer 2002). Identifying and documenting TEK has value to scientists, land managers and the indigenous communities themselves. For native communities, the cataloguing and documentation of TEK holds particular value for academic venues of cultural education and for determining the applicability of TEK to contemporary species conservation and ecosystem management on tribal lands. But TEK is quickly eroding for many indigenous cultures, especially with losses to historic landbases. Many native communities have a history involving displacement from ancestral homelands and subsequent governmental prohibitions against cultural practices (Reyhner and Eder 1991). Both these factors contribute significantly to the erosion of cultural knowledge (Reyhner and Eder 1991) including TEK (Cox and Banack 1991). Despite forces threatening to erase or erode cultural practices, many native communities continue to preserve cultural knowledge orally, a historic, traditional method of cultural protection involving sharing of knowledge between and within tribal generations through stories and song (Harden 1999). A smaller subset of tribes are expanding cultural preservation efforts through new traditions, including interviews with elders, written documentation of language and customs (Harden 1999) and use of these materials in cultural education programs. Academic disciplines such as ethnobotany, archaeology, linguistics, ethnomusicology, ethnopharmacology, geneaology, history and the arts are part of the new set of tools native communities are employing in their cultural preservation efforts (Harden 1999). For example, the Pequot of Connecticut, Mutsoon of northern California and Miami of Indiana and Oklahoma are preserving their culture through native language study and revitalization. Other tribes, such as the Anishinaabeg (Ojibway) are purchasing

tracts of ancestral homelands for access to and protection of culturally important natural resources, including plants.

Gathering Myaamia Ethnobotanical Knowledge Ethnobotanical studies to document and protect plant-related cultural knowledge are particularly important for native communities, as natural areas throughout the country are quickly becoming degraded and rare. For tribes, ethnobotanical studies, documenting the historic and contemporary uses of plants, assembles and organizes the specific portion of TEK relating to plants and serves to slow the relatively rapid rate of cultural degradation resulting from displacement, cultural oppression, and westernization. Ethnobotanical studies also serve as the basis for cultural re-education of tribal members in the case where younger generations are not exposed to plant related TEK. Ethnobotanical studies conducted by tribes not only empower tribal members regarding their own heritage, but also help return the power of controlling cultural trajectories to tribal entities themselves. To date there have been no comprehensive ethnobotanical studies of the Miami people, yet such a study is important today as the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma is engaged in language and cultural revitalization efforts. This foundational work, presented in Chapter 2, involved a gathering and organizing of all extant ethnobotanical knowledge of the Miami, for immediate use in cultural and language research and educational programs. A comprehensive database was created to list all culturally important plant species and their related TEK and a summary of that database is presented within a traditional Miami seasonal framework. From this database, derived from historic and contemporary ethnographic sources, I conducted analyses including a breakdown of types and numbers of plant species in each season and in each of five use categories. I also compared the number of culturally important plants between pre- and post- removal times, making note of changes in food plants in particular. All this ethnobotanical database information was and is controlled by the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma and under current use at the Myaamia Project, a collaboration between the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma and the Myaamia Project of Miami University. For one particular plant, Miami corn, a in-depth study and analysis of data was conducted and findings presented in Chapter 3. The amount of data gathered for Miami corn was quite large, enabling a separate, in-depth study and providing an example of the rich plant heritage and

potential depth of knowledge on each of the species studies in the database. The data on corn enabled a detailed examination and reconstruction of the traditional Miami relationships with corn, provided insight on the seasonal Miami perspective of perceiving the natural world and provided the basis for the re-initiation of corn cultivation traditions in Oklahoma and Indiana.

Ethnobotanical experiments Why study Myaamia ethnobotany and TEK experimentally? The Miami Tribe of Oklahoma is in the process of gaining legal control over some traditional lands in both Oklahoma and Indiana and their contemporary land base is growing quickly. Thus, there is the current need for management of these lands and the desire to do so by the Miami Tribe in a traditional Miami way as much as possible. To manage complex ecosystems like the prairies, woodlands, wetlands and other ecosystems of Miami tribal lands, it is important to incorporate both qualitative and quantitative approaches to honor the qualitative traditions of the Miami people yet not dismiss any contemporary quantitative land management techniques that may be of assistance to this end. Both approaches are appropriate for ecosystem management and can complement each other (Berkes et al. 2003). Incorporation of new tools from other cultures is not a divergence from traditional Miami lifeways—for centuries they have interacted with other tribes and peoples and have incorporated useful skills, knowledge and other traditions where they saw fit. After all, cultures are not static, but dynamic, evolving entities that interact with their environments and with other human cultures. Experiments using traditional Miami ecological knowledge also provide an opportunity for testing TEK using scientific approaches and creating a bridge by which these two ways of perceiving the world can inform each other (Pierotti and Wildcat 2000). TEK may provide data to assist in contemporary ecological restoration of presettlement habitats. It is known that Native Americans have inhabited and interacted with the native plants of the Midwest for millennia (Dragoo 1976), thus traditional use of native species over this period of time would potentially have influenced species distributions, community composition and autecology of native plant species. These traditional influences may be important in current restoration efforts to maintain these plants and communities that partly depend on traditional interactions. A good argument has been presented by Blackburn and Anderson (1993) that indigenous peoples in California purposefully maintained a diversity of plant species, populations and

community types, the decline of which is due to a decline of indigenous-plant relationship involvement. Native peoples have understood for a long time that the use of plants and animals by humans ensures their persistence and future abundance (Blackburn and Anderson 1993). In some ecosystems native plant species evolved in conjunction with anthropogenic and non- anthropogenic disturbance patterns like fire and grazing (Fuhlendorf et al. 2006), without which the health and vigor of these species and populations would decline. Some indigenous ‘disturbance’ regimes may even be useful in the management of rare or endangered plant species (Anderson and Rowney 1999). Thus, efforts to maintain plant species and the communities upon which they depend, the goals of the fields of ecological restoration and conservation biology, can directly benefit from studies that closely and quantitatively examine traditional indigenous ethnobotanical practices and indigenous food systems (Minnis 2000) and other resource production systems. Chapters 4 and 5 are such studies, focusing on the effects of traditional Miami harvesting and burning on growth and reproduction of two highly important cultural plants, Asclepias syriaca L. (common milkweed, Asclepiadaceae), harvested mainly for food, and Apocynum cannabinum L. (dogbane or Indian hemp, Apocynaceae), harvested mainly for fiber ( Baldwin 2001, Yeaman, pers. comm., 2001). Results from these experimental studies are used to outline future management guidelines, inform theories relating to compensatory growth, and provide insight on plant- herbivore interactions.

Objectives Ethnobotanical studies are essential for documenting extant TEK of indigenous communities for science and for the communities themselves in cultural revitalization efforts. The overarching objective of this study was to gather and organize as much extant Miami ethnobotanical knowledge as possible for the purposes of assisting the Miami community in language and cultural revitalization. The gathered Miami TEK served as the basis for in-depth quantitative studies regarding the effects of traditional harvesting and burning on growth and reproduction of A. syriaca and A. cannabinum. Results was used to elucidate traditional management practices that may be needed to conserve these species and ensure their persistence as important ecological and cultural components of the natural world. Ethnobotanical overviews of a particular culture, like the Miami, and quantitative studies of effects of culturally important

plant species serve a dual purpose of informing existing scientific theories related to compensatory growth responses and plant-herbivore interactions as well as providing data to tribal and other land managers regarding the management of these culturally important plant species. The combination of a qualitative ethnobotanical overview and quantitative ethnobotanical studies initiated by a tribal entity—as is the case in this study—serves as a model for other indigenous communities in their quest for greater standing in the scientific community and western world, for more effective control and management of natural resources, and in their efforts to revitalize traditions while continuing to evolve as a culture.

Literature Cited

Anderson, M. K., and D. L. Rowney. 1999. The edible plant Dichelostemma capitatum: Its vegetative reproduction response to different indigenous harvesting regimes in California. Restoration Ecology 7:231-240.

Baldwin, D. 2001. Interview with Lora Siders. Miami Nation of Indians of Indiana.

Berkes, F. 1993. Traditional ecological knowledge in perspective. Pages 1-9 in T. J. Inglis, editor. Traditional Ecological Knowledge. Canadian Museum of Nature and Inter- National Development Research Center, Ottawa.

Berkes, F., J. Colding, and C. Folke. 2003. Navigating social-ecological systems: Building resilience for complexity and change. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, U.K.

Blackburn, T. C., and K. Anderson. 1993. Before the wilderness: Environmental management by Native Californians. Ballena Press, Menlo Park.

Cox, A. C., and S. A. Banack. 1991. Islands, plants, and polynesians. Dioscorides Press, Portland, Oregon.

Dragoo, D. W. 1976. Some aspects of eastern North American prehistory. American Antiquity 41:3-27.

Fuhlendorf, S. D., W. C. Harrell, D. M. Engle, R. G. Hamilton, C. A. Davis, and J. David M. Leslie. 2006. Should heterogeneity be the basis for conservation? Grassland bird response to fire and grazing. Ecological Applications 16:1706-1716.

Harden, M. J. 1999. Voices of wisdom: Hawaiian elders speak. Aka Press, Kula, Hawaii.

Kimmerer, R. W. 2002. Weaving traditional ecological knowledge into biological education: A call to action. BioScience 52:432-438.

Minnis, P. E. 2000. Famine foods of the North American Desert borderland in historical context. Pages 214-242 in P. E. Minnis, editor. Ethnobotany: A reader. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman.

Page, J. 2003. In the hands of the Great Spirit. Free Press, New York.

Pierotti, R., and D. Wildcat. 2000. Traditional ecological knowledge: the third alternative. Ecological Applications 10:1333-1340.

Reyhner, J., and J. Eder. 1991. A history of Indian education. Native American Studies, East Montana College, Billings, Montana .

Salmon, E. 2000. Kincentric ecology: indigenous perceptions of the human-nature relationship. Ecological Applications 10:1327-1332.

Chapter 2 Myaaamia Ethnobotany

This portion of the dissertation was written and developed by:

Michael P. Gonella, Department of Botany, Miami University, and Daryl W. Baldwin II, Myaamia Project, Miami University and the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma.

Abstract The ethnobotanical traditions of the Miami people, whose homelands are historically centered in northern Indiana and now encompass parts of Kansas and Oklahoma, were investigated in order to begin documenting and organizing extant ethnobotanical data. The study was conducted using historic and contemporary documents, both published and unpublished, as well as recorded and new interviews with Miami elders. We learned of 161 plant species that have cultural importance to the Miami and organized these plants by a seasonal framework which more closely represents a traditional Miami outlook on the land and plants than a taxonomical framework. It was determined from gathered data that many historic Miami traditions have endured from pre- to post-removal times and that the most useful habitats fall within the forested landscapes of their homelands. All data were gathered under the initiation and guidance of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma and are currently being utilized by the Miami people for cultural revitalization efforts.

Introduction: An ethnoecological history of the Miami The Miami people are an Algonquian cultural group from the lower Great Lakes region of North America, possessing a rich array of ethnobotanical traditions (Gravier ca. 1700, Callendar 1978, Tanner 1987). Miami language dictionaries written in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries to assist Jesuit missionaries in their attempts to convert Miami people to Christianity attest to the longevity of these traditions, with hundreds of plant words and uses being described (Gravier ca. 1700, LeBoullenger 1719-1744, Pinet 1696-ca. 1700). Wild and domesticated plants have been used in almost all aspects of life, including uses for food, medicine, construction, trade, crafts, games, customs, art, and agriculture.

Many indigenous cultures are deeply rooted to the landscape and biota of their homelands (Gonzales and Nelson 2001, MacDonald 2001). The Miami are no different, with traditional recipes, health, ceremonies, traditional stories, and spiritual teachings, among other things revolving around and tied to relationships with the non-human world of their homelands (Baldwin, pers. comm., 2003, Gravier ca. 1700, Rafert 1989, Callendar 1978, Tanner 1987). Participation in these relationships is an important part of indigenous peoples identity (Waziyatawin 2005), including the Miami, who see themselves as one of many participants in the greater community of life (Pierotti and Wildcat 2000, Salmon 2000, Herrmann 2006) . The significant nature of relationships with the biotic and abiotic components of Miami homelands is expressed in the Miami kinship terminology which includes humans as well as all other living things (Baldwin, pers. comm., 2003). For example, the Miami language stem aweem-, literally translated as ‘related to’ or ‘relative’, is used to form Miami terms in a variety of ways, including relationships with humans, plants, and animals (Baldwin and Costa 2005). Indigenous people’s participation in traditional interactions with the land is predicated upon access to and control1 over the use of the plants, animals and other culturally significant components of homeland ecosystems (Champagne 2005). If there is no access to plant materials for use in foods, baskets, or medicines, then there is a block to practicing ethnobotanical traditions, and an impediment to involvement in important relationships with plants. Thus, for the Miami to express an important aspect of Miami culture and identity, active engagement in Miami ethnobotanical traditions, user rights over the land and plants must be, at least in part, in the hands of the Miami. Before European contact, the Miami people held the primary user rights to their ancestral homelands, providing them with a land base and means by which to enact their ethnobotanical traditions, and express an important part of Miami culture. However, contact with Europeans and early American settlers marked the beginning of the changes in these user rights. The ceding of Miami lands by the U.S. government in the 18th and 19th centuries was arguably the most significant hardship experienced by the land-based Miami culture. By 1846, just 51 years from the first treaty to cede Miami lands to federal ownership in 1795, the once vast Miami homelands stretching from Ohio to Illinois and from Michigan to Kentucky, were reduced to a few scattered allotments and reserve areas in Indiana, Kansas and Oklahoma. Other factors which eroded Miami culture included prohibitions against speaking the Miami language in boarding schools in

the first half of the 20th century (Rafert 1996, Kohn and Montell 1997), conversion of Miami homelands to agriculture, and societal racism against Indian culture (McMaster 1992). Despite removal and loss of a majority of their land base and pressures of assimilation, contemporary Miami people continue to harvest wild plants for traditional use in much the same manner as their ancestors. This includes the continued adaptation and innovation of plant procurement and plant use methodologies to meet evolving cultural needs. However, with loss of user rights and control of almost all of their ancestral landscape, the integrity and breadth of Miami ethnobotanical knowledge has been compromised: some ethnobotanical knowledge and traditions have gone dormant, some have been lost. Considering the current state of lost or reduced homelands, the continued loss of tribal elders, and a diminishing transference of cultural lifeways by oral tradition, documenting existing traditional knowledge is a priority for the future of many North American indigenous cultures (Anderson 2005, Davidson-Hunt et al. 2005, Kimmerer 2000) including the Miami. Documentation of ethnobotanical knowledge of indigenous cultures often requires a multidisciplinary approach (Balick 1996, Prance 1995) utilizing seemingly disparate data from a variety of sources (Anderson 2001). This study utilized historical data from Jesuit dictionaries (Gravier ca. 1700, LeBoullenger 1719-1744, Pinet 1696-ca. 1700), anthropological and linguistic notes (Dunn ca. 1900, Gatschet ca. 1895), transcripts from single-consultant interviews (Olds, Olds and Tippmann 1999, Rafert 1989, Tippmann 1999), and interviews with living elders to provide a more comprehensive picture of Miami ethnobotany. Sources documenting Miami ethnobotanical knowledge have been largely described by people from outside the Miami culture, and however well intended, have to some degree misrepresented Miami ethnobotanical knowledge systems. This has been the case for other indigenous ethnobotanical studies which rely solely on non-native researchers, methods and analytical perspectives (Jones 1995). Thus, there is a need for ethnobotanical studies of indigenous cultures, including the Miami, that are comprehensive, involve the indigenous community itself, and utilize an indigenous ecological perspective in both research methods and results. This study is aimed at presenting a preliminary synthesis of extant Miami ethnobotanical knowledge, reconstructing a traditional Miami ecological perspective of Miami homelands, and using a culturally relevant context in which to present ethnobotanical information. Using culture- specific, indigenous-centered perspectives for information gathering, analysis and data

presentation more accurately describes indigenous knowledge (Kimmerer 2002) which can be used to reclaim and conserve those systems for indigenous groups (Anderson 2005, Davidson- Hunt 2005, Jones 1995) and the Miami.

Myaamionki—Ancestral lands in the Upper Midwest, . . .1650-1846 To make an effective beginning to documenting Miami ethnobotanical knowledge, it is necessary to desribe and delimit the landscape within which Miami culture has been practiced. Myaamionki, a Miami term literally meaning ‘place of the Miami’, signifies the historic and contemporary landscapes providing the resource base and cultural context for the Miami people. The ancestral lands are located in the upper Midwest and were inhabited by all Miami people prior to forced governmental removal in 1846. The core of ancestral lands is the upper waapaahšiki siipiiwi, what is now known as the Wabash River (Fig. 1). From this core area, which was almost exclusively used and maintained by the Miami, a progressively more shared landscape was encountered, utilized by the Miami and other regional cultural groups. The historic Miami traveled often and widely, from the waapaahšiki siipiiwi across the Mississippi, Ohio, and Scioto rivers, and even up into present day Canada. So, myaamionki has a broad ancestral definition, including all the lands where the Miami culture was practiced and maintained, including lands, trade routes and peripheral lands outside the core area that were shared with other tribes. Within these vast and shared ancestral homelands the Miami participated in their traditional lifeways of community wild plant collecting, cultivation and harvesting of crops, seasonal hunts, and maple sugaring (Rafert 1996). Many Miami people continue to live in their ancestral homelands, mostly in northern Indiana, within the Wabash and Maumee River Watersheds.

Myaamionki—Lands in Oklahoma and Kansas, 1846-2006 In 1846, most of the Miami were forcibly relocated to Indian territory, first to what is now Kansas, then later to northeastern Oklahoma in 1873 (Anson 1970) (Fig. 2). Community lands held by the Miami people in northern Indiana were done away with upon removal to Indian territory, by splitting Miami lands into privately-owned allotments. The result of U.S.-Miami land cessions (and removal) was two-fold: (1) drastic reduction of the territorial Miami land base

which severely restricted subsistence activities (including physical and spiritual) based on ecological relationships (e.g. hunting, fishing, wild plant gathering for food and medicine, customs), and (2) changing land-use rights from community ownership to private user-rights which greatly restricted and constrained the communal nature of Miami culture.2 Today, there exist two Miami Indian communities, the Miami Nation of Indians of Indiana, Inc., headquartered in Peru, Indiana, and the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma in Miami, Oklahoma, and both participated in this study.

Methods: Indigenous-centered methodologies The scientific study of indigenous plant use has been driven historically by the goals and agendas of academics using an etic representation of ecological knowledge (Clements 1998). Although the last decade or so has seen an increase in cooperative research between academic researchers and Native peoples (Clements 1998), it is still uncommon to find ethnobotanical studies authored by the indigenous communities themselves. This is largely the result of the scientific quest for objectivity when working with human subjects—it is understood in these disciplines that to be too closely affiliated with the cultural group one studies, is to relinquish scientific objectivity and thus compromise the accuracy and value of the research findings. However, being affiliated, or even a member of a cultural group, does not necessarily mean that results will be biased to the extent of inaccuracy. In some cases the lack of relationship of researchers with indigenous groups with which they study has led to some cultural misunderstandings of indigenous knowledge (Alcorn 1989, Kimmerer 2000). The best intended ‘outsider’ cannot have the background of experiences and perceptions that shape worldviews and frame pieces of indigenous knowledge, and thus is prone to misrepresenting that knowledge. Since indigenous knowledge is holistic and integrative in nature, the ethnobotanical research should incorporate indigenous knowledge systems in methods for the most accurate results (Fowler 2000). Our goal was to incorporate the Miami worldview into as much of the research methods as was possible. In contrast to most existing ethnobotanical research projects, this study was initiated by the indigenous group itself, the Miami Nation, in order to accurately represent and control their own land-based knowledge. The first author was brought on board after the project was initiated, as an academic collaborator to contribute the time, resources and botanical research experience. All methods for gathering and presenting Miami ethnobotanical

information were developed as a collaborative effort between the two authors and their respective affiliations (the Miami University and the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma), with a goal of gathering and presenting ethnobotanical data in the most culturally sensitive manner by utilizing aspects of a Miami worldview. In many cases, elders in the Miami community were utilized as consultants in development and refinement of research methodologies. For historic data collection, traditional academic methods were employed, consisting of an extensive literature review of extant ethnographic data relating to the Miami culture. The bulk of written documentation of Miami ethnobotany exists in journals of French Jesuit missionaries living with the Miami and closely related Illinois peoples in the 17th and 18th centuries, and in memoirs of early continental explorers visiting Miami territories during approximately the same time period (Table 1). Other ethnographers and historians also documented substantial cultural information regarding the Miami in the 19th and 20th centuries and these documents were also examined (Table 1). The interpretation, and in many cases the re-interpretation, of this data was conducted through a Miami lens, or worldview, by working directly with living Miami elders during data analysis. For the collection of contemporary ethnobotanical data, a series of steps were taken to ensure accuracy of data collected and to safeguard the memories and wisdom of Miami elders. First, in the initial year of the project relationship building was necessary for the first author with the Miami community, consisting of participant observation of tribal events, business meetings and traditional plant activities. During this time, the Miami Nation made available 11 previously recorded interviews of Miami elders (from 1960 to 1999) and a preliminary ethnobotanical database. The initial period of participant observation also served to establish a relationship of reciprocity between the first author and the Miami Nation—the traditional Miami way of working with non-Miami persons. This involved active participation in Miami language camps, ethnobotanical presentations at Miami meetings, and assistance with ecological education materials. After a relationship of reciprocity was established 15 new interviews with living Miami elders were authorized and conducted over a five year period (2002-2006). Ages of Miami elder consultants ranged from 17 to 93 years. For new interviews, individual and group contexts were used, along with elicitation tools such as voucher specimens, slides, cultural artifact photographs and field-visits to assist consultants in describing and recalling Miami plant

uses. Participant observation (Schensul et al. 1999) at communal gatherings, traditional events and meetings continued during this time as a technique for gathering more ethnobotanical information in an informal manner. In interviews and during informal data collection, semi- structured and structured interviews (Bernard 1988) were also used. The triangulation technique of data verification, where acceptance of validity of data is predicated upon at least two consultants/sources documenting the same data, was employed where possible (Schensul et al. 1999) and single data sources (one ethnographic record) were made clear when used. Much of the work of this study involved re-linking disparate fragments of Miami ethnobotanical knowledge to reconstruct a more contiguous, traditional knowledge base. The seasonal framework evolved out of discussions with the key tribal elders knowledgeable in a traditional Miami ecological perspective and provided a way of linking pieces of ethnobotanical data together and incorporating ecological information as well. Reconstructing a Miami ecological perspective also involved an active dialog with tribal linguists for the proper use of Miami language and for cues to a Miami ecological perspective in the language itself. A tribal geographer was also consulted to improve Miami culture relevancy in the spatial representation of myaamionki. For text accuracy, the second author, a Miami Nation member, was collaborator for the manuscript, and a series of reviews of manuscript drafts was conducted by Miami community members. Miami language terms were determined primarily by Miami Nation linguists using the most common recorded word forms as the basis for modern pronunciation. The first author also had the opportunity to serve as a tribal representative when dealing with outside entities (U.S. government) and gained a first-hand understanding of common misperceptions and misrepresentations of the Miami culture—these were avoided in this study wherever possible. Methodologies were chosen that reflected a Miami worldview and a number of cultural- checks were put in place to safeguard the accurate representation of Miami culture. However, methods were not foolproof and some methodological weaknesses became apparent throughout the study. The most important weakness was the lack of primary historical sources of information authored by Miami people. Unfortunately, all of the written, historical sources of information were authored by persons outside of the Miami culture and because of this, there was the possibility that some of the information in these accounts is inaccurate due to personal or societal biases towards indigenous peoples at the time of writing. Caution was exercised in the

interpretation of documented Miami traditions from sources originating outside of the Miami culture. In general, the ethnobotanical information described by explorers and missionaries was not the main focus of their travels and hence, was less apt to be distorted than were writings aimed at the explorer’s religious, cultural or political constituents. When ethnobotanical information did appear to be inaccurate, it was fairly easy to detect by the author’s exaggerated descriptions of natural resources or condemning tone towards the Miami (e.g. ‘savages’)—both aimed at making the author appear to be a superior ‘explorer’, ‘discovering’ incredible natural resources or shockingly ‘exotic’ peoples. In these cases, the information documented was reported only if corroborated by another more reliable source. It is important to make clear that this paper, too, is a cultural representation assembled and developed, in part, by a non-Miami scholar, so some biases may be present, however unintended. Fortunately, though, the collaborative nature of the development of this manuscript by both the Miami Nation and the first author reduced the potential for inaccurate representations of contemporary Miami traditions. The accuracy and completeness of this study is best seen from a Miami perspective: It represents a portion of the knowledge and perceptions of tribal members which are nested within a greater diversity of knowledge and thought that may not be represented. No one study can be the definitive description of an ancient, multi-faceted, dynamic and living culture.

Results Miami seasonal cycles and plant use Because the lives of the Miami have been historically guided by the changing seasons and the closely-tied changing behavior of animals (migrations, reproductive cycles, dormancy) and plants (phenology, reproductive cycles, dormancy), the culturally important plant resources of the Miami are presented here within a seasonal framework—a traditional Miami framework for organizing and perceiving plant information (See Appendix 1 for listing of useful plants by plant family). A total of 161 plant species were documented as culturally important to the Miami, involving 62 plant families and 122 genera, including 1 lichen species. Additionally, four fungal genera were identified as culturally important. Four general plant categories were also identified, including tree, bark, ‘potato’ (i.e. tuber or other underground storage organ), and grass, which represented various species. Growth forms of culturally important plants included 87 (54%) tree species, 14 (9%) shrubs, 58 (36%) herbs/forbs, and 2

(1%) vines. Approximately 25% of all species documented were mentioned by both historic and contemporary sources indicating long-term and ongoing cultural significance. Of all 161 plant species and 4 fungal genera, 75 were harvested during the spring, 115 in the summer, 98 in the fall, and 27 in the winter, according to historic and contemporary sources (Table 1). The season of harvest for 14 species is not yet pinpointed. Seasons of use of species were determined through historic and contemporary ethnographic data, and other sources on edible and useful plants (Peterson 1977, Foster and Duke 1990) and broken down into five categories of “use-types” including foods, medicines, material uses, technological uses and customary uses (Table 2). These categories do not reflect a Miami use classification system, and were derived from use category systems developed by non-indigenous researchers working with other cultural groups (Peacock and Turner 2000, Phillips and Gentry 1993a, Prance et al. 1995, Schultes & von Reis 1995). However, they were utilized in this portion of this study as a way to build a bridge between scholarly methods of presenting ethnobotanical data and indigenous methods like the seasonal framework. Food uses included consumed foods and animal fodder; medicines included remedies, tonics and teas for health and/or disease treatment; material uses included construction for dwellings, furniture, baskets, storage structures, musical instruments and firewood; technology uses included canoe-making, crafts, dyes, tools, utensils, nets, and other items used in hunting, or fishing; customary uses included traditional procedures, ceremonies or smoking. Miami people have harvested and utilized a variety of plants throughout the year, choosing from a palette of many plants during the growing season, spring, summer and fall, and a lessen number in winter. Many of the plants that are culturally significant to the Miami are available in more than one season, and most plants had a particular season in which the abundance and size of specific plant organs was the largest. The word ‘resource’ will be used in this study to describe culturally significant plants, organs and products. Yet this word in the modern sense, often connotes strictly non-human items, that are extracted from nature and consumed—this is not the intended meaning of the word in this study. First, a polarized world which is divided into natural/wild components and human components, where the wild ones are viewed as ‘other’, or separate from humans, is not traditional to Miami perceptions of the natural world. Second, traditional Miami views of nature, i.e. plant ‘resources’, are not ones in which exists the concept of ‘extraction’ of a resource from nature and ‘consumption’ of it by humans. Natural, non-human things such as plants and animals

do not exist as commodities outside of relationships with humans in the traditional Miami worldview—instead they are viewed more as ‘relatives’ in a respectful, reciprocal relationship, where food and other benefits are received through participation in that relationship. For this reason, use of the word ‘resource’ in this paper indicates a plant with which the Miami are in relationship, receiving life and culture-sustenance from and providing life-sustaining stewardship.

Meeloohkamkike—Spring In spring, a wide variety of food, medicine, and material plants are available and used by the Miami (Table 3). Although most of these plants continued to be available throughout the summer and fall, the spring was important because it marks the beginning of their availability after their dormancy in winter. Early shoots of plants were most tender and abundant in spring, although with proper harvesting and searching remained available during the summer. For the most part, spring food plants identified in this study consisted of newly emerging, aboveground portions of plants, including shoots and leaves of both annuals and perennials (Deliette 1702, Trowbridge 1938). Commonly recorded plants eaten, sometimes cooked, as ‘greens’ included leninši (common milkweed), koohkooša awiilawi (purslane), maamilaniwiiahkwia (pokeweed), šikaakweeniši (skunk cabbage), nalaaohki waapinkopakahki (lamb’s quarters), wild asparagus, dock, common dandelion, buttercup, and watercress. The immature shoots and leaves of these plants were first available in the spring, making them an important source of vitamins and fiber, and most remained available throughout the summer months as well. There were also a number of roots and tubers that are harvested in the very early spring, before plant dormancy ended and tubers begin to shrink and rot. These include eepihkanita (groundnut), mahkopina (water lily), ooonsaapeehkateeki (Jerusalem artichoke), wiinsiihsia (wild onions), water chinquapin, and turkey pea. Most of these were also available in other seasons as well. A variety of common mushrooms as well as false and true morels were collected and eaten predominantly in the spring. Spring medicinal plants identified included roots, like wild onions, water lily, mankiišaahkwi (sassafras), ginger, sweetflag, and spikenard, as well as leaves, including peetihsahki* (various mint species; * indicates that phonemization is tentative), pileelikwa

ansooyi (tansy), ironweed, yarrow, wild mustard, chestnut, comfrey, foxglove, false pennyroyal, mullein, and goldenrod. The sap from ahsenaamiši (sugar maple trees) was distilled to make maple syrup, but was also used medicinally in its raw form and this was available from late winter through early spring. A few of these medicinal plants have been utilized to make tea, including peetihsahki* (peppermint and spearmint), and wiinaahkatwi (spicebush), which was used as both refreshment and medicine. Plant materials used in construction and technology became important harvests in the spring as well, due to increased availability. The heavily used apahkwaya (cattail) leaves used to build mats to cover wiikiami, a Miami dwelling, began to grow again, peesiaanikopa (hickory) and elm bark used for canoes and vessels became more easily harvested in spring, as did wiikapi (basswood bark) whose fibers are used in lashing, cordage and rope. Although not exclusive to this season, a number of plants used in customs also were available, including neehpikaahkwi (red willow bark), šinkwaahkwa (red cedar), ayoonseekaahkwi (black walnut), oonseentia (yellow popular wood), and peppermint leaves. Ecological Cues. Ethnographic data gathered in this study indicated that in certain cases the Miami use specific seasonal, biological or environmental cues to indicate the availability of plant and fungal food resources or the timing of certain harvests or interactions with plants. For example, two Miami elders noted phenological (plant flowering times) cues of one plant species for harvesting of another: When you want to hunt morels, you wait until the lilac is in bud, around late April/May depending on weather and rain, then look for the bark fallen from old elm trees (2004).

When the mayapple plant umbrellas, winter is over and the mushrooms are out; when wild plum trees bloom it’s the time to start looking for morels, generally found in damp, shady places (2003) And another Miami elder mentioned the use of a specific stage in a plant’s reproductive cycle to indicate the availability of game animals. You know you can hunt [squirrels] when certain trees are in seed, like when you see the maple trees in seed.” (2005). An Oklahoma Miami elder mentions the importance of timing in spring harvest, related to mushroom gathering.

We hunted morels at just the right time in spring (2004). Although the timing of minosakayi (morel) hunting in spring is widely known among non- indigenous peoples to be important for success in harvesting, ethnographic records from Miami women, dating back to the mid-19th century suggests that this knowledge was traditional to Miami culture also, if not originally, and that the nuances of morel hunting were well known. In general, these contemporary records, either specifically mentioning an ecological cue or just the beginning of plant and animal harvesting, reinforce a seasonal framework of perceiving the natural world, food availability and life in general. The call of the whippoorwill, first heard in late spring signified the beginning of the corn planting cycle for the Miami (Gatschet ca. 1895). Gatschet recorded that the Miami interpret the whippoorwill’s call as “ziwashiko’ko”, which translates as ‘go to planting’ in Miami (Costa, pers. comm.. 2006). Many activities from early spring through fall have revolved around miincipi (corn) cultivation and harvesting, and each activity has been specifically timed in response to environmental cues indicating favorable conditions for field preparation, sowing, “hilling up” of corn, harvesting and storage of corn. Elegantly paralleling maturation of regional wild plant species, the first crop of corn was planted, or “hilled up” in early June. It can be speculated that Miami traditional ecological knowledge guiding the timing of spring corn planting was based, at least in part, to coincide with the germination of other annual spring plants, when conditions for germination and growth of the plant dovetailed with the spring rains, longer days and warmer air and ground temperatures.

Niipinwe—Summertime With the onset of niipinwe, summertime, in late June, many plants shifting from purely vegetative growth to reproductive growth. Similarly, the majority of plants used for food by the Miami shift from young leaves and shoots to reproduction-related organs, including edible fruits and berries in summer (Table 4). Ethnographic data substantiated that most of the greens of spring continue to be utilized in the summer, while new summer greens also became available, including immature portions of milkweed flowers and pods, immature portions of pokeweed, wild asparagus shoots, leaves and shoots of wood sorrel and watercress, and leaves of nalaaohki waapinkopakahki (goosefoot), plantain, dock and dandelion. Some tuberous plant species were

identified as important summer food sources, including Jerusalem artichoke, ground nut, wild onion, wild ginger and wiikapaahkwaahkaniša* (wild ‘potato’, an undetermined species). Besides the continued prevalence of greens available to the Miami, the summer can best be labeled as the season of edible fruits and berries (Table 4). Berries were identified as a main summer Miami food source, including makiinkweemina (blackberries), napaleeteemina* (raspberries), meenkaalakiinkweemiša (dewberries), mihtekwaapimiši (mulberries), wiikooloomphsa* (elderberries), wiipinkwamini (blueberries), akaayomišaahkwi (gooseberries), ateehimini (strawberries), mahkomiši (sumac berries), and currants. Summer fruits harvested and eaten traditionally by the Miami include ateehseemišaahkwa (plums), mahkwawilamiši* (cherries), waawiipinkwahki (fox grapes), kiisiipitoonisinki aahsanteepakwi (wild grapes), papakimišaahkwi (blackhaws), wild rose hips, and mayapples. Seeds utilized included naloomina (wild rice), probably harvested in small amounts from the wild and obtained through trade, as well as pahkiihteenhsaahkwi (hazelnuts), provided other significant sources of food from a plant reproductive organ. Summer also was the time when cultivated crops first became available for harvesting, including aleciimina (peas), iihkihtaminki (watermelon), kociihsa (beans), miincipi (corn), neehpikiciipihki (beets), peeweeyocaahkwa* (peaches), wiihkapimina (pears), wiipinkwamina (huckleberries), hubbard squash, lima beans, rhubarb, and wild onions. Ahseema (tobacco), also cultivated, at least in the last century or so, became ready for drying and use as a medicine and in customs. Corn was first harvested in the summer, and was used as a food source, as well as a plant used in customs. Noteworthy Miami medicinal plants harvested in the summer include sumac berries, watermelon seeds, wild cherry fruits, and pokeweed berries. Boneset and sweetgrass (contemporary uses only) are also available in the summer, the whole plants being harvested and used for medicinal purposes. Peppermint, spearmint and spicebush leaves continued to be available from spring through fall, for use in making medicinal teas and for refreshment. This study identified two groups of Miami plants used for technology or construction from the summertime: plants seeds gathered for use in games, and plants harvested for mat making. Seeds from the ripe fruits of akaawinšaahkwa (honey locust), Kentucky coffee berry trees, black locust, and wild plum were gathered and used in games, while the long, slender and porous stems of the alaansooni (softstem bulrush), and cattail leaves were gathered and used to

weave mats for covering dwellings, and for use during customary gatherings. Mihtahkatwi* (various species of dried grass) was also gathered in the summer, for use as thatch, basswood bark for cordage and pokeweed berries as a treatment for worms of domestic animals (dogs). Ecological Cues. Where the call of the whippoorwill signified the beginning of the corn cultivation cycle, the end of the first planting of corn and the emergence of early spring grasses and forbs signaled the beginning of the alenaswa (buffalo, Bison bison L.) hunt for the Miami. In a broad sense, the buffalo hunt is intricately tied to the environmental factors like warming air and ground temperatures, an increase in precipitation, and extended day lengths, which encouraged the first emergence of spring plants—the immature, tender plants that made up the bison’s food source and guided their migrations northward. The approximately six week buffalo hunting season was, then, closely tied to the seasonal growth of plants. Deliette’s (1702) description of the Illinois bison hunting parties being timed before the first cultivated plant harvests, suggests that they, and the Miami too, ate mostly wild plants while hunting bison, relying mostly on fruits, nuts and berries ripening during this time. The first corn harvest has traditionally fallen at the end of July, providing a significant source of plant-derived food at the same time when spring rains and the plant food sources they brought were ending. And although the development of the fruits, or ears, of corn coincided with the ripening of other wild plant fruits, Miami technology for storage of corn precluded any conflict between corn and wild plant harvesting during summertime.

Teekwaaki—Fall Although the cooler, drier and shorter days of teekwaaki, autumn, initiate plant senescence, there is a group of summer plants that continue to be available to the Miami in the fall (Table 5). Some of plants utilized by the Miami in the fall were the immature portions of larger plants that began growing in the spring, gathered and cooked as greens, like milkweed, pokeweed, plantain and purslane. Many summer-gathered roots continuing to be available in the fall are the ground nut, water lily roots, Jerusalem artichoke, water lily, and ginger. However, plants restricted to fall usage include late-maturing fruits like neehpikica (cranberries), pyaakimišaahkwi (persimmons), red haws, and various nuts including kaanseeseemini (pecans), kiinošiši (butternut), hickory, black walnut and chestnuts. In addition, acorns produced by maamhkatiaahkatwi (red oak), maamhkatiaahkatwi (black oak), maamhkatiaahkatwi (blackjack

oak), mihsiimišaahkwa (burr oak), and pin oak, and probably other species, were harvested and utilized in the fall. Like fall food plants, Miami medicinal plants available in the spring and summer are in many cases available in the fall too, including well-used species such as tobacco, red cedar, sassafras, mint, black walnut, yarrow, plantain and mullein. A smaller set of Miami medicinal plants are gathered and used exclusively in the fall, including the seeds of watermelons and Jerusalem artichokes, the berries of pokeweed and spicebush, and fruits of persimmons. Fully matured plants of boneset and ironweed are available throughout the growing season (spring, summer and early fall) yet are probably utilized most in the fall. Fall is also a time when numerous crop plants are first ready for harvest, including the second and third corn crops, eemihkwaani (pumpkins), waawiihkapaahkoohsia* (sweet potato), ahpena (potato), melons, and scarlet runner beans. Meekwaaki (turnips), waapinkopakahki (cabbage), rhubarb and squashes, first available in the summer, continue to be utilized by the Miami in the fall, however with decreasing importance as they die out. Plants used in construction and technology in the fall included a variety of trees whose wood and bark is available year-round, and seeds of trees also gathered and used in the summer, in general. However, one very useful cordage plant, Ahsapa (dogbane), is only harvested in the late fall, after the first frost, and made into fish nets, deer nets and rope. Plants used in customs include a number of year-round available species, like red osier dogwood, sassafras and red cedar, but also softstem bulrush, at its full length in early fall, šiihšiikwani (gourds), and the dried leaves and flowers of peetihsahki* (sweet everlasting). Ecological Cues. The completion of the reproduction cycle of Miami corn, and other cultivated plants like squash, pumpkins, melons and beans, coincided with and was related to the onset of fall, and signified a time of preparation for winter, for the Miami. In historic times, Miami communities left their summer villages, from which bison hunting forays were initiated, after corn harvests were completed and corn was stored, and left for their fall/winter hunting camps. Presumably some useful dried herbs, corn and winter dwelling construction materials were taken to winter camps. Cattail leaves and bulrush stems were probably gathered during the fall before the plants died back, and made into new mats or used in repairing damaged mats, both sometimes used in winter lodges.

The dying-back of non-woody grasses and forbs during the fall was a cue for the Miami to start the traditional prairie burning in myaamionki. Trowbridge (1938) noted that during autumn the Miami lit ground fires to partially dried plants, and the fires stayed rather “narrow” due to the incompletely dry fuels. The time of the year of October is named šaašaahkaayolia kiilhswa, translated literally as “moon of the narrow fire”. Hennepin (1698) also described autumn prairie burning by the Miamis, used to hunt bison. Hunting fires were circular in shape with one narrow opening where the bison were forced to concentrate while attempting to escape, and were more easily killed at these openings (Perrot 1680-1718, Carter 1987).

Pipoonwi—Winter Cold temperatures, ice, and snow cover in myaamionki exclude many of the food sources available to the Miami in pipoonwi, winter, as reflected in relatively few plant use records for this season (Table 6). However, winter was not without any available plants, according to data gathered in this study. Use of underground storage organs were identified through ethnographic records, including tubers of jerusalem artichoke, wild potato, and ground nut, all gathered and eaten during the winter. The only plant-related food source exclusively recorded in the winter was nipoopi minosakayi (lichen), gathered and made into soup when little else was available. It is speculated that any other winter plant food sources for the Miami were limited to additional roots and tubers, and any dried and stored crops like corn, squash or pumpkin. We speculate that although this study could not completely document all historic plant food sources of the Miami, it is likely that plant food sources were nonetheless severely reduced in this season in general. Miami winter medicinal plants resources are mainly from trees, whose bark, roots and branches are available all year long for healing purposes, as long as they were accessible beneath the ice and snow. Winter medicinal plant organs include kaakišaahkatwi (sycamore bark), pine sap, black walnut roots, bark and branches, red cedar leaves and bark, basswood roots and white oak roots, leaves and bark. Plants used in construction include nipiaahkatwi (willow), elms, walnut, hickory, basswood and oak wood, bark from a variety of tree species and presumably stems of common wetland plants like bulrush or cattail. Plants used in specific technological projects include alakiihkwi, bark and anseensi, moss for cooking large roots and tubers, ašaahšikopa (red elm) bark for making fish nets, hickory and elm bark for making canoes, mulberry wood for bows,

and fungi used as a punk (material to catch first sparks in hand-drilled fire-starting). Various other tree species were utilized in the winter for construction, technology and customary uses, but were not exclusively used in this season. Ecological Cues. Winter involves dormancy for almost all plant species living in myaamionki, and from the ethnographic data gathered in this study it is clear that the Miami were well aware of and adapted to survive and thrive during this seasonal phenomenon. The detailed knowledge about the dormancy of growth of trees throughout the year provides the main basis for this conclusion. Records describe knowledge of when tree species, whose bark was used for canoes and other liquid-carrying vessels, transitioned from winter dormancy to spring growth— when the sap begins to rise and the bark is most easily harvested for use (Yeaman, pers. comm., 2006). At this same time, technically ‘winter’ in a non-Miami sense, the aboveground flowing sap of maple trees was gathered for syrup and medicinal purposes (Ellicott ca. 1802). It is probable that the Miami, through centuries of living in close relationship with the land, were guided by the ecological processes of winter-- where the downward movement plant sap signaled the availability of underground food caches for the Miami. Locating these underground food sources required an intimate knowledge of myaamionki at both the regional and local level. Within the smaller landscape surrounding a winter camp, populations of Jerusalem artichoke, ground nut and wild potato had to be remembered from one season to the next in order to find and unearth the tubers once the aboveground portions had died and withered away. Deer and other animals searching for these same food sources may have also indicated locations of tuberous foods for the Miami. Locations of regional populations of winter food plants also had to be known in order to provide a large enough food base to endure the long, cold winters, and in order to more effectively understand and track game animals in search of the same food sources.

Undetermined Season of Use There were also 16 species for which the season of use was not able to be determined, due to the lack of information in historical records. These involved two types of uses: (1) plants whose roots were used to make medicine, like waawiyaciipihki (rheumatism root), kinoosaawiahkwi (hop-tree), and mihsihkiišikomiši (buckeye tree), and (2) plants whose wood or bark was used for material goods, including myaalwimiši (ironwood), kweehsiaanikopa,

siipiomeekwa (quaking aspen), and quaking aspen. Further historical and contemporary investigations may allow seasonal designations for uses of these culturally significant species.

Miami seasonal cycles and plant use Cycles are fundamental to the dynamics of ecosystems and they are often the very frameworks in which human cultural traditions and knowledge often embedded (Berkes, Colding and Folke 2003, Martinez 1999). Seasonal cycles are often the frameworks of indigenous knowledge and activities as well (Klee 1980, Murton 1980, Gon 2003), particularly in north America and Canada (Martinez 2003, Fienup-Riordan 2001, Kinietz 1965, Tanner 1987, Turner 1990) where seasons are relatively dramatic and distinct. Much of the historic and contemporary ethnographic data relating to Miami ethnobotany explicitly describes cultural lifeways based on the seasonal cycles of plant growth, dormancy and reproduction (Anson 1970, Carter 1987, Kinietz 1965). Historic ethnographic data indicated a culture which is based largely on wild plant procurement for food, medicines, construction, technology, material uses and customs, all involving dependence on the seasonal life cycles of plants and animals. The exact timing of wild plant harvesting and tending, crop cultivation, maple sugaring, prairie burning, fishing and hunting expeditions have been largely determined by seasonal changes and the subsequent biotic responses to those changes. It was learned that seasonal changes were in some cases indicated by particular events in nature, like the call of wiikoohwia, whippoorwill (Caprimulgus vociferous Wilson), beginning its reproductive cycle indicating the initiation of the corn cultivation cycle, or the summer flowering of kišiinkwia (ironweed), translated as ‘it is ready’, indicating the readiness of green corn for harvest. These ecological cues, tied to the traditional Miami calendar (Costa 2006) were identified to be the primary indicators of numerous traditional ethnobotanical activities. Contemporary ethnographic data also had emphasis on the seasonal ecological perspective of Miami ethnobotany. Interviews and group discussions with elders indicated that seasons were one of the primary ways in which Miami ethnobotanical knowledge and practices are perceived. This seasonal outlook on plant availability has required fine-tuned skills in observation by the Miami, for perceiving subtle variations in precipitation, air and ground temperatures, waterway levels, plant development, and animal behavior. Each of these ecological cues has been holistically synthesized by the Miami to ascertain the availability, abundance, and

quality of critical plant-based resources. More than any other factor, seasonal changes in the landscape have guided daily subsistence activities, cultural lifeways and even landscape perceptions for the Miami (Baldwin, Sutterfield and Ironstrack, pers. comm., 2005).

Plant use changes over time In order to obtain better understand the adaptive ethnobotanical lifeways of the Miami throughout the period of time covered in this study, an analysis was conducted which categorized food use records (including plants, fungi, and lichen) by date. Since removal of the Miami from myaamionki in 1846 marked a major change in Miami way of life, most importantly the loss of an ancestral, communal land base, that date was chosen as a demarcator for records—plant food use records were put into two categories based on the final removal date3 (Table 7). A subset of all culturally important plants were used for this analysis, involving food plants only, and a total of 40 species were recorded as having food uses prior to 1846, and 88 after 1846. One of the most apparent trends resulting from this analysis was the reduction in the proportion of underground plant organs eaten from pre- to post-removal times and an increase in plants eaten as greens. This trend is largely derived from ethnographic data from Trowbridge’s pre-removal (1824) accounts of Miami ethnobotanical traditions emphasizing tubers as a major food source, and Dunn’s post-removal (ca. 1900) ethnographies emphasizing the use of leafy greens as a major food source. This change in Miami diet parallels landscape-wide transformations occurring to ancestral myaamionki during the same time period, changing from a primarily native woodland matrix with occasional prairie openings, to a primarily agricultural landscape with occasional woodlands. Landscape transformations were speculatively a significant causal factor in Miami dietary shifts. Agricultural and commercial expansion brought a number of significant changes contributing to the reduction of abundance and use of underground storage organs of plants. Drainage of vast wetland areas in myaamionki during the early 19th century for agricultural purposes (King 1981, Transeau 1981), drastically reduced the habitat of a number of culturally important aquatic-dwelling food plants, like water lily and lotus. Conversion of prairies (King 1981) and forests to homesteads and agricultural fields (Transeau 1981) also reduced the habitat of a number of culturally important prairie-dwelling tubers, like Jerusalem artichoke, and wild potato and forest dwelling tubers, like ground nut. In summary, natural areas containing useful

tuberous and rhizomatous food sources were destroyed. Also, canal and railroad building throughout Ohio, Indiana and Illinois around the early half of the 19th century also served to decrease the importance of native plant harvesting by the Miami and increase the importance of cultivation of commercial crops that were easily transported and sold (Bogart 1913). Thus, there was pressure to shift from wild food plants from wetlands, forests and prairies, as a form of sustenance to commercial crops grown in agricultural fields. More and more conversion of primary woodlands, prairies and wetlands to agricultural fields amounted to conversion of relatively undisturbed habitats to disturbed ones. This allowed the expansion of disturbance-oriented, pioneer plant species (r-species with short life-cycles) in ancestral myaamionki. Most of the culturally important leafy green food plants of the Miami are adapted to these types of habitats, including common milkweed, goosefoot, dock, and plantain. A few of these leafy green food plants are non-native species which are particularly disturbance oriented and weedy. Although some of the food plants of the Miami can survive in semi- disturbed areas, like Jerusalem artichoke and wild potato, the intense frequency of disturbance of agriculture has prevented widespread persistence of culturally viable populations of these species. Overall myaamia ethnobotanical traditions also were altered from pre- to post-removal times. An additional analysis was conducted in which all plant uses, including food, medicine, material, customs and technology uses were categorized by dates of records (Table 8). Plant uses were placed into one of three categories: (1) ancient traditions no longer being practiced—plant species with use-records from before 1846 only, (2) ancient traditions still being practiced— plant species with use-records from both before and after 1846, and (3) new traditions—plant species with use records after 1846 only. Of the 208 plant species analyzed (including one that we were not able to identify to the species level), the majority of use-records were from after 1846, with a smaller percentage of use-records only from before 1846—those practices having gone dormant or having been lost.

Miami ecological sense of place Aside from the primary seasonal context of perceiving and interacting with plants and the land in traditional Miami culture, another less significant but informative theme emerged from this study that may help describe a traditional Miami ecological perspective—the habitat or plant

community. Miami perceptions of plant availability were commonly described using plant community type descriptors. The community context was validated through group discussions with Miami elders who concluded that in any given place a Miami plant (or animal) gatherer perceives a set of relationships between humans, plants, animals and abiotic components of the landscape, which makes up an ecological community. It is in this community perception of the land and from these ecological cues that much ethnobotanical knowledge is embedded (Baldwin, Sutterfield and Ironstrack, pers. comm., 2005). This temporally and spatially located set of culturally relevant ecological relationships are what might begin to describe components of a Miami ecological community. A full analysis of the significance of this ecological community context of perception is not possible in this study, yet a preliminary description of what has been learned is presented.

Evidence for a Traditional Miami Perspective on Plant Communities Ethnographic and linguistic data that document a traditional Miami plant community perspective were seen in Miami place names and contemporary ethnographic data (Gonella, M.P., unpublished data, Rafert 1989). Both these sources used the categorization of the landscape into community types in some instances.

Place Name Data Numerous examples were found where the Miami made use of an ecological characteristic of the landscape in the name for a place. La Salle (1680-1693, Margry 1974) was one of the first to note this in his record of the Miami name of a river in myaamionki called masaana siipiiwi, meaning rope place, named for abundance of dogbane growing near the river (McCafferty, pers. comm., 2004). Another example involved a place named aciipihkahkionki, meaning the place of roots, for a Piankeshaw village (a sub-group of the Miami), in Vincennes, Indiana (Trowbridge 1938). Likewise, the Miami name for the Kaw people, kaansa, is the stem of the Miami word for pecan, kaanseeseemišaahkwi, pecan tree, and descriptive of the pecan tree groves which dominated their main village location along kaanseenseepiiwi, the place of pecans along the water (a portion of what is now called the Ohio River). Finally, the Miami term neekawikamionki, translates literally to ‘place of the sand and water’, describing the sand-dune

communities that are located at the southern portion of Lake Michigan, now known as the Indiana and Warren Dunes (Baldwin and Costa 2005, Gatschet ca. 1895).

Ethnographic Data from Miami Elders Ethnographic data from Miami elders often describing the location of certain plants or fungal resources, often employed ecological community relationships or descriptors: [Turkey peas] taste much like eating a raw sweet potato. . . You find them in the woodlands. The first of all the flowering plants that grows in the woods is the turkey pea or the salt and pepper (1989);

You find it [wild rice] growing in the wet areas” (2005).

There’s a place they call 'Pawpaw Alley’, where there are lots of pawpaw trees along the side of the road, not far from 7 Pillars [Peru, Indiana]” (2003).

[Sweet flag] root chewed on or made into tea to treat pneumonia and chest ailments, grows in the marshes (1999)

This [other] area, northern part of the [Miami] country had wild cranberries, and huckleberries. But this area didn't have 'em. They had to be around a swampy area, around these buckbrush swamp wetlands. . . That's a spot in the woods where the bracken grows, and the edge of where the bracken grows is where you'll find the cranberries, in the marshy area." (1989).

Miami Plant Uses and Plant Community Types The types of communities recognized by the Miami was another indicator of the Miami ecological perspective. Ethnographic and linguistic research produced Miami words for five distinct ecological communities, including mihtekwaahki/mihtehki/ahtawaanahki (forest), mahkoteewi (prairie), tootoomeešahki/mahkiikwi (wetlands, including both marsh and swamp, Baldwin and Costa 2005, Costa, pers. comm., 2006), wiihkweehkiwi (floodplains, including bottom land, Costa 2003a) and terms ending in –ahki (agricultural fields, e.g. miincipahki-

cornfield). More specific habitat types nested within these major categories by western vegetation classification systems (International Classification of Ecological Communities, Biological Conservation Datasystem 2001) were not found in the Miami language. However, the Miami language contains numerous descriptive terms that can be applied to any community or habitat for finer-scale ecological definitions of place. The Miami language also contains a plentiful amount of topographic feature terms, that when added to basic habitat terms and specific descriptor terms, are able to define specific, local microhabitats. The number of plant uses in the five Miami plant community types were compared for the five categories of use (Table 9). Forested plant communities, the forest vegetation type and the floodplains type (consisting primarily of low-lying forested areas) clearly contained the highest number of useful species in all use categories, reflecting a woodland-based culture geographically situated and centered around northern Indiana and Ohio. The human modified type also scored high in food plants, as would be expected from a primarily agricultural vegetation type. An analysis of the areal extent of three major vegetation types in ancestral myaamionki was also conducted, in order to ascertain whether differences in numbers of useful plants between vegetation types resulted from differences in area or other factors. Due to inconsistent vegetation type categories used in homelands (Indiana and Ohio), the swamp category was placed within wetlands for this analysis. The human-modified vegetation type was excluded from this analysis, due to widely varying land-cover estimates throughout the study period (. . . 1650-1850). All plant species that were exclusively cultivated (not found in the wild) were also excluded from this analysis. The forest vegetation type was the most widespread and provided the highest number of useful plant species, with approximately twice or greater the amount of useful plant species compared to the other categories. The high number of useful species in the forest vegetation type may be due to a simple species-area phenomenon, where an increase in the area sampled increases habitat heterogeneity sampled, number of species observed (Brown and Gibson 1983), and the suite of species for potential use (Figueiredo et al. 1993). The forest vegetation type may also contain widely dispersed, but unique habitats, such as lowland riparian areas/village sites, that contain a higher number of useful species, and these are encountered when large areas are included in analysis.

However, useful forest plants were the least densely distributed according to our calculations (Table 10), assuming even distribution. The prairie had the lowest areal cover in ancestral myaamionki, but a relatively high number of useful species for this small area, and had a density of over five times that of the forest and wetland vegetation types. Similarly, the wetland habitat, only covering about one-fourth of ancestral myaamionki, had a relatively high number of species, higher in density than forest. It appears that, although a vast majority of Miami plants were from the forest vegetation type, these species were more widespread, and that prairies and wetlands housed a much denser array of useful species.

Discussion A Land-Based Culture Results of this study both elucidated and reinforced the land-based nature of the Miami culture, mainly through identification of the seasonal framework of plant use. This was seen most clearly in the seasonal cycle of wild plant harvesting and cultivation of crops. These results were affirmed by the existence of the traditional Miami calendar which is inextricably tied to the seasons and the changing cycles of the land and ecological web of life of which the Miami consider themselves a part. Miami ethnobotanical traditions, based to a large degree on natural cycles, emphasizes the close relationship of the Miami people to their homeland landscapes and the communities of plants and animals with which those landscapes are shared. The fact that seasonal frameworks of landscape perception are common among other indigenous peoples (Fionep-Riordan 2001, Klee 1980, Murton 1980, Turner 1990) further affirms this outlook as a traditional way of knowing and relating to the land for the Miami. Seasonal cycles are important in other cultures sharing lands with the Miami on the peripheries of ancestral myaamionki, including the Ojibway (Densmore 1974), Delaware (Rementer, pers. comm., 2006), Potawatomi, Illinois, and other Great Lakes peoples (Tanner 1987) whose lifeways were also based on hunting, fishing and wild plant harvesting. A Miami traditional view of the land and nature was also seen in the use of habitats descriptors to provide context and location of certain useful plants. Ethnobotanical research for other indigenous communities indicates habitats or ecological communities as an important level of scale of identification and interaction with the landscape (Blackburn and Anderson 1993,

Berkes and Folke 1998, Boyd 1999, Nabhan 1997). This habitat-framework of interaction with nature is reflected in ecological knowledge and subsistence activities, like hunting, fishing (Berkes 1988a), and burning (Boyd 1999) that are based on community scales of reference as opposed to species. Cultural identification and labeling of specific habitats is common among indigenous peoples in both North America (Berkes and Folke 1998, Nabhan 1997, Peacock and Turner 2000) and South America (Gilmore 2006), supporting the conclusion that the Miami and other land-based cultures naturally use habitat descriptive language.

A Fractured Land-Culture Relationship Results of this study also illuminated a number of ways that extrication of Miami communities from ancestral landscapes altered the ethnobotanical traditions of the Miami. Of the 209 plants identified in this study to the genus or species taxa level, with firm record dates, and 44 that remain unidentified under the Linnaean system of classification (yet have either Miami words for them, or cultural use information or both), 36 species with historic uses recorded before 1846 did not have uses recorded after that time. In other words, 36, or 7% of the total ethnobotanical flora compiled in this study and related use information has become unavailable to most contemporary Miami people—loss of close ties to the ancestral land base has eroded the traditional ethnobotanical knowledge of the Miami. Furthermore, two centuries of European and U.S. occupation and seizure of Miami lands has left the corpus of Miami ethnobotanical knowledge fragmented, and precluded enactment of some traditional relationships with plants that keeps ethnobotanical knowledge vital. Loss of land has been perhaps the greatest strain on the traditional lifeways and knowledge of the Miami, perhaps overtopping detrimental effects from warfare, introduced diseases, and forms of cultural oppression not involving loss of user rights to areas of land. Loss of traditional ties to ancestral myaamionki was also evidenced by the alteration of ethnobotanical traditions based on season cycles. Leafy greens from spring and summer plants have replaced underground tubers, available mostly in the fall and winter as the highest percentage food type beside fruits. Seasonal lifeways involving corn cultivation were also interrupted through removal, as seen in the almost century-long hiatus in any Miami communal corn. On the individual and family level, many plant harvesting traditions continue to be practiced, but there are even more Miami families and individuals who have stopped seasonal

gathering of plants like sassafras roots in the fall, milkweed harvesting in the spring, and water lily tubers in the winter. Loss of wide distribution of historically abundant habitats, like wetlands, prairies and woodlands through conversion to agriculture has decreased the availability and hence, harvesting of many wild food plants. Concomitant with loss of relatively undisturbed habitats was a general shift towards reliance on disturbance oriented species for food. Removal from homelands is clearly detrimental to the indigenous ethnobotanical knowledge of many North American indigenous peoples (Waziyatawin 2005) and the Miami. Long-standing, traditional relationships with certain habitats, animals, plants, and waterways are essential to the lifeways of indigenous peoples (Greaves 2001) and removal from traditional lands will inevitably sever these relationships. Ecologically, the Miami were moved from the predominantly tall, closed-canopied forests dotted with occasional wetlands and prairies in Indiana/Ohio, and taken to a landscape that was vastly different--vast prairies dotted with only occasional forests and wetlands in Oklahoma and Kansas (Hammond Inc. 1999). The Miami people responded to the differences in the landscape through adaptation, a movement towards greater dependence on disturbance oriented species, but in spite of these adaptations some traditional ethnobotanical relationships were lost. Even considering the persistence of many traditional plant uses over the last two centuries, the dramatic change in the landscape serving as the basis for these traditions constitutes a loss in and of itself—the Miami were forced to adapt to being a people inhabiting the prairies of Oklahoma and Kansas, where their origins were in the woodlands of the lower Great Lakes (Tanner 1987). The main shift noted in this study was from tubers to the more available leafy greens as a dominant food source. The data from this study also indicated that the Miami culture is ecologically resilient despite the landscape changes that came with removal—over one fourth of ancestral ethnobotanical traditions recorded have endured to recent times, and over one half of the traditions recorded are new. Although some ethnobotanical traditions were lost or have gone dormant, many remain intact, remarkable in consideration of the many attempts of the dominant socio-political structure of the United States to discourage and disempower native peoples over the last two centuries, not the least of which is relocation. One small ameliorating factor for the Miami was the overlap in the floras between the ancestral homelands and the removal lands, allowing some ancient traditions to continue uninterrupted.

Healing the Fracture One of the first steps in reclamation of indigenous cultural traditions is the regaining of control and rights to homeland landscapes (Berkes 1999, Turner 2001) at a scale that does not preclude traditional relationships with the land. The nature of that first step is largely political, and beyond the scope of this study, but is not unprecedented (Gon 2003, Smith 2005) . However, indigenous initiated and framed ethnobotanical studies underscore the importance of user rights for the indigenous group by elucidating the myriad intricate cultural interactions with the landscape that are part of cultural vitality (Kimmerer 2000). Studies highlighting the highly linked nature of indigenous cultures to specific ecosystems will by default help define those links, making them more tangible and potentially more valuable to the larger society which often controls those systems. In this study, the seasonal contexts of Miami ecological perception and the cultural habitat identifications help define what is important to traditional Miami culture and make clear the intimacy of relationship to the landscape that is only possible within a context of rights to homelands. Further, analysis of the vegetation types in which culturally important species are found opens the door for developing strategies for preservation of specific ecosystems upon which the Miami culture depends. For example, with the gained knowledge from this study that the forest vegetation type provides almost 70% of all useful species, and that seasonal activities such as hunting, maple sugaring, wild plant harvesting, etc., are some of the essential activities for the Miami in this habitat, efforts by the Miami or outside entities to reclaim and preserve Miami culture must contain those elements in their plans. Preservation of indigenous cultures also cannot be achieved without preservation of homeland ecosystems (Anderson 2005, Gonzales and Nelson 2001). Likewise, preservation and reclamation of the Miami culture cannot be pursued without the preservation and restoration of historic homeland landscapes. The goals of both ecological preservation and cultural renewal must be addressed conjointly—“the land cannot be separated from the people” (Gonzales and Nelson 2001:499). To pursue the goals of ecological and cultural preservation separately implies a non-traditional outlook on the problem for the Miami, and constitutes an impractical approach considering the intimate associations in both space and time between the Miami culture and their homelands. Miami culture and Miami homelands cannot be viewed separately within a traditional Miami worldview—culture springs forth from the land, responds to the land and gives

back to the land for the Miami, as is the case for numerous other indigenous cultures (Champagne 2005, Davidson-Hunt 2000, Nabhan 1997). Berkes, Colding and Folke (2003) have coined the phrase ‘social-ecological complex’ to describe a meta-entity, broader in scope than a single cultural group or a particular landscape type. This complex can be called a cultural ecosystem encompassing both the indigenous culture and their homelands. In this integrated cultural ecosystem, lifeways are intricately connected to and in partnership with the land. It is this single, integrated system that must be the focus of conservation for the protection and restoration of both the historic landscapes we value and the indigenous peoples that often sustained them (Naveh 2005). Therefore, ethnobotanical studies that consider this entire system as a whole will best serve indigenous cultures like the Miami, reintegrating nature and culture (Berkes et al. 2003), for maintenance of the whole. Results of this study highlighted the seasonality of Miami lifeways, the emphasis as habitats as a mode of identification of the landscape and the importance of the forest vegetation type in providing the highest number of useful species over all of myaamionki. All three of these findings allow a more specific and hence more effective approach to conservation of the Miami cultural ecosystem. Cultural ecosystem conservation, then, is an act of communicating the cultural lifeways of a people, by the people themselves or using the worldview and language of that people, to the outside forces and audience that either intentionally or unintentionally erode that cultural ecosystem. Communicating and expressing cultural values and perceptions by participating in traditional ways of life is considered ‘decolonization’ of indigenous societies. For the Miami people, participation in ethnobotanical traditions reclaims the basic right of self-expression and self-determination, a right denied through the forces of colonization that continue to preclude some ancient, indigenous lifeways (Waziyatawin 2005). Documenting myaamia ethnobotany in a way that is culturally-relevant and through a process that is culturally-driven, is by definition an act of decolonization, where traditional plant uses are reclaimed and preserved (Waziyatawin 2005) and cultural and personal sovereignty are reinforced. In many ways the Miami have effectively withstood over three centuries of colonization pressures threatening to abolish Miami culture—much of myaamia ethnobotanical traditions have survived, as seen by the numerous Miami elders that continue to practice ancient traditions associated with the land and plants

(Baldwin, pers. comm., 2003). Traditional lifeway persistence make apparent the resilience and strength of the Miami culture.

Implications Many indigenous cultures in North America have begun work on revitalization of their cultures, including traditional practices, language and landscape restoration (Gonzales and Nelson 2001). This study will have direct and immediate applicability to the cultural revitalization efforts of the Miami Nation. In fact, presentations of ethnobotanical information gathered to date have already assisted the Miami community in education and awareness building. An ethnobotanical database created during this study is already serving as an information center from which Miami people, as well as non-Miami academics, may research the ethnobotany of the Miami. Closely related tribes like the Delaware, Potawatomi, and Ojibway and those speaking the Miami-Illinois language (Peoria, Wea, Piankeshaw), will also be able to utilize the ethnobotanical database to gather cultural information. Further analysis of information within the database will allow greater understanding of the ecological information stored within the Miami language and serve as a baseline for similar ethnobotanical analyses of other Woodland Indian peoples. This description of myaamia ethnobotany is preliminary in nature, due to the large volume of ethnobotanical data still unanalyzed. Only a small percent to date has been translated of the dictionaries of Pinet and Gravier, and both are a primary source of traditional culture including language and ethnobotany. Advanced analysis of plant-related Miami words, phrases, and categories within these dictionaries is also possible to reveal additional plant uses and traditional ecological knowledge that is encoded within the language morphology. There are also more Miami elders, not having participated in this study, that may be available for ethnobotanical consultation. Lastly, there are hundreds of Miami cultural items, held in museums or privately, made of plant materials and yet to be analyzed for cultural and ecological information.

Endnotes 1Use of the word ‘control’ refers to the ability of Miami to have the choice to interact with, harvest, tend, cultivate or prohibit use of a living or non-living element in the ecosystem of homelands. It does not refer to the connotation involving the use of power and/or manipulation of one entity over another, where the controller exerts their own ideas/plans on the controlled, without reciprocity or equality of power in the relationship.

2Community lands held by the Miami Nation in northern Indiana (by 1830 the ancestral homelands had been reduced to a reported 500,000 acres in northern Indiana) were done away with at this time, when Miami lands were split into privately-owned allotments between Chief Jean Baptiste Richardville, his successor Chief Francis Lafontaine, the children of Chief Francis Godfroy, and Chief Meshingomeshia of the Mississinewa villages. In all, only 148 Miami remained in the ancestral lands, on approximately 15,000 acres of privately-owned allotments (Anson 1970), compared to well over 64,000,000 acres of community lands that made up the core of the ancestral territories (this is a conservative estimate, excluding lands in Michigan, Wisconsin, and shared lands in Kentucky and Iowa).

3Dates of some historic and most contemporary records do not necessarily indicate dates of last use: most elders during the late 19th and 20th centuries were recalling past uses from their childhood (~50 years prior) when the uses were recorded.

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TABLE 1.—Summary of primary historic ethnographic data sources

Observer (Editor/Translator) Date of Observation Observation Type

Nicolas Perrot (Blair 1911) 1618-1718 Memoirs including accounts with Miami-Illinois Father Claude Jean Allouez (Kenton 1925) 1666-1667 Journal during voyage in Miami-Illinois country Father Jacques Marquette (Thwaites 1900) 1674 /1675 Voyage toward New Mexico/Journal on missions Father Claude Jean Allouez (Shea 1903) 1676-1677 Narrative of voyage to the Illinois Father Claude Dablon (Kenton 1925) 1677 Voyage in Miami-Illinois country w/ Marquette Father Christian LeClercq (Shea 1903) 1679-1680 Narrative of LaSalle’s 1st exploration of Miss. R. Father Membre (Shea 1903) 1680-1681 Narrative of LaSalle’s journey Pierre-F.-Xavier Charlevoix (Kellogg 1923) 1682-1761 Voyage through Miami-Illinois country Anastasius Douay (Kenton 1925) 1687 Narrative of La Salle’s ascension of Miss. River Father Pierre Francois Pinet (Costa 2004) 1696-ca.1700 Manuscript of Miami-Illinois words Father Louis Hennepin (Thwaites 1903) 1698 Description of Illinois country Father Jacques Gravier ca. 1700 Illinois-French Dictionary Louis Deliette (Pease 1934) 1702 Memoir concerning Illinois country Father Antoine-Robert LeBoullenger 1719-1744 French and Miami-Illinois dictionary Anonymous 1724 Report on Natives of Illinois country Willliam Thornton 1802 Linguistic notes from Little Turtle Anonymous 1837 Wea Language primer John B. Dillon 1859 Historical publication on Indiana Albert S. Gatschet ca. 1895 Manuscripts regarding the Miami Jacob P. Dunn ca. 1900 Interviews with Miami Indians Antoine Denis Raudot 1904 Memoir regarding Indians Charles C. Trowbridge 1938 Meearmeear traditions Charles F. Hockett (1985) 1938 Notes on Peoria & Miami language

Table 2.—Numbers of uses of culturally significant plant and fungal species broken down by season of harvest. Use Category Spring Summer Fall Winter Unknown Total Uses* Food 32 68 58 11 0 169 Medicine 35 45 33 9 9 131 Material 17 24 21 13 1 76 Customs 9 16 15 6 0 46 Technology 26 32 29 19 4 110 Total* 119 185 156 58 14 532 *Many plants had multiple uses in multiple use-categories, making some use totals greater than the total number of plants (161).

46 TABLE 3.—Culturally useful spring plants of the Miami (1FD=food, ME=medicinal, MA=material, CU=cultural, TE=technological; † = term currently unknown; * = tentative term (best linguistic estimations of phonemization considering existing records); ** = cultivated species; H = historic term; C = contemporary meaning for term). Miami Name Species Common Name Use Type1 Cultural Use aahkotia Fomitopsis pinicola (Fr.) Tinder fungus TE tinder to hand-start a fire Kar. or Phellinus robiniae (Murrill) A. Ames aayoonseekaahkwi Juglans nigra L. Black walnut tree FD, ME, MA, nuts eaten, given for diarrhea, wood for CU, TE lacrosse sticks and frames of dwellings, involved at some funerals, leaves for black dye ahpenah, Apios americana Ground nut FD tubers cooked and eaten c 47 eepiihkaanita* Medikus. ahsenaamiši Acer saccharum Marsh. Sugar maple tree FD, ME, TE sap cooked for syrup, used raw for scratches and inflammation, leaves for black dye ahtawaani Various Tree CU, TE directional markers in forest navigation, art surface akanteemiši* Cornus florida L. Dogwood TE wood for arrows alakiihkwi Various Bark MA, CU, TE coverings for dwellings, canoes, cooking, funerals, games anseensi Bryum Hedw. Moss TE directional markers in forest navigation, for cooking structures apahkwaya Typha latifolia L. Cattail FD, MA, CU, young shoots, roots eaten; mats made TE from leaf bundles used to cover walls and roof of traditional dwellings; sitting mats at events; used for making arrows ašaahšikopa Ulmus rubra Muhl. Slippery, Red, or MA, TE bark for nets in fish baskets, pigeon traps, Piss Elm coverings of dwellings, wood for frames of dwellings

eeyoonsaawikiša Cercis canadensis L. Eastern redbud FD flowers eaten raw or dried in soups, young pods eaten like peas iihkimecinki* Lactuca spp. L. Wild lettuce FD leaves eaten raw kaakišaahkatwi Platanus occidentalis L. Sycamore, ME, MA bark tea for diarrhea, wood for frames of Buttonwood dwellings kahpaahkwaahkaniši Acer saccharinum L. Soft maple tree FD, ME, TE sap cooked for syrup, used raw for scratches and inflammation, leaves for black dye kiišiinkwia Vernonia spp. Shreber Ironweed ME leaf poultice for sores kiinošiši Juglans cinerea L. Butternut tree MA wood for frames of dwellings koohkooša awiilawi Portulaca oleracea L. Purslane FD, TE eaten as greens, used for hog fodder leninši Asclepias syriaca L. Common milkweed FD, ME, TE young shoots and leaves cooked and eaten; sap for warts maalooseentia Populus deltoides Cottonwood tree MA, TE wood for canoes 48 Bartr. ex Marsh. maamilaniwiaahkwia Phytolacca americana L. Pokeweed FD, ME, TE shoots eaten as greens, berries for rheumatism, as an emetic, for deworming dogs maamišimiši* Castanea dentata Indian chestnut ME leaves for coughs (Marsh.) Borkh. mahkohpina* Nymphaea spp. Aiton. White water lily, FD, ME, TE roots cooked and eaten, root used macopines medicinally mahkwawilomiši* Prunus serotina Ehrh. Wild cherry tree ME roots used to treat gum infections, bark for cough syrup and wounds mihtahkatwi Various Dried Grass, weeds, TE dried grass used for kindling and roofing stalks mihtekwaapimiši Morus rubra L. Mulberry tree TE wood for bows minosakayi Morchella spp. Dill. Ex. Morel FD cooked and eaten Pers. naanahamišaahkwa* Pinus spp. L. Pine tree ME, TE sap as an antiobiotic and for starting fires, bark for burns, branches for venereal diseases, cones as air freshener neehpikaahkwi Cornus stolonifera Red osier dogwood, CU inner bark for tobacco mixture Michx. Red willow nipiaahkatwi Salix spp. L. Willow MA branches used for frames of traditional dwellings oonseentia Liriodendron tulipifera Yellow or Tulip CU, TE tree for peace custom, wood for fishing L. popular pole, young shoots for fodder paapahsaahkimiši Carya glabra (P. Mill.) Pignut hickory tree TE bark for canoes and sap trough Sweet pahkohkwaniši Ulmus americana L. American elm tree MA, TE wood for frames of dwellings, bark for

49 canoes, sap troughs, young shoots for fodder pakamaakaniši Celtis occidentalis L. Northern hackberry CU, TE wood for burials, young shoots for fodder, tree firewood pakhkokwaninci Planera aquatica Water elm MA, TE bark for canoes, drying tables foods (corn, siipiiomeekwi* J. F. Gmel. berries, etc.) peepihkwilakiki* Fraxinus nigra Marsh. Black ash, Swamp MA split wood used baskets Ash peešiaanikopa Carya spp. Nutt. Hickory tree MA, TE wood for games, bird arrows, bows; bark for canoes, torches and covers for temporary dwellings peetihsahki* Mentha piperita L. Peppermint FD, ME, CU leaves for candy, tea and tobacco mixture pileelikwa ansooyi Tanacetum huronense Eastern tansy ME leaves chewed or made into tea for Nutt. or T. vulgare L. fevers/chills poohkihšiikwalia* Nelumbo lutea Willd. Water chinquapin, FD roots cooked and eaten Lotus seenankašia* Zanthoxylum Common Prickly ME bark and leaves used to draw pus out of americanum P. Mill. Ash bites/sores šikaakwayinši Symplocarpus foetidus Skunk cabbage FD young leaves boiled and eaten as greens (L.) Salisb. ex Nutt. šinkwaahkwa Juniperus virginiana L. Eastern Red Cedar ME, CU, TE smoke for ear infections, funerals and blessings, wood for short war bows waapantwa Various Mushroom FD eaten raw and cooked waapinkopakahkih Chenopodium spp. L. Lamb's quarters or FD leaves eaten as greens Goosefoot waawiipinkwaahkatwi Quercus alba L. White oak tree ME, MA, TE leaves, bark and roots boiled for burns and other wounds, wood for frames of dwellings wiihkapeepiikwi* Oxalis spp. L. Wood sorrel FD leaves and stems eaten as a snack wiikapaahkwaahkaniša* Undetermined Wild potato FD tubers boiled and eaten

wiikapimiši Tilia americana L. Basswood ME, MA, TE root boiled for burns, inner bark for rope, 50 cordage for mats covering dwellings wiinaahkatwi Lindera benzoin (L.) Spicebush ME tea from leaves taken as a tonic Blume wiinhsihsia Allium stellatum Fraser Wild nodding onion FD, ME corms eaten and used for diarrhea ex Ker-Gawl., or A. cernuum Roth † Achillea millefolium L. Yarrow ME tea from roots or flowers for fevers, leaf poultice for cuts † Acorus calamus L. Calamus root or ME root chewed for sore throat and cough Sweetflag † Asarum canadense L. Wild ginger FD, ME dried roots for seasoning, candy, analgesic, motion sickness † Asparagus officinalis L. Asparagus** FD young shoots eaten

† Brassica spp. L. Wild mustard ME leaf poultice for chest colds † Capsella bursa-pastoris Sheperd's purse FD leaves eaten as greens (L.) Medik. † Cynoglossum Wild comfrey ME used in a medicinal tea virginianum L. † Daucus carota L. Wild carrot FD roots cultivated and eaten † Digitalis purpurea L. Foxglove ME leaves made into tea for heart troubles † Erigeron philadelphicus Fleabane ME dried flower heads used for fleas L. † Fraxinus americana L. White ash TE wood for bows and spears

† Gyromitra spp. Fr. False morel FD aboveground portions eaten † Hedeoma pulegioides False Pennyroyal ME tea for blood thinning, like sassafras

51 (L.) Pers. † Impatiens capensis Jewelweed ME leaves and stem to treat skin rashes Meerb. † Marrubium vulgare L. Horehound ME leaves made into cough syrup † Mentha spicata L. Spearmint FD, ME leaves for tea, sometimes used medicinally † Phragmites australis Common reed MA stems for a game, pipes and flutes (Cav.) Trin. ex. Steud † Plantago sp. L. Plantain FD, ME leaves eaten as greens and used to make poultices for sunburns and pink eye † Ranunculus sp. L. Buttercup FD, ME leaves eaten as greens and as a tonic † Robinia pseudoacacia L. Black locust MA wood for bows

† Nasturtium officinale Water cress FD eaten as greens, used for hog fodder Ait. F. † Rumex sp. L. Dock, Sorrel FD young leaves eaten as greens † Smilacina racemosa (L.) Spikenard, False ME used in a medicinal tea Desf. Solomon's seal † Solidago sp. L. Goldenrod ME tea from leaves † Taraxacum officinale Common dandelion FD leaves eaten as greens G. H. Weber ex Wiggers † Tephrosia virginiana Turkey pea FD tubers eaten (L.) Pers. † Ulmus thomasii Sarg. Rock elm MA wood for frames of dwellings † Verbascum thapsus L. Common mullein ME leaf poultice for bee stings, sores, infections and drawing out pus, leaves boiled and vapors for coughs

52 TABLE 4.—Culturally useful summer plants of the Miami (1FD=food, ME=medicinal, MA=material, CU=cultural, TE=technological; † = term currently unknown; * = tentative term (best linguistic estimations of phonemization considering existing records); ** = cultivated species; H = historic term; C = contemporary meaning for term). Miami Name Species Common Name Use Type1 Cultural Use aahkotia Fomitopsis pinicola (Fr.) Tinder fungus TE tinder to hand-start a fire or Phellinus robiniae (Murrill) A. Ames

aayoonseekaahkwi Juglans nigra L. Black walnut tree FD, ME, MA, nuts eaten, given for diarrhea, wood for CU, TE lacrosse sticks and frames of dwellings, involved at some funerals, black dye ahpenah, Apios americana Ground nut FD tubers cooked and eaten eepiihkaanita*c Medikus. ahseema Nicotiana rustica L. Tobacco** ME, CU dried leaves used in funerals, medicine, events, peace customs 53 ahtawaani Various Tree CU, TE directional markers in forest navigation, art surface akaawinšaahkwa Gleditsia tricanthos L. Honey locust MA seeds for games

akaayomišaahkwi Ribes cynobasti L. or R. Gooseberry or FD fruits eaten uva-crispa L. Dogberry bush akanteemiši* Cornus florida L. Dogwood TE wood for arrows alaansooni Scirpus validus Vahl. Softstem bullrush MA, CU leaves for mats involved in war/peace customs, funerals, used to make medicine bundles alakiihkwi Various Bark MA, CU, TE coverings for dwellings, canoes, cooking, funerals, games aleciimina* Pisum sativum L.c Pea** FD fruits eaten anseensi Bryum spp. Hedw. Moss TE directional markers in forest navigation, for cooking structures apahkwaya Typha latifolia L. Cattail FD, MA, CU, young shoots, roots eaten, mats made TE from leaf bundles used to cover walls and roof of traditional dwellings, sitting mats at events, for making arrows ašaahšikopa Ulmus rubra Muhl. Slippery, Red, or MA, TE bark for nets in fish baskets, pigeon traps, Piss Elm coverings of dwellings, wood for frames of dwellings ateehimini Fragaria virginiana or Wild Strawberry FD fruits eaten F. vesca Duchesne.

ateehseemišaahkwa Prunus americana Wild plum tree FD, MA fruits eaten, stones for games

54 Marshall. ciihciinkweemiši* Rhus glabra L. or R. Smooth sumac ME, MA, TE leaf used in medicinal recipe for healing copallinum L. from bloodloss, dropsy (with berries), injured or infected gums, burns and venereal diseases(with berries), stems used as pipestems, and berries used in dye mixture eemihkwaani Cucurbita pepo L. Wild pumpkin, FD fruits eaten squash (not hubbard)** iihkihtaminki Citrullus vulgaris Shrad. Watermelon FD, ME fruits eaten, seeds as a purgative

kaakišaahkatwi Platanus occidentalis L. Sycamore, ME, MA bark tea for diarrhea, wood for frames of Buttonwood dwellings katoohwakimišaahkwi Prunus avium L. Sweet cherry tree FD fruits eaten (domestic and wild) (domestic)** kiinošiši Juglans cinerea L. Butternut tree FD, MA nuts eaten, wood for frames of dwellings kiišiinkwia Vernonia spp. Shreber Ironweed ME leaf poultice for sores

kiisiipitoonisinki Vitis aestivalis Michx. Wild grape FD, TE fruits eaten, vines for fish weirs aahsanteepakwi kociihsa Phaseolus spp. L. Bean** FD beans eaten koohkooša awiilawi Portulaca oleracea L. Purslane FD, TE eaten as greens, used for hog fodder

leninši Asclepias syriaca L. Common milkweed FD, ME young shoots, leaves, flowers and pods cooked and eaten, sap for warts maalooseentia Populus deltoides Cottonwood tree MA wood for canoes Marhsall. maamilaniwiaahkwia Phytolacca americana L. Pokeweed FD, ME, TE shoots eaten as greens, berries for rheumatism, as an emetic, for deworming 55 dogs, and used as paint maamišimiši* Castanea dentata Borkh. Indian chestnut FD, ME nuts roasted and eaten, leaves for coughs

mahkohpina* Nymphaea spp. Aiton. White water lily or FD, ME roots cooked and eaten, roots used macopines medicinally mahkomiši Rhus typhina L. Staghorn sumac FD, ME, MA, berries eaten and for tea for colds, leaf TE used in medicinal recipe for healing from bloodloss, dropsy (with berries), injured or infected gums, burns and venereal diseases(with berries), stems used as pipestems and bow handles, berries used in dye mixture mahkwawilomiši* Prunus serotina Ehrh. Wild cherry tree ME roots used to treat gum infections, bark tea for cough syrup and poultices for wounds, berries as laxatives makiinkweemina Rubus allegheniensis Common FD, ME fruits eaten, root for diarrhea T.C. Porter blackberry meekwaaki Brassica rapa L. Turnip** FD roots eaten meenkaalakiinkweemiša Rubus flagellaris Willd., Northern dewberry, FD fruits eaten R. enslenii Tratt. Southern Dewberry bush mihtahkatwi* Various Dried Grass, weeds, TE dried grass used for kindling and roofing stalks mihtekwaapimiši Morus rubra L. Mulberry tree FD, TE berries eaten, wood for bows miincipi (generic) Zea mays L. Corn, Maize FD, ME, MA, eaten, involved in medicinal customs, (numerous CU, TE basketry, other customs, for fodder varieties)** naanahamišaahkwa* Pinus spp. L. Pine tree ME, TE sap as an antiobiotic and for starting fires, bark for burns, branches for venereal diseases, cones as air freshener naloomina Zizania aquatica L. Wild rice, Indian FD made into soup

56 wheat napaleeteemina* Rubus occidentalis or R. Raspberry bush, FD fruits eaten idaeus L. Red or Black neehpikaahkwi Cornus stolonifera L. Red osier dogwood, CU inner bark for tobacco mixture Red willow

neehpikiciipihki- Beta vulgaris L. Beet** FD roots eaten nipiaahkatwi Salix spp. L. Willow MA branches used for frames of traditional dwellings oonseentia Liriodendron tulipifera Yellow or Tulip CU, TE tree for peace custom, wood for fishing L. popular pole, young shoots for fodder paapahsaahkimiši Carya glabra (P.Mill) Pignut hickory tree FD, TE nuts eaten, bark for canoes and sap Sweet trough pahkiihteenhsaahkwi Corylus americana American hazelnut FD nuts eaten Walter. pahkohkwaniši Ulmus americana L. American elm tree MA, TE wood for frames of dwellings, bark for canoes, sap troughs, young shoots for fodder pakamaakaniši Celtis occidentalis L. Northern hackberry CU, TE wood for burials, young shoots for tree fodder, firewood papakimišaahkwi Viburnum prunifolium L. Blackhaw tree FD fruits eaten

peešiaanikopa Carya spp. Nutt. Hickory tree FD, MA, TE nuts eaten, wood for games, bird arrows, bows; bark for canoes, torches and covers for temporary dwellings peetihsahki* Mentha piperita L. Peppermint FD, ME, CU leaves for candy, tea and tobacco mixture peetihsahki* Gnaphalium Sweet everlasting CU dried leaves and flowers for tobacco obtusifolium L. mixture, funerals peeweeyocaahkwa* Prunus persica (L.) Peach tree** FD fruits eaten 57 Batsch. pileelikwa ansooyi Tanacetum huronense Eastern tansy ME leaves chewed or made into tea for Nutt. or T. vulgare L. fevers/chills

poohkihšiikwalia* Nelumbo lutea (Willd.) Water chinquapin, FD roots cooked and eaten Pers. Lotus seenankašia* Zanthoxylum Common Prickly ME bark and leaves used to draw pus out of americanum Mill. Ash bites/sores šiihšiikwani Lagenaria siceraria Bottle Gourd CU, TE gourds cultivated for rattles/shakers used (Molina) Standl. in events and medicine, dried gourds for dipping utensil šinkwaahkwa Juniperus virginiana L. Eastern Red Cedar ME, CU, TE smoke for ear infections, funerals and blessings, wood for short war bows waapantwa Various Mushroom FD eaten raw and cooked waapinkopakahki Brasscia oleracea L.c Cabbage** FD heads cultivated and eaten waapinkopakahki Chenopodium spp. L.h Lamb's quarters or FD leaves eaten as greens Goosefoot waawiipinkwaahkatwi Quercus alba L. White oak tree ME, MA, TE leaves, bark and roots boiled for burns and other wounds, wood for frames of dwellings waawiipinkwahki Vitis labrusca L. Fox grape FD, TE fruits eaten, vines for fish weirs wiihkapeepiikwi* Oxalis spp. L. Wood sorrel FD leaves and stems eaten as a snack wiihkapimiši Pyrus communis L. Pear** FD cultivated and wild, fruits eaten wiikapaahkwaahkaniša* Undetermined Wild potato FD tubers boiled and eaten

wiikapimiši Tilia americana L. Basswood ME, MA, TE root boiled for burns, inner bark for rope, cordage for mats covering dwellings wiikooloomphsa* Sambucus canadensis L. Common or Red FD, MA, TE fruits eaten raw and preserved, stems for or S. racemosa L. berried elderberry games and maple sugar tap 58

wiikopayiisia* Arisaema triphyllum Indian turnip, Jack- FD, ME roots cooked extensively and eaten, root Schott. in-the-pulpit tea for asthma, roots as an emetic wiikweehsimiši Betula sp. L. (B. Birch tree (Paper MA, TE bark for canoes and crafts papyrifera Marshall.) birch) wiinaahkatwi Lindera benzoin (L.) Spicebush FD, ME dried berries for seasoning, tea from Blume leaves taken as a tonic wiinhsihsia Allium stellatum Fraser Wild nodding onion FD, ME corms eaten and used for diarrhea ex Ker-Gawl, or A. cernuum Roth wiipinkwamini Vaccinium spp. L. Blueberry FD fruits eaten wiipinkwamini Gaylussacia frondosa Huckleberry FD fruits eaten (L.) Torr. & Gray ex Torr. † Achillea millefolium L. Yarrow ME tea from roots or flowers for fevers, leaf poultice for cuts † Acorus calamus L. Calamus root or ME root chewed for sore throat and cough Sweetflag † Allium cepa L. Onion** FD corms eaten † Allium sativa L. Garlic** FD corms eaten † Amaranthus retroflexus Redroot, pigweed FD seeds for flour L. † Asarum canadense L. Wild ginger FD, ME dried roots for seasoning, candy, analgesic, motion sickness † Asparagus officinalis L. Asparagus** FD young shoots eaten

† Brassica spp. L. Wild mustard ME leaf poultice for chest colds † Capsella bursa-pastoris Sheperd's purse or FD eaten as greens 59 (L.) Medik. cress † Cirsium vulgare (Savi.) Bull thistle CU flower heads chewed like tobacco Tenore † Cucumis melo L. Melon FD cultivated and fruits eaten † Cucurbita maxima Hubbard squash** FD fruits eaten Duch. † Cynoglossum Wild comfrey ME used in a medicinal tea virginianum L. † Digitalis purpurea L. Foxglove ME leaves made into tea for heart troubles † Erigeron philadelphicus Fleabane ME dried flower heads used for fleas L. † Eupatorium perfoliatum Boneset ME for anti-inflammatory and fevers L. † Fraxinus americana L. White ash TE wood for bows and spears † Gymnocladus dioicus Kentucky coffee FD, MA seeds eaten and for games (L.) K. Koch tree † Hedeoma pulegioides False Pennyroyal ME tea for blood thinning, like sassafras (L.) Purs. † Hierochloe odorata L. Sweet grass ME, CU contemporary use in medicinal and other Beauv. customs † Hydrastis canadensis L. Golden seal ME, TE powdered root as analgesic and for cuts, used in abortions, trade item † Impatiens capensis L. Jewelweed ME leaves and stem to treat skin rashes

† Lathyrus spp. L. Wild pea FD fruits eaten † Marrubium vulgare L. Horehound ME leaves made into cough syrup

60 † Mentha spicata L. Spearmint FD, ME leaves for tea, sometimes used medicinally † Phaseolus coccineus L. Scarlet runner FD beans eaten bean** † Phaseolus lunatus L. Lima bean** FD beans eaten † Phragmites australis Common reed MA stems for a game, pipes and flutes Trin. † Plantago sp. L. Plantain FD, ME leaves eaten as greens and used to make poultices for sunburns and pink eye † Podophyllum peltatum Mayapple FD, ME fruits eaten, roots used to make liquid L. purgative † Rheum sp. L. Rhubarb FD leaves eaten † Ribes sp. L. Currant FD fruits eaten † Robinia pseudoacacia L. Black locust MA, TE seeds for jewelry, wood for bows † Nasturtium officinale Water cress FD eaten as greens, used for hog fodder Ait.f. † Rosa spp. L. Wild rose FD hips eaten raw or for jelly † Rumex sp. L. Dock, Sorrel FD young leaves eaten as greens † Senna obtusiflolia (L.) Senna, Coffee ME leaves for a laxative Irwin & Barneby & S. Senna, Coffee occidentalis (L.) Link. Weed

† Smilacina racemosa (L.) Spikenard, False ME used in a medicinal tea Desf. Solomon's seal † Solidago sp. L. Goldenrod ME tea from leaves † Taraxacum officinale Common dandelion FD leaves eaten as greens Weber ex Wiggers 61 † Ulmus thomasii Sarg. Rock elm MA wood for frames of dwellings

† Verbascum thapsus L. Common mullein ME leaf poultice for bee stings, sores, infections and drawing out pus, leaves boiled and vapors for coughs

TABLE 5.—Culturally useful fall plants of the Miami. (1FD=food, ME=medicinal, MA=material, CU=cultural, TE=technological; † = term currently unknown; * = tentative term (best linguistic estimations of phonemization considering existing records); ** = cultivated species; H = historic t erm; C = contemporary meaning for term). Miami Name Species Common Name Use Type1 Cultural Use aahkotia Fomitopsis pinicola (Fr.) Tinder fungus TE tinder to hand-start a fire Kar.or Phellinus robiniae (Murrill) A. Ames aayoonseekaahkwi Juglans nigra L. Black walnut tree FD, ME, MA, nuts eaten, given for diarrhea, wood for CU, TE lacrosse sticks and frames of dwellings, involved at some funerals, black dye ahpenah, Apios americana Ground nut FD tubers cooked and eaten eepiihkaanita*c Medikus. ahpenac Solanum tuberosum L. Potato** FD tubers cooked and eaten 62 ahsapa Apocynum cannabinum Dogbane or Indian MA, TE stem fibers for fishnets, lacrosse stick net, L. hemp cordage ahseema Nicotiana rustica L. Tobacco** ME, CU dried leaves used in funerals, medicine, events, peace customs ahtawaani Various Tree CU, TE directional markers in forest navigation, art surface akaawinšaahkwa Gleditsia tricanthos L. Honey locust MA seeds for games akanteemiši* Cornus florida L. Dogwood TE wood for arrows alaansooni Scirpus validus Vahl. Softstem bullrush MA, CU leaves for mats involved in war/peace customs, funerals, used to make medicine bundles alakiihkwi Various Bark MA, CU, TE coverings for dwellings, canoes, cooking, funerals, games anseensi Bryum spp. Hedw. Moss TE directional markers in forest navigation, for cooking structures apahkwaya Typha latifolia L. Cattail FD, MA, CU, young shoots, roots eaten, mats made from TE leaf bundles used to cover walls and roof of traditional dwellings, sitting mats at events, for making arrows ašaahšikopa Ulmus rubra Muhl. Slippery, Red, or MA, TE bark for nets in fish baskets, pigeon traps, Piss Elm coverings of dwellings, wood for frames of dwellings ašošaawia* Urtica dioica L. and/or Nettle MA, TE fibers for fishnets and cordage, belts, U. chamaedryoides traps, bags Pursh. ceecinkilaakia Carya laciniosa (Mich. Shellbark hickory FD nuts eaten F.) G. Don eemihkwaani Cucurbita pepo L. Wild pumpkin, FD fruits eaten squash (not 63 hubbard)* iihkihtaminki Citrullus vulgaris Shrad. Watermelon FD, ME fruits eaten, seeds as a purgative kaakišaahkatwi Platanus occidentalis L. Sycamore, ME, MA bark tea for diarrhea, wood for frames of Buttonwood dwellings kaanseeseemini Carya illinoenensis Pecan nut FD nuts eaten (Wangenh.) K. Koch kiinošiši Juglans cinerea L. Butternut tree FD, MA nuts eaten, wood for frames of dwellings kiišiinkwia Vernonia spp. Shreber Ironweed ME leaf poultice for sores kiisiipitoonisinki Vitis aestivalis Michx. Wild grape FD, TE fruits eaten, vines for fish weirs aahsanteepakwi koohkooša awiilawi Portulaca oleracea L. Purslane FD, TE eaten as greens, used for hog fodder

maamhkatiaahkatwi Quercus velutina Lam. Black oak FD acorn meat eaten

maamhkatiaahkatwi Quercus marilandica Black-jack oak FD acorn meat eaten Muench. maamilaniwiaahkwia Phytolacca americana L. Pokeweed FD, ME, TE shoots eaten as greens, berries for rheumatism, as an emetic,deworming dogs, and for paint maamišimiši* Castanea dentata Borkh. Indian chestnut FD, ME nuts roasted and eaten, leaves for coughs mahkohpina* Nymphaea spp. Aiton. White water lily or FD, ME roots cooked and eaten, roots used macopines medicinally mahkwawilomiši* Prunus serotina Ehrh. Wild cherry tree ME roots used to treat gum infections, bark for cough syrup and wounds

64 mankiišaahkwi Sassafras albidum Nees. Sassafras, Ague tree ME, CU leaf or root tea for spring tonic/blood purifier, pulverized root for preventing bleeding, pith for sore eyes, customs meekwaaki Brassica rapa L. Turnip** FD roots eaten mihšiimišaahkwa Pyrus malus L. Apple tree** FD fruits eaten mihsiimišaahkwi Asimina triloba (L.) Pawpaw tree FD fruits eaten Dunal. mihšiinkweemiša Quercus macrocarpa Bur oak FD, ME acorn meat eaten, chewed roots for Michx. wounds mihtahkatwi* Various Dried Grass, weeds, TE dried grass used for kindling and roofing stalks mihtekamiši Quercus sp. L. Oak tree FD acorn meat eaten mihtekwaapimiši Morus rubra L. Mulberry tree FD, TE berries eaten, wood for bows naanahamišaahkwa* Pinus spp. L. Pine tree ME, TE sap as an antiobiotic and for starting fires, bark for burns, branches for venereal diseases, cones as air freshener neehpikaahkwi Cornus stolonifera L. Red osier dogwood, CU inner bark for tobacco mixture Red willow neehpikica Vaccinium macrocarpon Cranberry FD fruits eaten, canned Aiton. nipiaahkatwi Salix spp. L. Willow MA branches used for frames of traditional dwellings oonsaapeehkateeki Helianthus tuberosus L. Jerusalem artichoke FD, ME tubers eaten, seed oil for skin oonseentia Liriodendron tulipifera Yellow or Tulip CU, TE tree for peace custom, wood for fishing L. popular pole, young shoots for fodder paapahsaahkimiši Carya glabra (P.Mill) Pignut hickory tree FD, TE nuts eaten, bark for canoes and sap trough Sweet 65 pahkiihteenhsaahkwi Corylus americana American hazelnut FD nuts eaten Walter. pahkohkwaniši Ulmus americana L. American elm tree MA, TE wood for frames of dwellings, bark for canoes, sap troughs, young shoots for fodder pakamaakaniši Celtis occidentalis L. Northern hackberry CU, TE wood for burials, young shoots for fodder, tree firewood papakimišaahkwi Viburnum prunifolium L. Blackhaw tree FD fruits eaten peešiaanikopa Carya spp. Nutt. Hickory tree FD, MA, TE nuts eaten, wood for games, bird arrows, bows; bark for canoes, torches and covers for temporary dwellings peetihsahki* Gnaphalium obtusifolium Sweet everlasting CU dried leaves and flowers for tobacco L. mixture, funerals peetihsahki* Mentha piperita L. Peppermint FD, ME, CU leaves for candy, tea and tobacco mixture piloohsa Panax quinquefolius L. American ginseng ME, MA, TE roots for female fertility, trade item poohkihšiikwalia* Nelumbo lutea (Willd.) Water chinquapin, FD roots cooked and eaten Pers. Lotus pyaakimišaahkwi Diospyros virginiana L. Persimmon tree FD, ME fruits eaten raw, baked into loaves for bowel problems seenankašia* Zanthoxylum Common Prickly ME bark and leaves used to draw pus out of americanum Mill. Ash bites/sores šeešaahkamiši* Fagus grandifolia Ehrh. American beech FD nuts eaten tree šiihšiikwani Lagenaria siceraria Bottle Gourd ME, CU, TE gourds cultivated for rattles/shakers used (Molina) Standl. in events and medicine, dried gourds for dipping utensil šikaakwayiniši Symplocarpus foetidus Skunk cabbage FD young leaves boiled and eaten as greens (L.) Nutt. šinkwaahkwa Juniperus virginiana L. Eastern Red Cedar ME, CU, TE smoke for ear infections, funerals and 66 blessings, wood for short war bows waapantwa Various Mushroom FD eaten raw and cooked waapinkopakahki Brasscia oleracea L. Cabbage** FD heads cultivated and eaten waapinkopakahki Chenopodium spp. L.H Lamb's quarters or FD leaves eaten as greens Goosefoot waawiihkapaahkoohsia* Ipomoea batata L.C Sweet potato** FD tubers cooked and eaten

waawiipinkwaahkatwi Quercus alba L. White oak tree ME, MA, TE leaves, bark and roots boiled for burns and other wounds, wood for frames of dwellings and canoes waawiipinkwahki Vitis labrusca L. Fox grape FD, TE fruits eaten, vines for fish weirs wiihkapeepiikwi* Oxalis spp. L. Wood sorrel FD leaves and stems eaten as a snack wiikapaahkwaahkaniša* Undetermined Wild potato FD tubers boiled and eaten wiikapimiši Tilia americana L. Basswood ME, MA, TE root boiled for burns, inner bark for rope, cordage for mats covering dwellings wiikopayiisia* Arisaema triphyllum Indian turnip, Jack- FD, ME roots cooked extensively and eaten, root Schott. in-the-pulpit tea for asthma, roots as an emetic wiinaahkatwi Lindera benzoin (L.) Spicebush FD, ME dried berries for seasoning, tea from Blume leaves taken as a tonic † Achillea millefolium L. Yarrow ME tea from roots or flowers for fevers, leaf poultice for cuts † Acorus calamus L. Calamus root or ME root chewed for sore throat and cough Sweetflag † Allium sativa L. Garlic** FD corms eaten † Amaranthus retroflexus Redroot, pigweed FD seeds for flour L. † Asarum canadense L. Wild ginger FD, ME dried roots for seasoning, candy, 67 analgesic, motion sickness † Cirsium vulgare (Savi.) Bull thistle CU flower heads chewed like tobacco Tenore † Crataegus calpodendron Red Haw, Hawthorn FD fruits eaten raw and preserved (Ehrh.) Medik. † Cucumis melo L. Melon** FD fruits eaten † Cucurbita maxima Duch. Hubbard squash* FD flesh of fruit dried in sun and eaten † Eupatorium perfoliatum Boneset ME for anti-inflammatory and fevers L. † Fraxinus americana L. White ash TE wood for bows and spears † Gymnocladus dioicus Kentucky coffee FD, MA seeds eaten and for games (L.) K. Koch tree † Impatiens capensis L. Jewelweed ME leaves and stem to treat skin rashes † Mentha spicata L. Spearmint FD, ME leaves for tea, sometimes used medicinally † Phaseolus coccineus L. Scarlet runner FD beans eaten bean** † Phragmites australis Common reed MA stems for a game, pipes and flutes Trin. † Plantago sp. L. Plantain FD, ME leaves eaten as greens and used to make poultices for sunburns and pink eye † Quercus palustris Pin oak FD acorn meat eaten Muenchh. † Rheum sp. L. Rhubarb FD leaves eaten † Robinia pseudoacacia L. Black locust MA, TE seeds for jewelry, wood for bows † Rosa spp. L. Wild rose FD hips eaten raw or for jelly † Solidago sp. L. Goldenrod ME tea from leaves † Ulmus thomasii Sarg. Rock elm MA wood for frames of dwellings † Verbascum thapsus L. Common mullein ME leaf poultice for bee stings, sores, infections and drawing out pus, leaves boiled and vapors for coughs 68

TABLE 6.—Culturally useful winter plants of the Miami. (1FD=food, ME=medicinal, MA=material, CU=cultural, TE=technological; † = term currently unknown; * = tentative term (best linguistic estimations of phonemization considering existing records); ** = cultivated species; H = historic term; C = contemporary meaning for term). Miami Name Species Common Name Use Type1 Cultural Use aahkotia Fomitopsis pinicola (Fr.) Tinder fungus TE tinder to hand-start a fire Kar. or Phellinus robiniae (Murrill) A. Ames aayoonseekaahkwi Juglans nigra L. Black walnut tree FD, ME, MA, nuts eaten, given for diarrhea, wood for CU, TE lacrosse sticks and frames of dwellings, involved at some funerals, black dye ahtawaani Various Tree CU, TE directional markers in forest navigation, art surface akanteemiši* Cornus florida L. Dogwood TE wood for arrows alakiihkwi Various Bark MA, CU, TE coverings for dwellings, canoes, cooking, funerals, games 69 anseensi Bryum spp. Hedw. Moss TE directional markers in forest navigation, for cooking structures ašaahšikopa Ulmus rubra Muhl. Slippery, Red, or MA, TE bark for nets in fish baskets, pigeon traps, Piss Elm coverings of dwellings, wood for frames of dwellings ahpenah, Apios americana Ground nut FD tubers cooked and eaten eepiihkaanita*c Medikus. kaakišaahkatwi Platanus occidentalis L. Sycamore, ME, MA bark tea for diarrhea, wood for frames of Buttonwood dwellings kiinošiši Juglans cinerea L. Butternut tree FD, MA nuts eaten, wood for frames of dwellings mahkohpina* Nymphaea spp. Aiton. White water lily or FD, ME roots cooked and eaten, roots used macopines medicinally mahkwawilomiši* Prunus serotina Ehrh. Wild cherry tree ME roots used to treat gum infections mihtekwaapimiši Morus rubra L. Mulberry tree FD, TE berries eaten, wood for bows naanahamišaahkwa* Pinus spp. L. Pine tree ME, TE sap as an antiobiotic and for starting fires, bark for burns, branches for venereal diseases, cones as air freshener nipiaahkatwi Salix spp. L. Willow MA branches used for frames of traditional dwellings nipoopi minosakayi Umbilicaria dillenii Lichen or Tripe du FD thalli (leafy portions of lichen) cooked Tuckerm. Roche and eaten in soup oonsaapeehkateeki Helianthus tuberosus L. Jerusalem artichoke FD, ME tubers eaten, seed oil for skin oonseentia Liriodendron tulipifera Yellow or Tulip CU, TE tree for peace custom, wood for fishing L. popular pole, young shoots for fodder paapahsaahkimiši Carya glabra (P.Mill) Pignut hickory tree FD, TE nuts eaten, bark for canoes and sap trough Sweet pahkohkwaniši Ulmus americana L. American elm tree MA, TE wood for frames of dwellings, bark for canoes, sap troughs, young shoots for fodder pakamaakaniši Celtis occidentalis L. Northern hackberry CU, TE wood for burials, young shoots for fodder, tree firewood peešiaanikopa Carya spp. Nutt. Hickory tree FD, MA, TE nuts eaten, wood for games, bird arrows,

70 bows; bark for canoes, torches and covers for temporary dwellings poohkihšiikwalia* Nelumbo lutea (Willd.) Water chinquapin, FD roots cooked and eaten Pers. Lotus seenankašia* Zanthoxylum Common Prickly MA bark and leaves used to draw pus out of americanum Mill. Ash bites/sores šinkwaahkwa Juniperus virginiana L. Eastern Red Cedar ME, CU, TE smoke for ear infections, funerals and blessings, wood for short war bows waawiipinkwaahkatwi Quercus alba L. White oak tree ME, MA, TE leaves, bark and roots boiled for burns and other wounds, wood for frames of dwellings wiikapaahkwaahkaniša* Undetermined Wild potato FD tubers boiled and eaten

wiikapimiši Tilia americana L. Basswood ME, MA, TE root boiled for burns, inner bark for rope, cordage for mats covering dwellings † Fraxinus americana L. White ash TE wood for bows and spears † Phragmites australis Common reed MA stems for a game, pipes and flutes Trin. † Robinia pseudoacacia L. Black locust MA, TE seeds for jewelry, wood for bows

TABLE 7.—Food use records before and after removal of the Miami people from ancestral homelands.

Food Type # Records Until 1846 (% of total) # Records After 1846 (% of total) Underground Plant Organs* 13 (32.5) 11 (12.5) Greens 3 (7.5) 18 (20.5) Fruits** 10 (25) 25 (28.4) Crops 2 (5) 9 (10.2) Nuts 6 (15) 14 (15.9) Seeds 4 (10) 3 (3.4) Mushrooms 0 (0) 4 (4.5) Leaves 0 (0) 2 (2.3) Sap 2 (5) 2 (2.3) Totals 40 (100) 88 (100) *rhizomes, tubers, corms and bulbs. **berries, legumes.

TABLE 8.—All plant use records categorized by date. # Plant Species % of All Plant Species

Ancient traditions 38 18.4 (before 1846 only)

Enduring traditions 55 26.4 (before and after 1846)

New traditions 115 55.2 (after 1846 only) Total 208 100

TABLE 9.—Number of useful plant species in five major Miami vegetation types in ancestral homelands. Total # Food Medicinal Material Customary Technology Useful Plants Plants Plants Plants Plants Miami Vegetation Type Species Forest (+savanna) 57 50 23 9 37 176 Prairie (wet and dry) 23 15 7 5 9 59 Wetland (+swamp) 16 9 8 6 9 48 Floodplain 45 37 25 10 29 146 Human Modified (agriculture, other) 49 29 9 5 13 105

TABLE 10.—Percent land cover and number of useful plants for three major vegetation types in ancestral homelands.*

# Useful % of All Useful % Landcover of Density Useful Major Vegetation Type Species Species ancestral myaamionki Species** Forest 131 69 74 0.932 (forest and savanna) Prairie 31 16 3 5.333 (no inundation) Wetland (partially to wholly inundated) 48 25 23 1.087 Total 191 100 100 1 *Presettlement (ca. 1800) vegetation maps of Indiana (Lindsey et al. 1965) and Ohio (Gordon 1966) were used as representative of the core of ancestral Miami homelands. **Density of useful species, in this analysis, simply indicates the % of useful species divided by the % of Miami homelands covered by of that vegetation type. It does not indicate numerical results from quantitative sampling, and assumes even distribution of useful species.

FIGURE 1. Myaamionki—Ancestral homelands of the Miami people, from prior to 1650 to 1846 (Adapted from Governanti 2004).

FIGURE 2. Myaamionki--Homelands of the Miami Nation in Oklahoma, circa 1873-2006.

Chapter 3 Myaamiaki iiši-eeyookiki miincipi: Miami corn traditions

This portion of the dissertation was written and developed by:

Michael P. Gonella, Department of Botany, Miami University, Adolph M. Greenberg, Department of Anthropology, Miami University Daryl W. Baldwin II, Myaamia Project, Miami University and the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma.

Abstract Although corn traditions of the Miami people have been enacted for centuries and transmitted orally within the community, cultural disruption from relocation, assimilation and oppression has fragmented documentation of these traditions and threatened their persistence. Utilizing historical descriptions of Miami homelands written by traders, missionaries and ethnographers, and including contemporary interviews with Miami elders, a preliminary description of Miami corn traditions was developed. Gathered data were synthesized to reconstruct the historic, yearly corn cultivation cycle, compile extant Miami corn uses and terminology, compare ancient and modern corn processing techniques and recipes, and a formulate a synoptic history of Miami White Corn cultivation. Linkages were made between ancient and modern aspects of Miami corn traditions, and continuity of Miami culture relating to corn was demonstrated. Although some traditional corn knowledge appears to be lost, much has been retained within historical documents and within the community itself. Results of this study are serving as a written source of traditional knowledge for cultural revitalizations efforts by the Miami people.

Introduction Research into the history of domesticated corn, Zea mays ssp. mays L. describes both ancestral and recent ethnobotanical ties to North American indigenous cultures (Cotton 1996, Minnis 2000). These cultures domesticated corn from its likely ancestral progenitor, teosinte (Zea mays ssp. parviglumis)(Beadle 1981, Smith, Betran and Runge 2004, Webster, Rue and Traverse 2005), a smaller plant with smaller ears and hard-cased, nearly inedible, kernels

(Dorweiler et al. 1993, Wang et al. 2005). Domestication, resulting from a combination of random mutations and human selection for larger and softer-husked kernels, allowed corn to become an important food source to ancient indigenous farmers. Conservative estimates place the domestication of corn at approximately 6000-7000 B.P. (Benz 2001, Matsuoka et al. 2002, Smith, Bertran and Runge 2004), and introduction of this domesticate to North America from Mesoamerica sometime around 2000 B.P. (Ford 1981). It was some time after that, when the Miami people of the lower Great Lakes region of North America were introduced to corn, probably via indigenous trade. Over time, corn took on its central role in Miami diet and cultural metabolism. Cultivation of corn within traditional Miami territories in the lower Great Lakes region of North America has been indicated by archaeological evidence by 700-1450 B.P. (Bush 1996) and by ethnographic evidence circa 1530 A.D. (Weatherwax 1954). When Europeans first encountered corn (ca. 1500) they learned about a plant that signified a cultural invention developed collectively by millions of people over thousands of years, containing a veritable treasure trove of genetic knowledge (Warman 1989). To many Euro-American savants, reconstructing the sequence of events leading to domestication and subsequent diffusion of corn cultivation throughout the Americas has largely been an end in itself. In their research, corn is sometimes portrayed as an enabler in that it made possible the cultural change, transformation and achievement Western scholarship understood and focused on (Ortiz 1989). However, corn to indigenous peoples of the Americas and their associated lifeways has never been reduced to an “enabler” food, whose ‘discovery’ by Euro- Americans allowed it to become the grain that outranked all European grains from the beginning of contact (Sando 1998). To indigenous North American cultures, the relevance of corn is quite different and much more. Corn is also metaphorically mother, transformer, healer, sacred, and a basis for space and time configurations, and the identity of humans and their relationship to nature (Ortiz 1989, Warman 1989). The Miami are a Central Algonquian-speaking cultural group that historically inhabited the Indiana and Illinois areas and more recently Kansas and Oklahoma on reservations. The Miami have a rich and longstanding engagement with the natural world (Bush 1996 & 2003, Callender 1978, Gravier ca. 1700, Rafert 1992). From their oldest traditional stories (Dunn ca. 1900, McClurg 1961) to their most contemporary traditional events, wild and domesticated plants, including corn, have played an integral cultural role.

The Miami relationship to corn exemplifies the Miami relationship to the plant world in general—there exists a way of perceiving and interacting with plants that is based on kinship and reciprocity, as opposed to a utilitarian, commodity-oriented perception of plant resources in the western world. In Miami culture, the life-giving qualities of plants like corn are reciprocated by proper care, cultivation and celebration of harvests (Carlson 1996b, Charlevoix 1682-1761). Like other Miami-plant relationships, corn cultivation follows the cycles of the seasons, where sowing, tending and harvesting are embedded in lunar cycles, seasonal changes in homeland flora, weather, water availability, and game abundance (Calendar 1978, Deliette 1702). Corn became an important food source for the Miami before European contact, as a high-yielding source of carbohydrates (Bush 2003, Dillon 1859, Marquette 1674) and protein (Katz et al. 1974) and since its adoption, has had high significance to Miami customs, celebrations, feasts, games, crafts, and story-telling (Dunn ca. 1900, Trowbridge 1825). In cases where contemporary indigenous groups maintain traditional practices with plants there is a need for research that synthesizes both historical data and new data from living indigenous elders (Anderson 2005, Stevens 1999). To date, very few ethnobotanical studies utilizing both ethnohistorical and ethnocontemporary data have been conducted for the lower Great Lakes area of North America (Cornelius 1999) and none for the Miami Nation. Some research has been published regarding Miami ethnobotany, including plant lists and notes of Dunn (ca. 1900) and Gatschet’s (ca. 1895), and single-consultant interviews by Rafert (1989) and Miami people themselves (Olds, Olds and Tippmann 1999), but no comprehensive, academic study focusing on Miami corn traditions. Because of territorial relocation and societal and governmental oppression of native lifeways in the last two centuries, much traditional knowledge of corn has gone dormant or has been lost. When land-based traditions are prevented in land-based cultures like the Miami and other indigenous groups, the cultural is deeply affected and recovery is difficult. Thus there is a need for research and assimilation of the extant data on indigenous culture’s land practices, like corn cultivation, in order to preserve these lifeways and indigenous cultures themselves (Anderson 2005, Berkes 1999). Scientific studies such as this, which take a specific look, in situ, at one culture’s traditions involving a particularly important agricultural plant species, can help stabilize traditional knowledge systems (Berkes 1999). This study gathered and assimilated both past and present data on Miami corn use, using multiple consultants, in an effort to: (1) create a preliminary reconstruction of historic corn

traditions, (2) document and describe contemporary corn uses and practices, (3) draw linkages between corn traditions of the past and present and demonstrate that corn traditions are a representation of the vitality and longevity of Miami culture, and (4) highlight the unique aspects of Miami corn cultivation in comparison to other indigenous cultural groups of the Great Lakes region of North America. Comprehensive ethnobotanical studies such as this can provide a holistic framework for incorporation of future ethnobotanical data, and serve as educational tools for the Miami Nation and other regional indigenous communities.

Ethnographic methods Data on the historic and contemporary relationship of the Miami to corn was examined using published and unpublished sources. Ethnohistoric data was gathered from accounts of explorers, fur traders, and missionaries in early European-contact times, and from more recent ethnographic works by historians in the 19th and 20th centuries (Table 1). Sources on corn traditions were divided into ethnohistorical sources and ethnocontemporary sources, using 1939 as the dividing date between these two categories. This date reflects a recent break in Miami culture documentation, spanning from 1939 to 1968. Three of the earliest and most extensive descriptions of Miami culture were linguistic works attributed to Father Jacques Gravier (ca. 1700) and Father Jean Baptiste LeBoullenger (ca. 1719-1744), who served as missionaries with the Illinois, and Father Pierre Francois Pinet (1696- ca.1700) who served with the Wea. The Miami, Illinois, Wea and other communities along the Wabash River in Indiana and Illinois River in Illinois spoke different dialects of what is linguistically referred to as the Miami-Illinois language. The high degree of similarity in language and culture of these three communities is substantiated in linguistic works (Costa 2000, 2005, Gravier ca. 1700, LeBoullenger ca. 1719-1744, Pinet 1696-ca.1700) and ethnographic research (Deliette 1702, Dunn 1937, Thwaites 1896-1901). This similarity in language and culture gives us the basis for including the early Illinois and Wea Jesuit manuscripts as a resource for understanding Miami Indian corn terminology and traditions. Small portions of these manuscripts have been recently translated from the original old French language to English, and ethnobotanical data from these translations were utilized in this study (Baldwin and Costa 2005, Costa 2000 & 2005, McCafferty 2003, Masthay 1985). Aside from these linguistic works and a few ethnohistorical studies (for example, Anson 1970, Rafert 1996) very little

specific information has been published on the agriculture or ethnobotany of the Miami-- therefore most ethnohistorical data gathered in this study were gleaned from unpublished, primary-source materials. Unfortunately, all of the written, ethnohistorical sources of information were authored by persons outside of the Miami culture, due to the oral nature of Miami traditional knowledge transfer. There is the possibility that some of the information in these accounts is inaccurate due to personal or societal biases towards indigenous peoples at the time of writing. Therefore, some caution was exercised in the interpretation of documented Miami traditions from sources originating outside of the Miami culture. In general, the ethnobotanical information described by explorers and missionaries was not the main focus of their travels and hence, was less apt to be distorted than writings aimed at religious, cultural or political audiences. When ethnobotanical information did appear to be inaccurate, it was fairly easy to detect by the author’s exaggerated descriptions of natural resources or condemning tone towards the Miami (e.g. ‘savages’). In these cases, the information documented was reported only if corroborated by another more reliable source. It is important to make clear that this paper, too, is a cultural representation assembled and developed by a non-Miami scholar, so some biases may be present, however unintended. Fortunately, though, I have had the opportunity to collaborate with Miami people on the development of this manuscript, reducing the potential for inaccurate representations of contemporary Miami traditions. Ethnocontemporary data was gathered through interviews with 17 Miami consultants, ranging in ages from 17 to 93. Seven previously recorded interviews (1968-1999) conducted by other researchers and 10 interviews conducted during this study (2002-2006) were utilized in this study. In interviews, individual and group contexts were utilized, along with elicitation tools such as voucher specimens, slides, cultural artifact photographs and plant collecting field trips. Interviews were focused on general Miami plant traditions, including plants other than corn. Participant observation (Schensul, Shensul and LeCompte 1999) at communal gatherings and events and both semi-structured and structured interviews (Bernard 1988) were also used. The triangulation technique of data verification, where acceptance of validity of data is predicated upon at least two consultants/sources documenting the same data, was employed where possible (Schensul, Shensul and LeCompte 1999) and single data sources (one ethnographic record) were made clear when used.

Study Sites Myaamionki—Miami ancestral lands . . . 1650-1846 Due to cultural disruption by European and American settlement and government- imposed acculturation, the landscapes providing the resource base and cultural context for the historic and contemporary Miami are located in two geographically separate territories. Myaamionki, a Miami term meaning ‘place of the Miami’ was located in the upper Midwest prior to 1846, in an area whose core encompasses the upper waapaahšiki siipiiwi, the Wabash River. From the core area, which was almost exclusively used and maintained by the Miami, a progressively more shared landscape was encountered, utilized by the Miami and other regional cultural groups. The historic Miami traveled often and widely, from the waapaahšiki siipiiwi across the Mississippi, Ohio, and Scioto rivers, and even up into present day Canada. So, myaamionki has a broad ancestral definition, including all the lands where the Miami culture was practiced and maintained, including lands outside the core area that were shared with other tribes, trade routes, and peripheral lands (Fig. 1). Within these vast and shared ancestral homelands the Miami participated in their traditional lifeways of community wild plant collecting, cultivation and harvesting of crops, seasonal hunts, and maple sugaring (Rafert 1996). A portion of Miami Nation members continue to live in their ancestral homelands, mostly in northern Indiana, within the Wabash and Maumee River Watersheds.

Myaamionki—Miami lands in Oklahoma and Kansas, 1846-2006 The second of these territories, the lands to which many of the Miami were forcibly relocated in 1846, was originally located in a frontier known as Indian Territory, later to become the states of Kansas and Oklahoma (Fig. 2). The Miami were first relocated from Indiana to reservation lands in Kansas, and then when these communal lands were divided into private allotments, most Miami moved to allotments in nearby Oklahoma in 1873 (Anson 1970). Some Miami families were authorized by the U.S. government to remain in Indiana, so removal caused a split in the Miami community, between Indiana and Oklahoma. Overall, the result of U.S.- Miami land cessions and removal (authorized by the Indian Removal Act of 1830) was two-fold: (1) reduction of the territorial Miami land base which severely restricted subsistence activities (including physical and spiritual) based on ecological relationships (e.g. hunting, fishing, wild

plant gathering for food and medicine, customs), and (2) changing land-use rights from community ownership to private user-rights greatly restricted and strained the communal nature of Miami culture.1 Today, there exists two Miami Indian communities, the Miami Nation of Indians of Indiana, Inc., headquartered in Peru, Indiana, and the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma in Miami, Oklahoma, and both participated in this study.

Results Ethnohistorical evidence for corn traditions (1671-1919) Corn Cultivation Records. The earliest known account of Miami corn cultivation was documented by the French trader Nicolas Perrot while traveling through the upper Midwest, finding that corn was an important staple to the diet of the Miami (1680-1718). The French Jesuit missionary, Father Jacques Marquette (1674), while living among the Miami, Kickapoo, Wea and Mascoutens in the Fox River region of southern Wisconsin described corn cultivation, corn processing, corn recipes and corn storage. Likewise, French explorer Louis Deliette (1702) described many important details of the Miami corn cultivation cycle and how cultivation activities dovetailed with the annual bison hunt. Ethnohistorical literature contains numerous additional references to Miami corn cultivation (Allouez 1676-1677, Anonymous 1746, Charlevoix 1682-1761, Deliette 1702, Dunn 1919, Gravier ca. 1700, Marquette 1674, Perrot 1680-1718, Pinet 1696-ca. 1700, Trowbridge 1825) mostly from French nationals acting as missionaries, explorers, or traders in Miami lands in the latter part of the last millennium. All of the 17 primary ethnohistorical sources examined describe some type of corn use or cultivation by the Miami.

Cultivation Cycle. The first written descriptions of the annual Miami corn planting cycle were by Deliette (1702) and Joliet (1674-1677), both French explorers, who traveled through the Miami homelands in the 17th and 18th centuries, and by Hennepin (1698), a Jesuit missionary stationed within the ancestral Miami homelands. Although traveling at similar times, Deliette and Joliet traveled separately, both documenting Miami corn cultivation practices. Trowbridge’s later descriptions (1825) of Miami corn cultivation recorded essential details relating to the planting cycle at a pivotal time in Miami history, just before governmentally imposed relocations began and traditional lifeways, including planting cycles, were completely disrupted. From these

three ethnographies and a few other ethnographic resources, a preliminary Miami Corn cultivation cycle was reconstructed. This planting cycle consists of four basic phases, tied to seasonal changes in temperature, precipitation, animal and plant growth and reproduction, and water availability. The Miami cultivation cycle is not fixed to Gregorian calendar dates, but to lunar cycles and life cycles of plants and animals that shift from year to year (Fig. 3).

Aanteekwa kiilhswa – Crow Moon (~April) In early spring, sometime between February and April depending on the latitude of the particular hunting band and climatic variations, the Miami returned from their hunting activities to minooteena, summer villages. In these villages, often situated near waterways and floodplains, the annual corn cultivation cycle begins, mostly with preparations for the planting, like gathering firewood, to take place in late spring. Sufficient firewood gathered in early spring ensured that come planting time in May, there would be no interruption in planting with the need to gather wood to endure cold spells in late spring (Deliette 1702). Procuring sufficient firewood for use during the planting season allowed not only more efficient planting, but also prevented forestalling of hunting bison (Bison bison) which occurred directly after corn planting (Joliet 1674-1677). Daily preparations and planning for the planting and growing season were a critical task in the spring, and had to be coordinated with the upcoming bison hunt which occurred at almost the same time as planting--the same warm temperatures that were ideal for sprouting corn in the fields concomitantly caused the emergence of prairie grasses and forbs, attracting bison migrating northward from the Great Plains. In other words, two of the most important food procurement events of the year happened at almost the same time, and the Miami were well prepared not to miss the bounty of either.

Wiihkoowia kiilhswa – Whipporwill Moon (~June) With increasing daylength and soil and air temperatures in spring, the Miami plant their first corn crop (Deliette 1702, Rafert 1989). Gatschet (ca. 1895) noted that the call of the whippoorwill in May was a signal to the Miami to start the corn planting process which ended in early June when seeds were sown. In some cases seeds were planted in a small mound over a hole in which a fish was placed (Rafert 1989). In the past, as soon as the corn was planted, the village would become more involved in hunting activities. For the prairie-dwelling Illinois, this

meant setting out on a bison hunt for several weeks immediately after corn was planted (Deliette 1702). For the woodland-dwelling Miami, the end of corn planting signified a time of increased deer and bison hunting. When the hunt required many people for participation, some of the women in the village and older men remained to tend to the corn and other tasks (Deliette 1702, Joliet 1674-1677). If Illinois women wanted to finish their planting early, they offered a feast to the other women of the village to encourage their help. They would offer a feast of “flat sides of beef mixed with corn insides of it, and invite as many women as they need to spade up their fields. These [women] do not refuse such invitations and if any of those invited fail to come, they come next day to offer their excuses“ (Deliette 1702). Aside from clearing the corn fields of stumps and logs and other jointly conducted activities, women controlled the domesticate food resources of the village, involving the overseeing of corn cultivation: planting, hilling-up, tending and protecting the corn fields (Deliette 1702, Joliet 1674-1677, Trowbridge 1825). Women also protected the corn fields from pests, and were once observed warding off large swarms of grackles (Quiscalus quiscula)(Creasey, pers. comm., 2005) in Miami territory in the late summer and early fall (Joutel 1714). Gravier (ca. 1700) described the Miami’s use of a reddened stick, shaken at pests, to guard a corn field. In addition to tending the corn, Miami women also controlled the food produced from corn, and all other foods they produced. Minoonteena, Miami summer villages, were situated near prairies and corn was often planted on the floodplains nearby rivers, including the Wabash, Eel and Missessinewa Rivers in northern Indiana, the White River of central Indiana (Stickney 1809-1815), the Maumee and Auglaize Rivers of northern Indiana and Ohio (Denny 1859, Dillon 1859), and the mouth of the Ohio in southern Illinois (Dunn ca. 1900). Father Pinet, lists the Miami term maaciihansiinooke whose translation means “if it [the corn] is not swept away by the water” (Pinet 1696-ca. 1700), suggesting the riparian location of some corn fields, also noted by Denny (1859). The Miami presumably placed these fields along rivers to capitalize on the higher soil moisture content, as well as the relatively high fertility of floodplain soils. It was their proximity to the prairie/woodland transitional ecotone that made summer villages both good, open spaces for agriculture and for hunting deer and bison. Although this time of year was the time for planting the corn, it has also been noted that corn was planted at other times, due to the relatively long growing season in Miami territory and

the sheer ingenuity of the Miami (Joliet 1674-1677). Both Marquette (1674) and Joliet noted that three corn crops were planted a year. Joliet’s description states: “It is true that they have an abundance of Indian corn, which they sow at all seasons. We saw at the same time some that was ripe, some other that had only sprouted, and some again in the milk, so that they sow it three times a year.” Aciihciikate kiilhswa -- Hoeing Moon (~July) At the end of the month of July the first corn is harvested and prepared for use, beginning with drying. Miami women made two types of corn at this time, including roasted corn and boiled corn, at harvest time (Deliette 1702). Deliette described corn processing in detail: “To return to the occupations of the women, at the end of July they begin to mix or dry the corn . . . That which they roast gives them more trouble than that which they boil, for they have to make large griddles and exercise particular care to turn the ears from time to time to prevent their burning too much on one side, and afterwards they have to shell off the kernels. They therefore make very little of this kind.” Dunn (ca. 1900) also documented traditional corn processing methods, including the use of tables for drying corn. In ancient times, according to the Jesuit missionaries, the Miami also sometimes prepared corn by cooking in large earthen jars (Kenton 1925). Corn was harvested communally by a Miami village and then brought into Miami dwellings, where it was spread out for drying, and later gathered up again (Gravier ca. 1700). Two ethnohistorical sources, Filson (1793) and Charlevoix (1682-1761) described Miami corn harvesting festivals which would fall under aciihciikate kiilhswa, or the following phase kiišiinkwia. However, Kinietz (1965) has questioned the originality of Charlevoix’s memoirs, stating that his descriptions of indigenous traditions were based primarily on others writings, and he tended to mix up cultural affiliations with traditions. Furthermore, Filson’s record of a corn celebration (1793) is from an anonymous source that cannot be validated. Still, Charlevoix and Filson’s records, at minimum, suggest the possibility for the historic existence of such customs for the Miami.

Kiišiinkwia kiilhswa – Green Corn Moon (~August) At the end of the month of August there was a second harvest of Miami corn. This harvest was of a larger-eared corn, which were harvested, husked, spread on mats made of

cattails or bulrushes, and dried for a week. Following drying it was threshed using large wooden sticks (Deliette 1702). Dried corn kernels were put into storage at this season, using underground holes (Hennepin 1698) or caches (LeClerq 1679-1680) lined with bark (Charlevoix 1682-1761), large woven baskets or gourds (Marquette 1674), or by hanging dried, whole ears of corn (Charlevoix 1682-1761). Corn was stored in such a manner for use as food later in the fall and winter and as seed corn in the following spring (Hennepin 1698). Kiišiinkwia kiilhswa was also the time of harvesting green corn, kiišiinkwia (for which the moon is named) where corn in the milk stage was harvested for immediate use as food. Deliette (1702) described this process as occurring sometime after the end of July, after the roasting of corn had begun: “The kind which they boil they gather just as tender as the corn for roasting, and with shells which they find more convenient than knives, they cut all the kernels, throwing away the cobs, until they have about the quantity they wish to cook for that day. They never keep any for the next day because of the excessive care needed to prevent it from turning sour. After this, as soon as it has boiled for a few minutes, they spread it on reed mats, which they also make in the same manner as those that serve for their cabins. The drying process usually takes two days. They make a great store of this kind.” Dunn (ca. 1900) also recorded the use of a lower jaw bone of a deer as a traditional tool used for scraping freshly husked green corn kernels from the cob, to obtain the green corn juice, which was used to make foods through drying or baking. During this time the Miami made repeated forays into the prairies to hunt bison, returning to the summer village site for assistance in harvesting, processing and storage of corn and meat (Esarey 1997). It was at the end of the summer, from mihšiiwia kiilhswa (Elk moon, ~September) and šaašaahkaayolia kiilhswa (Grass-burns-in-streaks moon, ~October) that Miami left their summer villages to winter hunting regions (Esarey 1997, Trowbridge 1825). Thus, the Miami spent about six lunar cycles involved in corn cultivation and six lunar cycles at winter camps (primarily for hunting), in historic times.

Specific Corn Uses. Various corn uses are well documented in the ethnohistorical literature, with 12 total uses of all corn varieties, including three uses for Miami White Corn or other corn varieties, and one use exclusive to Miami White Corn. Of all records of corn use, dried green corn ranked highest, followed by corn boiled and seasoned with animal fat, also

called corn soup, and corn meal. In general, corn was traditionally cooked with meat and meat fat, (Marquette 1674), or with vegetables like wild pumpkins (Deliette 1702) and sometimes with cultivated squash (Dunn 1919, Perrot 1680-1718). One recipe, recorded by Charlevoix (1682- 1761) which has implications for Miami corn traditions, describes making corn “bread” from kneaded corn meal, and adding beans, fruits and animal fat. Corn terminology. More evidence of Miami corn cultivation and traditions were found within the Miami language itself--there exists a great diversity and detail in corn terminology in some ethnohistorical documents that attests to a deep and rich corn tradition. The earliest record of a general term for corn, miincipi, was by Father Pierre-Francois Pinet (1696-ca. 1700) along with many other corn terms and phrases. Historic documents have also yielded terms for eight distinctive corn varieties indicated by color (Baldwin and Costa 2005, Gravier ca. 1700, Masthay 2002, Pinet 1696-ca.1700) and various terms for corn processing and cooking, terms relating to corn cultivation, descriptive corn terms, and references to anatomical features of the corn plant (Table 2). One of the richest sources of Miami language terms, including terms related to corn and corn cultivation, was Father Pinet’s manuscripts, found relatively recently in the Jesuit archive at St-Jérôme, Québec (McCafferty 2005). Father Pinet lived with the Wea, a group closely related to the Miami, from 1696 through 1700 near the present site of Chicago, documenting much of the Miami-Illlinois language in a hand-written French-to-Miami/Illinois dictionary. Just one portion of this dictionary included an extensive list of terms related to corn—over 71 variously inflected lexical forms related to corn, in four categories of use and relatedness (Costa 2004 & 2006)(Table 3). In comparison, the same dictionary lists 32 terms for tobacco and one or two words for other plants utilized.

Traditional corn stories. The Miami have a traditional story describing the process by which they began to grow and rely on corn for sustenance. One version of this story was documented by McClurg (1961). Miami Tribe scholars consider this version of the traditional story to be highly anglicized and altered from its original form, yet also recognize that its origin is likely from a traditional context and thus can be used with caution (Costa, pers. comm., 2006) The story relates four basic elements, including a period of low food availability, a Miami man searching for a solution in the wilderness from the Great Spirit, meeting a human/spirit entity

with whom he had to fight, killing and burying that man/spirit, and emergence of the first corn plant from his grave (McClurg 1961). The same basic elements are present in the traditional stories of the Ojibwe and Tuscarora, and other eastern woodland indigenous peoples (Bruchac 1995, Schoolcraft 1839) lending validity to the McClurg version. There is also a traditional Miami corn story which continues to be spoken among the present-day Miami, describing the origin of the corn variety unique to the Miami, Miami white corn. In this story, retold by Chief Floyd Leonard in an interview, a Miami ancestor is said to have taken a trip to the wilderness south and west of Miami homelands, centered in northern Indiana, and brought white corn seed back (Carlson 1996a). A Miami speaker and elder from Oklahoma retold the traditional story of wilaktwa to the ethnographer Albert Gatschet around the turn of the last century, involving an interesting use of corn. She communicated the story of a Miami man, wilaktwa and his wife on a hunt, carrying parched corn. When they stopped to rest and boil the corn and adding beef tallow, enemies appeared. The Miami men calmly asked their enemies to wait and eat with them before they would fight. Once this corn dish was ready, the Miami men threw the hot soup in their faces, blinding them all and defeating their foes (Gatschet ca. 1895). Using a corn dish as a weapon was assumedly not common, but its use as a food source during hunting excursions demonstrates how integral corn was to the lifeways of the Miami.

Miami White Corn. Numerous indigenous groups in the Americas possess a unique variety of corn (Weatherwax 1954) including the Miami’s unique white corn variety called myaamia miincipi (also called waapiinkweemini miincipi in the past). The exact origins of this variety is unclear, however it has been recorded as a variety unique to the Miami as early as 1702 A.D. (Deliette), with other ethnohistorical recordings in the 18th (Charlevoix 1682-1761), 19th (Gatschet ca. 1895), and 20th centuries (Dunn ca. 1900, 1919). Miami White Corn is a long, thin- eared corn variety that has been found in archaeological sites dating as early as 1000 AD (Bush 1996). Its unique morphological characteristics include a stalk bearing deep, red, roots and red silks, and a long, thin ear of only eight to ten rows of kernels (Aatotankiki Myaamiaki 2000). The corn kernels themselves are large, soft and dull-colored yellow (white), and are well-suited for use as a flour corn. The corn kernels have a high starch consistency when in milk stage, and contain a white, milky juice (Dunn ca. 1900). Miami White Corn was used primarily for

hominy, parching, and corn meal according to ethnohistorical sources. Miami White Corn is a flour corn, for grinding or cooking with some type of processing and preparation needed before consumption. Deliette (1702) also mentioned its use for a dish with dried pumpkin, which was probably some type of stew or soup, which has not yet been recorded as a contemporary use.

Contemporary evidence of corn use (1968-2006) For about 150 years after their land base was taken away the Miami experienced a period of increased U.S. government dependency and at the same time had to endure a climate of societal racism against being “Indian” in the United States (Greymorning 2004). This racism directly affected Miami children sent to boarding schools, where use of Miami language and culture were prohibited. Both these oppressive influences led to suppression of Miami cultural lifeways (Anson 1970) at the individual, family, and community level. However, much of the Miami culture endured through these times, usually in one of three ways. First, Miami traditions have endured in the memories of Miami people, often relegated to the almost-subconscious, where elicitation only occurred during the act of ‘doing’. For example, one Miami elder was hard-pressed to describe the exact harvesting methods of the traditionally eaten lenin$i, common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca L.), yet when taken to a wild patch of milkweed, immediately and confidently began harvesting and cleaning the shoots as she had done throughout her childhood and younger adulthood. Here, “doing” means invoking the seemingly dormant symbolic load of tradition and metaphor, perhaps a critical component of the persistence of earth-based cultures in the face of a history of ecological dislocation (Abrahams 1985). Cultural traditions, in this case, were never lost, but laid dormant, waiting for expression through resumed participation in a traditional Miami-plant relationship. Second, cultural traditions have endured through more conscious memories and stories told amongst family members and friends regarding traditional ways of Miami life. Much data gathered in this study was of this nature—elder’s memories of how corn was cultivated, used, and its cultural importance. These data were elicited primarily through intellectual avenues— structured interviews with set questions. Third, cultural knowledge has endured in active, outward expression of traditions, including the continuous use of certain Miami words, names and phrases, even after fluency went dormant in the tribe, continued hunting, fishing and wild plant gathering in traditional ways taught by particular Miami elders, and a continued and

unfaltering commitment to traditional ways of politics and social programs. Likewise, corn cultivation has continued in many ways that are traditional, even when particular varieties have changed. Findings from more recent historians and ethnographers and primary data gathered in this study documents substantial cultural information regarding Miami corn cultivation in the latter part of the 20th and early 21st century (Table 2). Gathered evidence of contemporary corn traditions demonstrates that corn continues to be cultivated, processed and used in contemporary times, and in many of the same ways that are historically traditional to the Miami.

Contemporary Corn Cultivation & Processing. Some type of corn has been continuously cultivated by Miami people, either communally or by individual families, for centuries and possibly millennia. It appears, however, that there was a hiatus in the cultivation of Miami White Corn from the end of World War II until the 1990s, since no evidence of its cultivation identified in this study for that time period (Rafert 1996). More recently, stored Miami White Corn seeds became distributed within the Miami communities and cultivation resumed. The Miami community in Oklahoma (The Miami Tribe of Oklahoma) currently owns and operates Tahway Farms, where Miami white corn, other crops, and beef cattle are raised for sale. Similarly, the families from the Miami community in the Wabash River watershed also grow Miami white corn on their privately owned lands. Corn cultivation within the Miami communities is increasing and is quickly becoming a viable source of economic value, being sold as fodder and for human consumption by Miami-owned farms and Miami individuals. Most of the information regarding Miami corn cultivation information has come from ethnohistorical sources, yet continued ethnographic consultations with contemporary Miami families and entities may reveal more. However, there are a few cases where contemporary information serves to confirm historical sources. One example is a Miami elder’s description of planting of corn seeds into hills (Rafert 1989), which parallels Deliette’s (1702) description of the same process almost 300 years earlier. This same elder also relayed that Miami place a small fish, usually a bottom feeder, or suckers that were bony” on the bottom of each hill (Rafert 1989), which has not been recorded for the Miami in historic times. Another Miami elder’s description (Baldwin 1997) of how Miami men and women both participate in corn cultivation in different ways, somewhat reflects historic accounts written by Gravier (ca. 1700) and Joliet

(1674) who described the involvement of both women and some men in harvesting and cultivation. But these accounts and those of Deliette (1702) and Charlevoix (1682-1761) tend to emphasize a historic European rather than Miami role of women, describing Miami women as being ‘restricted’ to gardening and housekeeping. On the contrary, Miami women were not restricted in any sense, but were the controllers and providers of crop foods, and heads of domestic life. For example, in traditional Miami culture, the women were the heads of the households, and held the power to expell men out of their dwelling, if their behavior warranted such an action. Miami women also were the keepers of the corn, passing down actual seeds and cultivation traditions through matrilineal lines. In the case of corn processing it is remarkable how similar contemporary Miami traditions are to ancient ones, given the high degree of cultural disruption endured by the Miami over the last three centuries. Two ethnohistorical references (Deliette 1702, Marquette 1674) describe the sequence of corn processing as roasting, shelling, drying on mats, and then storage in baskets or gourds underground. Contemporary sources from Oklahoma taken from interviews with two Miami elders (Carlson 1996b, Himes 1966) describe almost exactly the same process, almost 300 years later, with only minor changes. The core of the processing method remains the same from 1673 to 2006: removal of kernels, drying, and storage. The changes in the process over time, including the use of an oven for kernel drying, and shelling before drying in contemporary times, represent emergent adaptations in technology, rather than methodological losses in this case. One Miami elder described traditional methods of drying the shelled corn, including a drying rack, constructed like a wooden scaffold about six feet high, atop which ears of corn were placed (Rafert 1989). Another Miami elder described something similar, where a shed was built, covered with grass and ears of corn were placed inside to dry (Tyner 1968). Both these accounts reflect the historic descriptions of storing dried ear-corn by hanging (Charlevoix 1682-1761) and drying corn on a rack (Dunn ca. 1900). Also, the contemporary method of storing dried corn in jars in a cellar (Himes 1966) mirrors ancient methods of storing dried corn in cool, subterranean caches (LeClerq 1679-1680, Charlevoix 1682-1761).

Specific Contemporary Corn Uses. Traditional Miami corn recipes have also been described by both past and present Miami elders. Contemporary recipes outnumber those

documented in the ethnohistorical literature, possibly reflecting the incomplete description of Miami lifeways by early explorers and priests and the increased diversity in culinary plates in more recent times (Fig. 4). Contemporary diversification of traditional corn recipes indicates a vital and evolving contemporary culture which continues to create new traditions rooted in the ways of their ancestors. The corn and animal fat stew described by Marquette as “sagamite” and his description of Miami “corn bread” (1674), have endured into contemporary times as seen in a Miami elder’s recipes for corn cooked with bacon grease or with beef and for corn bread (Carlson 1996b). However, the traditional Miami corn with pumpkin or vegetables, described by Deliette (1702), Perrot (1680-1718), and Dunn’s (1919) has not been documented in contemporary times. Yet pumpkin uses seem to have expanded, the flesh being used by contemporary Miami in soup, pies, bread, and salads, and seeds dried and eaten. Non-food uses of corn have also been recorded by both ethnohistorical and contemporary Miami sources (Fig. 5). Two records documented use of corn husks for corn-husk dolls and even a woven corn-husk basket. However, there appears to be no overlap in non-food uses between these two time periods, indicating that historic, traditional non-food uses were discarded or laid fallow during the last 50 years, and contemporary ones have evolved through individual innovation.

Miami White Corn—Contemporary Accounts. The uniqueness of the 8-rowed Miami White Corn morphology and its relationship to the Miami culture was supported by ethnocontemporary data gathered in this study. A Miami elder described Miami White Corn as follows: “A full ear of corn wouldn’t be that long, and the cob wouldn’t be any bigger than my finger here. The grains were rounded, they were rounded. And sometimes there’d be a purple grain here and there” “we called it squaw corn” (Rafert 1989). Several other Miami elders that grow Miami White Corn also remarked that it did not grow as tall or as robustly as other corn varieties, and had skinnier ears. They also mentioned that, Miami White Corn is subject to hybridization, and for this reason is usually planted in relative isolation from commercial varieties wherever possible and any seeds showing signs of hybridization (e.g. denting) are not kept for future planting (Aatotankiki Myaamiaki 2002). The tribal farm of the Miami Tribe

of Oklahoma protects against cross-pollination by planting within a wide pollen buffer--in 2000 corn was planted over 2 miles from any other corn variety. Ethnocontemporary data also describes the close link between Miami White Corn and Miami families. One Miami elder described how her mother-in-law hand carried seeds of Miami White corn on the journey of the Miami people from Indiana area to Kansas and Oklahoma (Olds, Olds and Tippmann 1999). Miami White Corn was also known as “White flour corn”, or “Aunt Mariah’s Corn” (Olds, Olds and Tippmann 1999). Another Miami elder said that his parents and members of another Miami family grew Miami White Corn in Indiana until commercial sweet corn became popular in the 1940s (Rafert 1989). A number of Miami families in Indiana and Oklahoma grow Miami White Corn today, and the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma reinitiated the traditional annual planting cycle in 2000, on tribal lands in Oklahoma (Aatotankiki Myaamiaki 2001). Historic, traditional uses of Miami White Corn for hominy, parching, and corn meal are reaffirmed by ethnocontemporary source records (Fig. 7). Apparently, Miami White Corn is the preferred variety of corn for traditional dishes but can be substituted with other corn varieties. In contrast to contemporary sweet corn varieties and green corn (corn eaten raw or dried from the milk stage), Miami White Corn is a flour corn, used after cooking and preparation. No records were found in this study, either historic or contemporary, for non-food uses of Miami White Corn.

Enduring traditions: linkages from past to present The close similarity of historic corn processing, corn recipes and customary uses of corn dishes, represent the strongest evidence for the survival of some Miami corn traditions over the last 300 years. Slight changes to these corn-related traditions over time represents cultural flexibility and innovation, while their persistence in the face of repeated and significant external pressures promoting cultural degradation displays a remarkable permanence. The gender of some Miami language corn terms also indicates linkages of ancestral and contemporary corn traditions. Algonquian languages are known for their animate and inanimate gender markings on nouns. In Miami, animate nouns end in –a while inanimate nouns end with – i. Although no blanket rule is agreed upon for the motivations for gender assignment, it is conservative to say that the concept of power, as related to people, spirits, animals, or ceremonial

items, plays an important role in determining animacy in Algonquian languages (Dahlstrom 1995b). Miami scholar’s point to ‘cultural significance’ as an underlying purpose for the animate marking and feel that the inanimate classification is nothing more than an ‘other’ category. This leaves an interpretation that “some things are animate on account of their significant cultural relevance”(Costa, pers. comm., 2006). In relation to Miami corn, the only terms that are marked as animate, according to ethnohistoric language data (Pinet 1696-ca. 1700) are noolintia, hominy corn, and kiišiinkwia, green corn, both indicating a ready-to-eat form of corn. Of all corn traditions, one Miami elder remembers best harvesting and using green corn to make oatmeal. This memory supports the idea that green corn had a relatively higher degree of cultural significance to the historic Miami and that significance has continued through contemporary times. The continued cultivation, selling and distribution of corn as a food source by Miami people is an example of an ancient tradition with a linkage to contemporary times. The practical reasons that Miami participate in their relationship with corn have changed little from historic to contemporary times, yet another linkage of past to present. Corn cultivation has been and continues to be an activity of food or trade item procurement, economic gains of corn cultivation being the contemporary analog to corn cultivation as a trade item in the past. Similarly, the more fundamental Miami motivations for contemporary corn cultivation have not changed. Corn cultivation represents not only food production but an engagement in an important cultural tradition, creating continuity between past and present, ancestors and living relatives, humans and nature. Participation in corn cultivation, harvest, storage, cooking and crafts is an expression of a value for the Miami, the importance of relationship to and stewardship of the land. This cultural-land/nature relationship is a significant part of who the Miami are, and to engage in such activities reinforces Miami identity (Greymorning 2004).

Uniqueness of Miami corn traditions Miami corn traditions data were compared with data from the Delaware (Lenape), two regional Algonquian tribes, the Potawatomi and Ojibwe, and a non-Algonquian cultural group, the Iroquois (Table 5). Of the tribes used in the comparison, the Delaware methods of corn cultivation most closely mirror methods of the Miami, which is expected due to occupying a landscape that was ecologically similar for over a century in Ohio and Indiana and almost two

centuries in Kansas and Oklahoma. A cooperative relationship fostered the exchange of cultural information and encouraged the development of similar cultural traditions in some cases. Piankeshaw chiefs invited the landless Delaware to inhabit areas within their territory as early as 1767 along the White River in Indiana, and the Miami offered lands to the Delaware in 1795 at the time of the Greenville Treaty, both demonstrating the close ties between the two groups (Weslager 1989). In fact, the Delaware are considered as ‘grandfather’ by many central Algonquian tribes and the Miami still refer to them as kimehšoomina, ‘our grandfather’. Most methods of corn cultivation and corn uses are similar among the two tribes, including mounding, crop protection, irrigation, existence of a unique white flour corn variety, green corn uses and celebrations and other traditional dishes, similar traditions evolving out of a greater community of allied indigenous relations and a shared landscape. Even with the close ties and shared land-base some slight differences in Delaware and Miami corn traditions emerged from the data collected in this study. No elders or records indicated a specific blue corn variety for the Miami, while for the Delaware a unique variety of blue flour corn, called sèhsapsing, was identified. We can not completely rule out the existence of a blue corn variety unique to the Miami—the term iihkipakiinkweemini translates as ‘blue corn’. However, it could not be determined from data gathered in this study whether this is simply a color-descriptive term (where the Miami stem for blue was simply added to the term for ‘corn kernels’), a proper name for a specific variety, or both. Weeding technologies and cornfield taboos were also found to be different, with records for the Delaware, yet not for the Miami regarding these activities. Number of annual corn crops may also have differed—one historical Miami record described three annual corn crops (Joliet 1674-1677) while no other cultural group had more than two. This suggests that the climate, soils and cultural methods of Miami corn cultivation may have allowed for a relatively longer harvest period than the Delaware and other regional indigenous groups. Differences found in cultivation practices between the Delaware and Miami may simply reflect real differences, or simply express the incomplete nature of historical records. Most likely some differences did exist between the two cultural groups, yet without for extensive comparative studies no concrete conclusions can be made regarding these differences. Similarities in corn traditions among cultural groups sharing a similar landscape, like the Ojibwe and Potawatomi, existed as expected, along with differences partly explained by the

differences in ecological character of inhabited lands. The Ojibwe and Potawatomi have historically lived at higher latitudes with shorter growing seasons, less fertile soils, and more forest cover than the Miami (Hammond, Inc. 1999) necessitating a greater dependence on hunting (Densmore 1974, Rafert 1989, Tanner 1987) compared to agriculture. In contrast, the relatively longer growing season, richer floodplain soils (Huston 1993, Hammond Inc. 1999) used in cultivation (Allouez 1676-1677, Anonymous 1746, Charlevoix 1682-1761, Filson 1793) and existence of more forest openings (Hammond Inc. 1999) may explain the greater number of annual crops, the wider range of cultivation, and the existence of local varieties of corn among the Miami people. All these factors, including a relatively longer growing season (Tanner 1987) compared with more northern cultural groups may have had a greater positive impact on Miami population. Since its introduction to the Miami, corn has been of high significance to Miami culture, playing a role in daily life, customs, celebrations, feasts, games, crafts, story-telling, and cultural memory (Dunn ca. 1900, Trowbridge 1825). Corn cultivation continues to have high cultural significance to contemporary Miami, less so as production of a primary food source than as an economic venture and participation in an ancient, traditional relationship with the land.

Discussion Enduring traditions such as this also suggest an inherent ecological experience and knowledge related to corn farming that may be useful for contemporary efforts at reestablishment of sustainable farming methods for the Miami. For example, much of the area of Miami homelands was converted to commercial agriculture in a short period of time, only five decades from the 1820s to 1870s. Conversion of prairies to agricultural fields in Indiana and Illinois and the continued cultivation of these soils represents a non-sustainable use of the land because of the large external inputs needed, including industrial fertilizers, herbicides and pesticides and in some cases water for irrigation. Traditional Miami agriculture allowed for extremely minimal external inputs: agricultural fields were situated on floodplains along watercourses for natural nutrient replenishment, weed reduction and natural irrigation from a high water table and frequent flooding. The Miami indirectly, and possibly intentionally conserved prairie soils by planting on floodplains and along river courses. This, in turn, benefited another important food source, the bison, and the host of other plant and animal species related to

bison hunting in the prairie ecosystem (Aatotankiki Myaamiaki 2002, Dillon 1859, Voegelin 1934-1985). With the regaining of community-owned Miami lands in 1976 in Oklahoma and in the early 1990’s in Indiana (Rafert 1996), the forum for community participation in traditional ecological relationships with corn and other natural entities was reestablished. Gathering geographically and temporally disparate, extant sources of ethnobotanical data on Miami corn, has enabled the beginnings of a more holistic, accurate description of traditional Miami lifeways related to corn, and is directly serving the Miami community in their efforts towards cultural revitalization. The significance of revitalizing practices related to traditional foods such as Myaamia miincipi cannot be underestimated. Food traditions in other cultural groups are important element in rights of passage for boys in plains tribes (hunting) and for young females in southwestern United States tribes, serving important community and nutritional (Waziyatawin 2005). The initiation into corn cultivation is also an important right of passage for girls in Miami culture helping build self-esteem and identity. Traditions revolving around corn, including, dancing, singing, hunting, and crafts are some of the most vital traditions of the Miami, documented for over 300 years. If cultures are defined as ongoing processes involving dynamic actors engaged in current forms of political resistance and revitalization (Prins 1996) then the Miami culture, although subjected to intense forces of assimilation and annihilation, has endured. Contemporary traditions can constitute a surviving link to ancient lifeways representing the culture itself (Pecore 1993). In the case of the Miami, contemporary corn traditions can be viewed as a symbol of the intrinsic adaptability and persistence of the Miami culture. Miami corn traditions have not only survived, but are thriving once again, continuing to be spoken, enacted and revitalized in the current decade more than ever. Miami education programs incorporating corn traditions in ethnobotanical curricula are teaching about historic and contemporary corn traditions, demonstrating cultural resilience and the failure of past acculturation efforts (Champagne 1989). Many historical accounts of indigenous North Americans describe the “disappearance” of tribes, and emphasize the losses of cultural lifeways. We disagree with this premise and reinterpret the periods of cultural dormancy as signs of cultural boundary maintenance by the Miami in an adaptive effort to preserve sovereignty and cultural values while embedded in a Euro-American matrix, much as other

North American cultural groups have done (Champagne 1989, Champagne 2005, Einbender- Velez 1993). The Myaamia Project, a joint venture between the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma and Miami University, of Ohio, has breathed new life into the Miami language, dormant since the 1960s. Language revitalization efforts and ethnobotanical studies, including this study, utilized the same ethnohistorical texts. Several families have members that now are actively speaking and learning the Miami language, educational language and culture workshops are held throughout the year and this ethnobotanical study continues to document and disseminate traditional knowledge to the Miami people. With only a small percentage of Father Gravier and Father Pinet manuscripts translated to date, there exists a vast source of primary ethnobotanical information on near- contact era Miami culture still to be examined. It is expected that with continued elder interviews, increased language revitalization, ongoing traditional activities, and academic research, the Miami culture and corn cultivation will continue to thrive.

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Endnotes 1Community lands held by the Miami in northern Indiana (by 1830 the ancestral homelands had been reduced to a reported 500,000 acres in northern Indiana) were done away with at the time of removal, when Miami lands were split into privately-owned allotments between Chief Jean Baptiste Richardville, his successor Chief Francis Lafontaine, the children of Chief Francis Godfroy, and Chief Meshingomeshia of the Mississinewa villages. In all, only 148 recorded Miami remained in the ancestral lands, on approximately 15,000 acres of privately-owned allotments (Anson 1970). This number represents only 0.02 percent of the some 64,000,000 acres (this is a conservative estimate, excluding lands in Michigan, Wisconsin, and shared lands in Kentucky and Iowa) of community lands that made up the core of the ancestral territories). However, estimating ancestral land cover is problematic. Ancestral lands, although dominated by Miami culture, were often shared with other cultural groups throughout time and space. Homelands are not considered property of the Miami, by the Miami, so the quantitative estimate of ancestral homelands is presented with caution and only as a means to compare the pre- and post-removal land bases. This ancestral land cover estimate does not constitute a culturally relevant method of describing homelands for the Miami. Nevertheless, any estimation would document that the historic, ancestral land base of the Miami was drastically reduced by the 19th century.

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Marquette, J. 1674 (1927). Of the first voyage made by Father Marquette toward New Mexico, and how the idea thereof was conceived. In, The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents: Travels and explorations of the Jesuit missionaries in North America (1610-1791), pp. 333-366, Edna Kenton, editor. Albert & Charles Boni, New York.

Masthay, C. 1985. Personal communication. Oxford, Ohio.

______. 2002. Kaskaskia Illinois-to-French Dictionary. St. Louis, MO: Published by author.

Matsuoka, Y., Vigoroux, Y., Goodman, M., Sanchez G., Jesus, Buckler, E., and J. Doebley. 2002. A single domestication for maize shown by multilocus microsatellite genotyping. Proceedings of the National Academy of Science 99(9):6080-6084.

McCafferty, M. 2003. A fresh look at the place name Chicago. Manuscript, pp. 1-18. Indiana University, Bloomington.

______. 2005. The latest Miami-Illinois dictionary and its author. In H.C. Wolfart, ed., Papers of the 36th Algonquian Conference, 271-286. University of Manitoba, Winnipeg.

McClurg, M. 1961. Miami Indian stories told by Chief Clarence Godfroy. Light and Life Press, Winona Lake, Indiana.

Minnis, P. 2000. Ethnobotany: a reader. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman.

Moerman, D. E. 1998. Native American ethnobotany. Timber Press, Portland, Oregon.

Olds, D., Olds, J. and D. Tippmann. 1999. Interview with Mildred Walker, Miami Tribe of Oklahoma. Miami Tribe of Oklahoma Archives, Miami, Oklahoma.

Ortiz, A. 1989. Some cultural meanings of corn in aboriginal North America. Northeast Indian Quarterly, Spring/Summer, pp. 64-73.

Pecore, M. and L. Nesper. 1993. “The trees will last forever”: The integrity of their forest

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signifies the health of the Menominee people. Cultural Survival Quarterly 17(1).

Perrot, N. 1680-1718 (1911). Memoir on the manners, customs, and religion of the savages of North America. Leipzig and Paris. In, The Indian Tribes of the Upper Mississippi Valley and region of the Great Lakes, as described by Nicolas Perrot, French commandant in the Northwest; Bacqueville de la Potherie, French royal commissioner to Canada; Morrell Marston, American army officer; and Thomas Forsyth, United States agent at Fort Armstrong, Vol. I, Emma Helen Blair ed., pp. 31-182. The Arthur H. Clark Company, Cleveland, Ohio.

Pinet, P. 1696-ca. 1700 (n. d.) (2004). Unpublished manuscript of Miami, Wea and Illinois words organized by topics. Portions translated by David Costa, El Cerrito, California.

Prins, H. E. L. 1996. The Mi’kmaq: Resistance, accommodation, and cultural survival. Harcourt Brace, Fort Worth, Texas.

Rafert, S. 1996. The Miami Indians of Indiana. Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Society.

______. 1992. Being Indian in the land of Indians: Miami life in Indiana, 1890-1990. In, Native American cultures in Indiana. Proceedings of the First Minnetrista Council Great Lakes Native American studies, R. Hicks, ed., pp. 82-90. Minnetrista Cultural Center and Ball State University, Muncie, Indiana. ______. 1989. Unpublished transcript of interview with Lamoine Marks, Miami Nation of Indians of Indiana, Wabash, Indiana.

Rementer, J. 2006. Personal communication. Oxford, Ohio.

Sando, J. 1998. Pueblo Nations. Clear Light Publishers, Santa Fe.

Schensul, S., Schensul, J. and M. LeCompte. 1999. Essential ethnographic methods. Altamira Press, New York.

Schoolcraft, H. R. 1839. Algic researches, comprising inquiries respecting the mental characteristics of the North American Indians. First series: Indian tales and legends. New York: Harper.

Sleeper-Smith, S. 2001. Indian women and French men: Rethinking cultural encounters in the Western Great Lakes. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press.

Smith, C. W., Betran, J. and E. C. A. Runge. 2004. Corn: Origin, history, technology, and Production. New Jersey: John Wiley and Sons, Inc.

Smith, H. H. 1932. Ethnobotany of the Ojibwe Indians. Bull. of the Public Museum of the City of Milwaukee 4(3):327-525.

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City of Milwaukee 7(1):1-230.

Stevens, M. L. 1999. The ethnoecology and autecology of White Root (Carex barbarae Dewey): Implications for restoration. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of California, Davis.

Stickney, B. 1809-1815 (1961). Letterbook of the Indian Agency at Fort Wayne, 1809-1815, acting as an officer of the US War Office of Indian Trade. Ed. By Gayle Thornbrough. Indiana Historical Society, Indianapolis.

Tanner, H. H. 1987. Atlas of Great Lakes Indian History. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman.

Tanner, H. H. 1992. The Ojibwa. Chelsea House Publishers, New York.

Thwaites, R. G. 1896-1901. Jesuit Relations and allied documents. Travels and explorations of the Jesuit missionaries in New France 1610-1791. Burrows Brothers Co., Cleveland, Ohio.

Trowbridge, C. C. 1825 (1938). In, Meearmeear traditions, Vernon Kinietz, ed. University of Michigan, Press, Ann Arbor.

Tyner, J. 1968. Interview with Rose Carver, Miami Tribe of Oklahoma. Miami Tribe of Oklahoma Archives, Miami, Oklahoma.

Wang, H., Nussbaum-Wagler, T., Li, Bailin, Zhao, Q., Vigoroux, Y., Faller, M., omblies, K., Lukens, L., and J. Doebley. 2005. The origin of the naked grains of maize. Nature 436(4):714-719.

Warman, A. 1989. Maize as an organizing principle: How corn shaped space, time, and Relationships in the new world. Northeast Indian Quarterly, Spring/Summer 1989, pp. 20-27.

Waziyatawin, A. W. 2005. Decolonizing indigenous diets. In, For indigenous eyes only: A decolonization handbook, Waziyatawin A. Wilson and M. Yellow Bird, eds., pp. 67-85. Santa Fe: School of American Research.

Weatherwax, P. 1954. Indian corn of old America. The MacMillan Company, New York.

Webster, D., Rue, D., and A. Traverse. 2005. Early Zea cultivation in Honduras: Implications for the Iltis hypothesis. Economic Botany 59(2):101-111.

Weslager, C. A. 1989. The Delaware Indians: a history. New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press.

Wheeler-Voegelin, E. 1934-1985. Notes and manuscripts. Box 3. Newberry Library Special Collections, Chicago.

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Wheeler-Voegelin, E. 1944. Mortuary customs of the Shawnee and other Eastern tribes. Indiana Historical Society, Indianapolis.

109 TABLE 1.—Summary of primary ethnohistoric sources on Miami corn cultivation*

Observer (Editor/Translator) Date of Record Content of account

Nicholas Perrot (Blair 1911) 1680-1718 Encounters with Miami-Illinois

Father Jacques Marquette (Thwaites 1900) 1674 -1675 Journal on missions

Louis Joliet (Thwaites 1903) 1674-1677 Voyage to Illinois country

Louis Hennepin (Thwaites 1903) 1674-1677 Description of Illinois country

Father Claude Jean Allouez (Kenton 1925) 1676-1677 Voyage in Miami-Illinois country

Christian LeClercq (Shea 1903) 1679-1680 La Salle’s exploration of Mississippi River 110 Pierre-F.-Xavier Charlevoix (Kellogg 1923) 1682-1761 Voyage through Miami-Illinois country

Anastasius Douay (Kenton 1925) 1687 La Salle’s ascension of Mississippi River

Pierre-Francois Pinet (Costa 2004) 1696-ca.1700 Manuscript of Miami-Illinois words

Father Jacques Gravier (attributed) ca. 1700 Illinois-French Dictionary

Pierre-Charles Deliette (Pease 1934) 1702 Memoir concerning Illinois country

Henri Joutel 1714 Voyage to Illinois River with La Salle

Jean-Baptiste Antoine-Robert LeBoullenger ca. 1719-1744 French and Miami-Illinois dictionary

Charles C. Trowbridge 1825 Meearmeear [Miami] traditions John B. Dillon 1859 Ethnohistoric publication on Indiana

Albert S. Gatschet ca. 1895 Manuscripts regarding the Miami

Jacob P. Dunn ca. 1900, 1919 Interviews with Miami Indians

*Although some secondary sources were utilized in the study, only primary sources are listed. 111 TABLE 2.—Miami language terms related to corn (Baldwin & Costa 2005, Dunn ca. 1900, Gravier ca. 1700, Masthay 2002, Pinet

1696-ca.1700)(* = tentative linguistic phonemization).

Category Miami-Illinois Term English Translation (literal meaning)

General miincipi corn, corn kernel

Cultivation miincipahki corn field

miincipehkiimini* picked corn

kii$iinkweemini ripened corn (milk stage)

Anatomical miincipaahkwi corn stalk

112 wiihkiihkwani corn cob

awiilihsa corn silk (lit. hair)

Descriptive peehkiinkweemini good ear of corn

atakiinkweemini wet corn

wiihkapi-miincipi sweet corn

noohkiinkweemini soft corn

ihkiinkweemini* raw corn

soonkiinkweemini hard corn Color/Appearance keetakiinkweemini many colored corn (lit. spotted corn)

oonsaawiinkweemini yellow corn

waapiinkweemini white corn

iihkipakiinkweemini blue corn

niihpikiinkweemini red corn

waahkamiinkweemini clear corn

kiišiinkwia green corn

Processing, Cooking, Storage mahtohkatwi cracked corn 113 mahtohkatoopowi cracked corn soup

kitasaakani parched corn

peehsaahkinamini husking corn

noolintia hominy corn, ready to eat or store

peelakiinkweesaakani hominy from heated lye process

peelakiinkwaakani hominy from non-heated lye process

peenkiteeki miincipi popcorn (lit. corn that explodes by heat)

miincipikaani corn crib *only the verb stems of these terms were given in original sources. For example, iincipehkiimini as given as miincipehkii- (to pick corn). The

–mini endings are totally expected here, and added to make the table terms uniform as nouns (Costa 2006). 114 Table 3.—Pinet’s (1696-1702) recorded Miami-Illinois corn terms

Corn Term Category # Terms in Term Example English Translation

Dictionary

Corn kernel or ear 25 s8nghing8e8i Hard corn

Corn plant 19 sakisin8nghira It is not growing at all

Corn uses 9 nipassanking8essan I soak it in lye

Corn cultivation 18 sakin8ai It sprouts [e.g. the corn]

Total corn terms 71

115 Total tobacco terms 32 8issaghir8si8a The tobacco is good, not bitter

TABLE 4: Comparison of corn traditions of the Miami and other regional tribes primary and secondary ethnographic data sources.

Miami Delaware1 Regional Tribes Iroquois7 Cultivation Corn variety Miami White Corn Puhwèm White Corn Calico Sweet Corn (Potawatomi) Iroquois White Flint Corn Shèsapsing Blue Corn Annual Crops 2-3 2 1+ 1 Sowing 5-6 seeds/hole 4 seeds/hole * 4-6 seeds/hill Mounding Yes, ‘hilling-up’ Yes, ‘hilling-up’ when corn is Yes (Potawatomi)13 Yes, ‘hilling-up’ knee high Cultivator’s Female Female Female (Potawatomi)9 Female gender (Corn considered a Mother) (Life producers must sow) Crop protection Yes Yes Yes (Ojibwe)3 Yes Irrigation No No * Yes Technology Weeding No Yes Yes (Ojibwe)14 Yes Cornfield Floodplains Floodplains/Bottomlands Floodplains/Riparian15 location Extent of Widespread Widespread Widespread5 cultivation Harvest Yes Yes (Green Corn Dance) Yes (Shawnee)8 Yes

116 Celebration Taboos * Not to defecate nor urinate in a * Menstruating women refrain from corn field corn planting Preparation Grinding Wooden and stone Wooden or stone pestle with Stone mortar & pestle Wooden mortar & pestle mortar & pestle wooden mortar (Potawatomi, Ojibwe)6 Drying Ears hung to dry, baked Ears hung to dry, baked green Ears hung to dry, spread on birch Ears hung dry, roasting, baked green corn, shelled corn corn bark in sun (Ojibwe)3; Drying green corn spread on mats in sun (Potawatomi6; Sauk8) Parching Yes Yes Yes3 Yes Storage Underground (in past); Underground (in past); braids Underground (in past) in elm bark Underground (in past), raised laying on racks; ears hung in of ears hung in house2 bags4 granaries, ears hung in longhouse house Foods/Uses Green corn Yes Yes Yes (Potawatomi6; Ojibwe3,6; Yes Shawnee8; Sauk8) Soup Yes (often with meat) Yes (usually with meat) Yes (Ojibwe)3 Yes Hominy Yes Yes Yes (Ojibwe3;Sauk8) Yes Parched Yes Yes Yes (Ojibwe)3 Yes Corn meal (dish) Yes (Bread) Yes Yes (Ojibwe3;Sauk8) Yes (Bread) Beverage * Yes Yes (Shawnee)8 Yes Ceremonial uses Yes Yes Yes (Ojibwe, Shawnee)16 Yes Origin Entity/location Human/spirit’s grave * Human/Spirit’s grave(Ojibwe)5 Sky Woman’s grave 1Rementer 2006, 2Weslager 1989, 3Densmore 1974, 4Moerman 1998, 5Weatherwax 1954, 6Smith 1933, 7Cornelius, 8Costa 2006, 9Edmunds 1978, 10Sleeper-Smith 2001, 11Smith 1932, 12McClurg 1961, 13Clifton 1987, 14Baraga 1992, 15Tanner 1992, 16Voegelin 1944—food items used in grave ceremonies, not corn use specifically. *No records found

FIGURE 1. Myaamionki—Ancestral homelands of the Miami people, from prior to 1650 to 1846 (Adapted from Governanti 2004).

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FIGURE 2. Myaamionki--Homelands of the Miami Nation in Oklahoma, circa 1873-2006.

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Activities in Early June: Activities in Early April: •Seed planting •Return from winter •Inter-village feast of camps to summer women soliciting help villages Aanteekwa Wiihkoowia with planting •Planning for corn crop kiilhswa kiilhswa •Most of village leaves to ensure synchrony on buffalo hunt after with buffalo hunt Crow Moon Whipporwill planting •Gather firewood (~April) Moon •Older men and some (~June) women remain to tend to fields 119

Kiiŝiinkwia Aciihciikate kiilhswa kiilhswa Corn Fit-to- Hoeing Moon (~July) Activities in Late August: Eat Moon Activities in Late July: •Second corn harvest of (~August) •First corn harvest larger eared corn •Drying of first harvest •Drying of second for storage harvest for storage •Boiling corn for •Storage of corn in consumption subterranean caches

FIGURE 3. Miami seasonal cycles of cultivation and hunting (Miami moon terms from Costa 2006).

Green corn Hominy

Corn mus h

Soup Parched Boiled w / fat

Corn bread

Popcorn Corn Food Uses Corn Rotten

Pumpkin stew Historic records Quiche Contemporary records

Creamed corn

0 5 10 15 Number of corn use records

FIGURE 4.—Comparison of ethnohistorical and contemporary food use records for all varieties of corn.

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Corn f es tiv al

Fodder

Trade

Funeral

Bait Non-food corn uses Baskets His toric Rec ords Contemporary Records Medic ine

0123 Number of corn use records

FIGURE 5.—Comparison of ethnohistorical and contemporary non-food use records for all varieties of corn.

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A B

C DD

FIGURE 6.—Examples of contemporary Miami corn dishes (A-parched corn, B-corn & walnut soup, C-corn & meat soup, D-hominy).

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Corn meal

Quiche

Hominy

Parched

Miami White Corn Uses Corn White Miami Historic Records Pumpkin stew Contemporary Records

01234 Number of corn use records

FIGURE 7.—Comparison of ethnohistorical and contemporary food uses of Miami White Corn.

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Chapter 4 Effects of indigenous Miami harvesting and burning regimes on growth and reproduction of common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca L., Asclepiadaceae).

Abstract The Miami people have harvested and potentially burned the habitat of Asclepias syriaca L. for food, fiber and medicine for at least two centuries. In this study I reintroduced the indigenous Miami methods of early spring harvesting and dormant season burning of habitat of A. syriaca and examined effects on growth and reproduction. Harvesting in very early spring, at three intensity levels, did not generally effect growth and reproduction, hence was sustainable over the four year study. However, mowing treatments conducted 1-2 weeks later resulted in reduced genet size and ramet heights— indicating that timing is critical to sustainable harvesting. Dormant season burning, conducted once during the three year study, also had no effect on growth and reproduction, which was in contrast to other studies involving perennial herbs, however many of these studies had perennial grasses as the target species. Shorter ramet heights in burned plots compared to unburned was speculated to be the results of an overgrowth of an invasive weed. The presence of exotic, invasive weeds and their responses to burning may be an important consideration when utilizing burns in species management.

Introduction Indigenous peoples have altered growth and reproduction of plants of their homelands for centuries (Hammett 1997, Delcourt and Delcourt 2004) and possibly millenia (Denevan 1992). Numerous studies demonstrate that indigenous people’s interactions with the local flora surrounding their homes during historic times contributed to the persistence of certain plant assemblages, populations and individuals (Hammett 1997, Anderson et al. 1998, Lewis and Anderson 2002, Delcourt and Delcourt 2004, Turner and Peacock 2005). However, the actual extent and direct effects of indigenous interactions with plants are difficult to document—reconstructing past ecological dynamics and effects are limited to broad-scale data and indirect evidence derived from studies such as dendrochronology and fire ring scars (Kipfmueller and Swetnam 2001), palynology and

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patterns of pollen deposition (Davis 2001, Delcourt and Delcourt 2004), and aerial photography from different time periods (Reithmaier 2001). However, these data represent changes to vegetation and species stemming from numerous influences and are usually unable to support hypotheses regarding effects from anthropogenic causes. Specific, direct effects resulting from indigenous people’s harvesting and burning of specific plant species or communities are well established in traditional knowledge, but much remains to be unexplored by scientific approaches. Although documentation of indigenous people’s effects on plants from prehistoric through historic time periods are limited, studies of contemporary indigenous people’s traditional relationships with plants can provide evidence of intentional alterations of plant populations and individuals. Recent studies present measurable, demographic effects resulting from interactions between the indigenous harvester and the harvested plant (Anderson 1996, Joyal 1996, Anderson and Rowney 1999, Stevens 1999, Ticktin and Johns 2002, Reid 2005, Storm and Shebitz 2006) and shed light on past interactions between humans and plants. Indigenous harvesting and burning traditions, sometimes called management practices within the scientific community1, have included landscape level processes such as burning and intentional seed distribution, and population and species level processes including harvesting, pruning, coppicing, digging, picking, transplanting, and replanting (Anderson 2005). The success of these techniques has relied on detailed knowledge of plant life history, phenology and responses to management practices. It is well understood by indigenous peoples that the timing, frequency and intensity of traditional management practices are what allow for the sustained harvests and growth of culturally important plants (Anderson and Blackburn 1993, Turner and Peacock 2005). In this sense, indigenous management practices can be nested into the larger theoretical framework of disturbance ecology, where the timing, frequency and scale of disturbance have an affect on community or population structure and can change available resources (White and Pickett 1985) and differences in timing, intensity and frequency of harvesting and/or burning often determine if effects on plants are positive, neutral or negative. In general, indigenous harvesting and burning practices tend to mitigate negative impacts on culturally important species. Protection of future plant resources is achieved by

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using specific harvesting and burning methods based on centuries of traditional ecological knowledge (Kimmerer 2000) and which are honed to maximize growth and reproduction of target plant species (Gadgil 1987, Stocks 1987, Berkes 1999, Anderson 2005). In fact it is well established in qualitative studies of indigenous management that traditional practices are designed to intentionally promote or sustain plant growth and reproduction (Anderson and Blackburn 1993, Stevens 1999, Striplen and DeWeerdt 2002, Shebitz and Kimmerer 2004, Anderson 2005, Turner and Peacock 2005). It is also well understood by indigenous peoples that plants benefit from traditional harvesting and burning practices—traditional ecological knowledge regarding harvesting and burning takes into account that too little harvesting or burning of certain species may result in reduced growth and reproduction (Blackburn and Anderson 1993, Striplen and DeWeerdt 2002, Shebitz and Kimmerer 2004) and too much disturbance through harvesting or burning may result in reduced resource availability over time by depleting the plant’s energy reserves (Anderson 1993a, Stevens 1999, Anderson 2005, Turner and Peacock 2005). Indeed, there are a number of recent scientific studies which validate this enduring indigenous knowledge, in which positive and/or sustainable effects to perennial plant growth and reproduction are demonstrated quantitatively (Anderson and Rowney 1999, Ticktin and Johns 2002, Nabhan 2003, Reid 2005) and qualitatively (Fowler et al. 2003, Garibaldi 2003, Turner 2003, Herrmann 2006). Herbivory studies, dealing with the consumption of plants by any consumer (Barbour et al. 1999), can also yield insights regarding the effects of indigenous harvesting on plants, if harvesting is considered a human analog to herbivory (Anderson 2005). It follows that indigenous harvesting, like herbivory, has the potential to influence plant species abundance, persistence, community composition and structure (McNaughton 1983), especially if conducted over a large spatial and temporal scale which is characteristic of indigenous harvesting. Specific effects on plants from herbivory, or analogous removals of aboveground biomass through clipping or mowing, depend on a number of factors, including intensity, frequency, timing, stage of growth (Crawley 1983, Maschinski and Whitham 1989), nutrient availability, competition (Maschinski and Whitham 1989), and water availability (Cox and Evoy 1983). Indigenous harvesting of A. cannabinum, based on centuries of traditional ecological knowledge, directly addresses a number of these factors by specifying the times, frequencies, intensities, and stages of growth of plants that are

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traditionally harvested. Factors such as nutrient and water availability, and competition are not explicitly outlined in Miami traditional harvesting of A. syriaca, but are indirectly addressed through traditional guidelines of specific growth stages that should be harvested and specific seasons of harvest. Intensity of herbivory or harvest is directly related to the amount of aboveground biomass removed. In general, as herbivory intensity increases, the ability of a perennial herb to compensate for tissue losses decreases. In my review of 37 studies (Appendix 7) involving herbivory or harvesting of perennial herbs, there were seven times as many negative effects reported for high intensity harvesting (or analogs) as for intermediate or low intensity harvesting. Some specific negative effects from high intensity herbivory during the growing season include reduced shoot and root growth, reproduction, and competitive ability (Doak 1992, Gedge and Maun 1994, Whitney 1994, Louda and Potvin 1995, Amsberry and Maron 2006). In contrast, relatively low or intermediate intensity herbivory has neutral or positive effects on growth and reproduction (McNaughton 1979, Belsky 1986, Paige and Whitham 1987, Noss et al. 1995, Greenfield et al. 2003). Most herbivory studies document negative or neutral effects to perennial herbs (For example, seeDoak 1992, Gedge and Maun 1994, Rowland and Maun 2001, Amsberry and Maron 2006), but some also reporting positive effects of herbivory on growth and reproduction of perennial herbs (Belsky 1986, Paige and Whitham 1987, Gedge and Maun 1994, Rowland and Maun 2001, Greenfield et al. 2003). However, the window of time in which a plant can compensate in response to damage or defoliation is sometimes quite narrow. Hare (1980) found no effects of insect herbivory on potato crops yield when damage took place between a specific two week period of growth, and Maschinski and Whitham (1989) reported that a three week delay in the timing of herbivory changed the compensatory response from neutral to negative. Recent ethnoecological studies report that indigenous burning, too, has beneficial effects on plant growth and reproduction of perennial herbs, demonstrated in quantitative (Anderson 1991, 1996, Striplen and DeWeerdt 2002) and qualitative findings (Anderson and Morrato 1996, Wray and Anderson 2003, Shebitz and Kimmerer 2004). The idea that indigenous management practices have positive benefits to perennial herb growth and reproduction is further supported by results from prescribed burning studies, which

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simulate indigenous peoples burning regimes, many of which report positive effects on growth and reproduction of perennial herbs in numerous instances (Knapp 1985, Kirkman et al. 1998, Menges and Dolan 1998, Pendergrass et al. 1999, Kaye et al. 2001, Copeland et al. 2002, Silleti and Knapp 2002, Cass 2005). However, not all effects of indigenous harvesting are positive or neutral. There are also studies reporting negative effects on plant growth and reproduction from indigenous harvesting (Joyal 1996, Ticktin and Johns 2002, Reid 2005) or similar aboveground biomass removal by animals (Gedge and Maun 1994, Cadenasso and Pickett 2002) and from indigenous or prescribed burning (Hartnett 1991, Damhoureyeh and Hartnett 1997). In any case, it is important to ascertain the nature of the effect of each management practice of the indigenous harvester, and whether effects are present over a longer time scale approximating indigenous patterns of interaction. Are effects ephemeral, showing up initially then disappearing over time, or are they cumulative, building up to significant levels incrementally? Also important is the question of what aspect of the relationship between the harvester and harvested plant is crucial to observed effects—is it the timing, the frequency or the intensity of harvest that determines the nature of the outcome? Close examination of the particular methods and demographic outcomes of indigenous harvesting and burning practices will further inform hypotheses involving the anthropogenic origins of pre-settlement landscapes and have more direct application to contemporary plant species management. Broader temporal scale questions regarding indigenous people’s effects on plants are best approached through multi-year studies simulating long-term indigenous interactions with plants and documentation of changes to growth and reproduction (Anderson and Rowney 1999). Experiments structured to closely mimic the long-term temporal nature of the harvester and harvested plant relationship and simulate specific harvesting or burning methodologies allows stronger causal linkages between specific indigenous interactions and effects on plants. Furthermore, finer-scale data that are timing-, intensity- and species-specific have more direct application in conservation or restoration of important plant species.

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Case Study: Asclepias syriaca and the Miami people This study focused on traditional harvesting and burning of Asclepias syriaca L., common milkweed, by the Miami people, an indigenous community whose homelands are centered in northern Indiana and include tribal lands in northeastern Oklahoma. The Miami have harvested early emerging shoots (ramets) of A. syriaca for food for at least a century (Rafert 1989, Baldwin 2001, Dunn ca. 1900) or much longer if closely related tribes are used for dating this practice (Whitford 1941, Cheatam and Johnston 1995, Moerman 1998, Yeaman 2001). The Miami have burned the historic habitat of A. syriaca for centuries as well (Hennepin 1698 (1903)), setting fire to meadows and prairies annually or semi- annually in the dormant season (late fall) for improving hunting grounds. Burning of meadows and prairies may have also been intended to increase densities, distribution and qualities of culturally important wild plant populations, like milkweed, as is the case for indigenous groups in California (Anderson 1993b). The Miami also harvest immature flower buds and pods for food and dormant stems for the strong fibers, found in the cambium layer, for making cordage. Asclepias syriaca is clonal, perennial herb inhabiting contemporary human- disturbed habitats such as old fields and roadsides across eastern north America and Canada (Gleason 1917, Steyermark 1964, Cramer and Burnside 1981, Bhowmik 1994) and historic habitats such as meadows, river basins (Steyermark 1964, Bhowmik and Bandeen 1976, Marks 1983, Ladd 1997, Packard 2005), prairies (Ladd 1997) and dunes (Packard 2005). No quantitative research has been conducted regarding the compensatory response of A. syriaca ramets to harvesting, but in general research notes that harvesting stimulates dormant root buds (Ulbricht 1940, Bhowmik and Bandeen 1976) and promotes growth of new ramets (Groh et al. 1945, Evetts and Burnside 1972, Evetts and Burnside 1975, Bhowmik 1994). In my ethnographic research the Miami people have repeatedly described a relationship with plants, including A. syriaca, in which both people and plants benefit, and harvesting methods designed to care for the plant’s vigor as well as ensure procurement of useful products from the plant. Harvesting is conducted at an intensity level (25-50% of all ramets are harvested), at a specific time related to the life history of A. syriaca (early emerging ramets) and frequency (annually) aimed to obtain culturally important plant parts

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while mitigating negative effects of higher intensity, higher frequency harvest involving more mature life-stages. Traditional burning also appears geared towards benefiting A. syriaca or leaving it unharmed; burning was frequent, conducted annually or semi- annually, to ensure fires of low intensity by keeping fuels low, and timed during the dormant season which prevented plant damage. Customs revolving around harvesting are precautionary, intending to limit damage and show appreciation for resources obtained from this plant.2 These data formed the basis of the hypothesis that this traditional relationship allowed for resource procurement while sustaining or enhancing growth and reproduction of A. syriaca. Although A. syriaca is a common species it has ecological and cultural value worthy of conservation management. Asclepias syriaca is a crucial host for the Red milkweed beetle (Tetraopes tetrophthalmus Forst., Coleoptera), Monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus L., Hymenoptera), and Tiger moth (Ctenucha virginica Esp.) (Bhowmik and Bandeen 1976, McCauley 1991), and is forage for deer (Wilbur 1976). It is also a component of native tallgrass prairies, a currently endangered ecosystem (Noss et al. 1995) which supports a unique, and complex web of species, some endemic, threatened and even endangered (Packard and Mutel 1997, Gibson et al. 2006). Culturally, A. syriaca populations are also important to restore and manage—populations large enough to be culturally viable are not currently common on Miami Nation tribal lands or elsewhere (Beaton and Dudley 2004), and where they do exist, access is often restricted as on private farmland or plant material is potentially contaminated by roadside pollutants and agricultural pesticides. Asclepias syriaca was chosen for this study due to its contemporary and long- standing importance to the Miami people for food, fiber, and medicine. The Miami have traditional relationships with literally hundreds of native plant species, yet the active harvesting and burning of culturally important plants is less common among contemporary than historic Miami. Asclepias syriaca, commonly known as leninši in the Miami language, was chosen because it is still talked about by the elders, specific traditional interactions continue to be transmitted orally between generations and management on tribal lands could directly benefit from such a study.

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Overall approach and study questions Traditional Miami interactions of harvesting and burning were simulated with naturally occurring milkweed populations annually for three consecutive years, and followed by monitoring of demographic variables. Experimental methods in this study were structured to examine the relationship between the Miami harvester and the harvested A. syriaca plant, by answering the following questions: What are the effects of Miami harvesting techniques on growth and reproduction? What are the effects of Miami burning on growth and reproduction? How does the timing and intensity of harvesting and burning effect growth and reproduction? Are neutral or positive effects observed in culturally significant plant organs more than other organs? Because indigenous people’s harvesting and burning strategies are predicated upon availability of future harvests (Gadgil 1987, Stocks 1987, Berkes 1999, Anderson 2005) and have been shown to sustain or enhance growth and reproduction, I hypothesized that Miami harvesting and burning sustains growth and reproduction of A. syriaca. It was predicted that any positive effects of simulated Miami harvesting and burning would be more apparent in growth response of plant parts known to have cultural significance.

Study Site The harvesting and burning experiments utilized two A. syriaca populations, both located at a single site near the Shaker Village of the Hamilton County Park District, in New Haven, southwestern Ohio. The harvesting experiment utilized a population of approximately 200 genets just south of the Shaker Village (N 39º 17.504’, W 084º 44.490’, 176m elevation) and the burning experiment utilized a population with approximately 40 genets just north of the Shaker Village (N 39º 17.729’, W 084º 44.479’, 178m elevation). The site is an abandoned sheep pasture, fallow since 1991, consisting of brown, friable XfB2-Xenia silt loam, eroded soils with 2-6% slopes (Soil Conservation Service 1982) and is typical of contemporary A. syriaca habitat. Vegetation was relatively uniform across the site consisting of early successional oldfield grasslands composed primarily of pasture fescue (Festuca arundiacea Schreber) along with other patchily distributed populations of Solidago spp., Vernonia spp., Rubus spp., Gleditsia tricanthos L., and Robinia pseudoacacia L. Composition of early-successional oldfields are composed mostly of non-

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native species (Marks 1983) and do not resemble historic A. syriaca habitats of riverbanks, dunes (Marks 1983) and newly excavated earth at mammal burrows (Wilbur 1976). Oldfields are analogous, however, to historic A. syriaca habitats in the sense that they are relatively disturbed sites, like riverbanks and dunes. All genets used were wild, not planted, and ranged from 1 to over 350 ramets in size.

Methods Harvesting experimental design This study utilized harvesting levels both above (100% of all shoots harvested) and below (0% of all shoots harvested) reported indigenous Miami levels of harvesting (50% of all shoots harvested). A mowing treatment was included for comparative purposes and involved total removal of aboveground biomass. Harvesting or mowing treatments were conducted annually on the genets, and monitoring of demographic variables was conducted for three years. Each genet constituted one experimental plot. Plots were randomly assigned to one of five harvesting/mowing treatments (Table 1) with approximately 25 plots per treatment. Where genets were relatively close to each other, morphological criteria were used to distinguish them (leaf and stem shape, pubescence, size, color; genet maturity). If ramets were over 2m apart they were considered as belonging to separate genets (Wyatt, pers. comm., 2003, Kiltz 1930, Bhowmik 1994). Plots were located > 2m from an ecosystem edge (road, forest) to reduce edge effects. Harvesting was conducted in accordance with Miami traditions; early emerging spring ramets of A. syriaca were harvested before they were 20-25cm tall or had four or fewer leaves (Baldwin 2001). Pre-treatment baseline measurements of total ramet number and number of ramets fruiting were taken in the fall of 2002. Ramets were harvested by cutting with a knife at soil level, and mowing was done in late spring/early summer at approximately 15cm height. Mowing alone treatment was conducted 7-14 days after other treatments. Genet size, ramet number, ramet density, ramet height, flowering number, number of pods, and pod lengths were measured for each plot during fall (September-October) monitoring from 2003 to 2005.

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Response variable selection was based on indicators of growth and sexual reproduction (Wilbur 1976, Bhowmik 1978, 1994, Wyatt and Broyles 1994) and of culturally important plant organs (Olds et al. 1999)(Table 2). Genet sizes (area) were determined by assuming a circular shape (Timmons 1946) and using east-west and north- south diameter measurements to calculate an average radius (Area = пr2).

Overall analysis Analyses of A. syriaca response to harvesting, mowing and burning treatments were performed using SAS software, Version 9.1 for Microsoft® Windows 2003 (SAS Institute, Inc. Cary, NC). Eight variables derived from measured variables were used in statistical analysis (Table 2). To reduce data variability related to ramet number, raw data were divided by genet area to give densities. All response variables, except ramet heights and pod lengths, were log-transformed ln(x + 0.5) to meet assumptions of ANOVA. Average ramet height and average pod length per genet were multiplied by the number of ramets and pods, respectively, in each genet for a post-statistical model weighting of these response variables.

Harvesting experiment analysis To test for effects of treatments on A. syriaca demography across years, a repeated- measures ANOVA with a split-plot design was performed with genets as blocks and time (year) as the sub-plot factor. To look for initial effects of treatments, six comparisons were made for year 1: 50% harvesting vs. control, 100% harvesting vs. control, mow vs. control, harvest-then-mow vs. control, 50% harvesting vs. 100% harvesting, and 50% harvesting vs. mow. To look for cumulative effects the same six comparisons were made for year 3. To look for changes within treatments over time, five additional between-year comparisons were made for each of the four treatments and the control over years 1-3. The significance level of each of the 17 t-tests was adjusted to α = 0.0033 using the Bonferroni correction to account for multiple tests. A regression analysis of pod length and seed number was conducted to examine potential treatment effects on seed production. It was assumed that means did not differ among treatment groups for all variables at year 0, although only two variables were measured in that year (ramet number and fruiting

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ramet number). This assumption was based on the lack of significant differences between treatments and control in these two variables according to 1-way ANOVAs (total ramet #, p = 0.5220; fruiting ramet #, p = 0.061) and by a significant positive relationship between year 1 genet size and ramet number (R2=0.64, df = 96, p < 0.0001).

Burning experimental design This study simulated traditional, indigenous burning practices of A. syriaca habitat by the Miami people, utilizing a one-time burn on a randomly selected half of an entire oldfield containing a population of A. syriaca as the treatment. Genets in the the unburned half served as a control. Monitoring of demographic variables was conducted for two years post-burn. Thus the two treatments (Table 1) were a one-time late winter, low intensity burn and a no-burn treatment, with approximately 20 replicates per treatment. Fire temperature data was collected during the prescribed burn using 11 Tempil pellets ranging from 125-1200º F melting points, wrapped in heavy duty foil and placed near each plot center at ground level. The average temperature of the burn was 222º C, which is intermediate for prairie/grassland burns, which can reach up to 300º C (Risser et al. 1981). The burn was conducted on a still, clear day on April 8th, 2004, with air temperature at 27º C, 75% relative humidity and 1 mph windspeed. Although I only conducted one burn in the three year study, the fire interval was assumed to approximate a nine-year return interval, because the site was heavily grazed until nine years before the burn, eliminating woody and herbaceous growth as a fire would. I defined this interval to constitute an intermediate frequency, which corresponds to a traditional Miami burning regime based on the following facts: (1) The Miami people burned a particular grassland or prairie biennially or less frequent (return interval >1); (2) burning was conducted to remove woody species encroachment and encourage herbaceous growth to improve hunting grounds; (3) woody species begin to encroach on oldfields, grassland and prairies between 5-10 years, depending on the ecosystem; (4) > 10 year return interval was considered low frequency, 5-10 intermediate and <5 high frequency. Both the temperature and frequency of my burn were assumed to approximate a traditional Miami burn.

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Plots were monitored annually in October for 2 years (2004-2005) and eight measurements were taken: genet size, ramet number, ramet density (fixed 2m2 sub-sample around center plot marker), ramet height, number flowering ramets, number of fruiting ramets, number of pods, and pod length (based on same criteria as in harvesting experiment). At the close of the experiment pods were collected from both burned and unburned plots and seeds counted to calculate a regression of seed number on pod length.

Burning experiment analysis To test for effects of burning on A. syriaca demography across years, a repeated- measures ANOVA with a split-plot design was performed with genets as blocks and time (year) as the sub-plot factor. To look for initial responses of A. syriaca growth and reproduction, response variable means were compared between the burned and unburned plots in year 0. To look for initial and cumulative effects from burning I compared burned and unburned plots in years 1 and 2, respectively. To look for changes within treatments over time, two additional between-year comparisons were made for burned and unburned plots from year 0 to year 2. The significance level of each of the five t-tests was adjusted to α = 0.01 using the Bonferroni correction to account for multiple tests.

Results Harvesting Experiment Growth. Over the three year study genet size in the control group increased approximately 3x (p = 0.0027) while the other treatments did not change significantly, as indicated by a strong treatment × year interaction (df = 4, F = 3.14, p = 0.0164) (Table 3, Fig. 1; See Appendix 2 for means and standard error values for the harvesting experiment). Mowing had a cumulative, negative effect on growth with 62% smaller mean genet size than the control (p = 0.0002) and the smallest mean genet size of all treatments by year 3. Within-year 1 contrasts revealed genet size was almost 4x greater in the 50% harvest compared to control (p = 0.0015), however this difference was no longer present at year 3 (p = 0.1783) (See Appendix 3 & 4 for p values of all comparisons made in the analysis of the harvesting experiment).

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Ramet densities in the control were reduced by 49% (p = 0.0008) while other treatments showed no changes over the course of the study—these differences in density changes were reflected in the significant treatment × year interaction (df = 4, F = 2.86, p = 0.023) (Table 4, Fig. 2). Within-year 1 contrasts revealed 2x higher ramet densities in the control group compared to 50% harvesting (p = 0.0001), yet this difference was no longer detected in within-year 3 contrasts. Ramet heights in all treatment groups and the control increased significantly and differentially over the three year study (Table 5, Fig. 3). Within-year 1 (initial) ramets were 78% and 80% shorter in the mow (p = 0.0001) and harvest-then-mow treatments (p = 0.0002) compared to the control. In contrast, year 1 ramet heights were more than 2x taller in the 50% harvest (p = 0.0003) in compared to the mow treatment. Within-year 3 contrasts indicated that control heights were taller than all other treatments (p = < 0.0001 for 100%, harvest-then-mow, and mow) except 50% harvest.

Reproduction. Flowering ramet densities in the harvest-then-mow treatment increased 6x (p = 0.0007) while densities in the other treatments remained unchanged, as indicated by a significant treatment × year interaction (df = 4, F = 3.22, p = 0.0021) (Table 6, Fig. 4). Harvesting and mowing treatments had negative effects on density of flowering ramets in year 1; three of the four treatment groups were lower than the control (50% harvest, p = 0.0002; mow, p < 0.0001; harvest-then-mow, p < 0.0001). This initial effect was no longer detected in year 3 contrasts, in which all treatments were statistically similar to the control. Fruiting ramet densities in the control decreased by 40% (p = 0.0015), but in the harvest-then-mow treatment increased almost 8x (p = 0.0009) over the three year study and there was a significant interaction between treatment × year (df = 4, F = 3.50, p = 0.001) (Table 7, Fig. 5). Within-year contrasts showed that all treatment groups had significantly lower mean fruiting ramet densities compared to the control in year 1 (p < 0.0015), but by year 3 all groups were statistically similar. Pod densities and pod lengths were affected similarly by treatments as indicated by a lack of significant treatment × year interaction (pod density: df = 4, F = 1.72, p > 0.5592; pod length: df = 8, F = 2.09, p = 0.0418) and no treatment effects observed for pod density

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(df = 4, p > 0.1497) or pod length (df = 4, p = 0.9843). No treatment, including indigenous harvesting levels, had any significant effect on pod densities and pod length compared to the control within years 1 or 3. The only significant change within a treatment group or control over the duration of the study was the decrease in pod length in the 50% harvest group (1.04 cm, p = 0.0002). Regression analysis revealed that seed number had a strong and positive relationship to pod length (y = 25.83x – 14.22; df = 1, R2 = 0.90, F = 64.83).

Burning Experiment Growth. Log-transformed genet size data met the normality assumptions of the statistical tests only marginally, due to 2 outlying observations. Since statistical results were similar after removing the outliers, results including the outliers were used in this analysis. No significant treatment × year interaction was detected by the overall model (df = 2, F = 0.79, p = 0.4593), nor were any treatment affects seen (df = 1, F = 0.66, p = 0.4238) (See Appendix 5 for means, standard errors, and p values for the burning experiment). Genet size increased over the course of the study, 7x in unburned plots (p < 0.0001) and 3x in burned plots (p = 0.0028) (See Appendix 6 for p values for all comparisons made in the analysis of the burning experiment). Unburned ramet densities decreased by 70% (p < 0.0013) over the course of the study while burned plot ramet densities were stable (p = 0.3717), shown by a marginal treatment × year interaction for ramet density over the three year study (df = 2, F = 3.08, p = 0.0545). Ramet heights showed no treatment effects (df = 1, F = 0.63, p = 0.4355) or interaction effects (df = 2, F = 1.93, p = 0.1548), but unburned ramet heights did increase by 16% (p = 0.0005), whereas burned remained the same over the course of the study (p = 0.0908). Unburned ramet heights were greater for unburned plots than burned in both years 1 and 2, post-burn (p = 0.0046 and p = 0.0031, respectively) (Table 8, Fig. 6) (See Appendix 6 for non-significant p values from comparisons made in the analysis of the burning experiment).

Reproduction. Pod density decreased approximately 2x from year 0 to 2 (p = 0.0075) in the unburned plots, but not in the burned plots (p = 0.9265), and this difference

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was reflected in a treatment × year interaction (df = 2, F = 9.43, p = 0.0004) (Table 9, Fig. 7). Pod densities were higher in the unburned plots in year 1 (p = 0.0001) but this difference was no longer significant at year 2 (p = 0.0671). The proportion of ramets that fruited within burned genets increased 2x over the duration of the study (p = 0.0126) without any significant interaction between treatment and year (df = 1, F = 0.02, p = 0.8826). Pod lengths decreased by 9% (0.8cm) in unburned plots indicated by a marginally significant difference between year 0 and 2 (p = 0.0696) and there was a treatment × year interaction (df = 2, F = 4.93, p = 0.0116). Regression analysis revealed that seed number had a strong and positive relationship to pod length for the burning experiment (y = 32.192x – 72.215; df=1, R2 = 0.77, F = 17.18).

Discussion The growing body of evidence displaying a sustainable response to contemporary indigenous plant harvesting and burning sheds light on historic interactions and points to a facultative commensalism in which the indigenous harvester benefits while sustaining the growth and reproduction of the harvested (Anderson 1991, Anderson and Rowney 1999, Stevens 1999, Ticktin and Johns 2002, Shebitz and Kimmerer 2004). Findings in this study add to that body of evidence—Asclepias syriaca showed a compensatory growth response following aboveground damage at all harvesting intensities including the indigenous harvesting treatment. Growth, as indicated by genet size and ramet density, was sustained over the three year study in all treatments except mowing. Reproduction, measured by flowering and fruiting ramet density, pod densities and proportion of ramets fruiting, was also sustained over the three year study in all treaments except mowing. Although harvesting ramets at the indigenous harvesting level did not have a positive effect on sexual reproduction (as related to fruit production) as has been noted in other species (Fowler et al. 2003, Turner 2003, Wray and Anderson 2003), it had no negative effect either, as has been reported regarding A. syriaca pod production (Ulbricht 1940). Sustainability of indigenous harvesting was also reported for asexual reproduction of corms of blue dicks (Dichelostemma capitatum L.) in a one-year study by Anderson and

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Rowney (1999). Positive effects on vegetative growth from harvesting were reported by Hall and Long (1921) where harvesting of A. syriaca, timed in early spring mirroring the indigenous method of this study, was thought to be the cause of such effects. Positive and in some cases neutral effects to growth and reproduction are also documented by studies involving mammalian herbivory or leaf removal studies of other perennial herbs (Gedge and Maun 1994, Phillips and Maun 1996, Klimesova and Klimes 2003, Amsberry and Maron 2006, Fang et al. 2006). Ramet heights in all treatment groups were shorter than the control at the end of the experiment. Vegetative growth in A. syriaca has direct correlation to sexual reproduction, thus damage resulting from herbivory or harvesting can influence sexual resource allocation patterns (Tilman 1988). For example, increases in number of ramets increases the potential for future flower, fruit and seed production (Bhowmik and Bandeen 1976, Wilbur 1976, Bhowmik 1994). Aboveground ramet removal was initially detrimental to flowering and fruiting, but over a longer-term may induce a reallocation of resources and allow compensation for losses in vegetative growth by promoting sexual reproduction as desribed for A. syriaca by Bowles (1998). Although the exact level of harvesting did not appear to be critical in eliciting a compensatory response in A. syriaca, results suggest that the timing of indigenous harvesting was critical. Due to the later timing of the mowing and reduced compensation seen in these smaller genets and shorter ramets were observed in these treatments by the end of the experiment. Negative effects from mowing of perennial herbs have also been observed by Bowles (1998) and Webster et. al. (2000). In this case, the negative effect on growth was attributed to the timing of this treatment, conducted 7-14 days after harvesting treatments, rather than any qualitative difference between harvesting and mowing. Harvesting treatments were based on traditional indigenous harvesting conducted during a narrow window of time, when ramets are newly emerging, still tender and not yet bitter tasting. Delay of treatment involving aboveground biomass removal by one to two weeks is significant for A. syriaca, growing up to an inch a day in some instances and further depleting underground energy reserves . Delaying clipping in the monocarpic annual Ipomopsis arizonica by a few weeks altered the compensatory response from neutral to negative in one study (Maschinski and Whitham 1989). Negative effects to growth can

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affect tolerance to damage and regrowth ability as seen in other studies with perennial herbs (Gustafsson 2004, Brathen and Junttila 2006) and in repeated mowing of A. syriaca in alfalfa fields (Timmons 1946). Maschinski and Whitham (1989) also found that timing of aboveground biomass removal was the most important factor regarding the compensatory ability of a biennial plant, and that competition and nutrient availability were less influential. Schmidt et. al. (2007) also concluded that the timing of harvest is critically important to sustainability in experiments with a perennial herb. When timing is altered, effects change—early spring herbivory or aboveground biomass removal has positive effects on growth and reproduction (Evetts and Burnside 1975, Schultz and Burnside 1979, Paige and Whitham 1987, Brathen and Junttila 2006), while late spring or summer herbivory more often has negative effects on growth and reproduction (Gedge and Maun 1994, Shelton and Inouye 1995, Nantel et al. 1996, Phillips and Maun 1996, Webster et al. 2000, Cadenasso and Pickett 2002). My results of reduced growth and reproduction in mow (late) vs. harvest (early) treatments follow the general trend in which early season herbivory and harvesting have neutral or positive effects on growth and reproduction of perennial herbs and later growing season harvesting having negative effects (Maschinski and Whitham 1989). While there were almost no differences between treatments and control by the end of the study, there were a number of noteworthy initial (year 1) effects observed. For example, genets were almost four times larger in the indigenous harvesting treatment in year 1 compared to the control, indicating an initial stimulation of new ramet production and expansion. Genet size expansion as a response to harvesting was also reported in the closely related rush milkweed (Asclepias subulata Dcne.) by Bhowmik and Bandeen (1976), explaining the mechanism to be the stimulation of underground root buds. A common occurrence observed in the field after year 1 was that second-time harvestings tended to fragment some already relatively diffuse genets and reduce overall size by separating sections of genets from each other by > 2m. But by year 3 the remaining ‘core’ genet had regrown considerably without more fragmenting. Also, ramet densities (total, flowering and fruiting) were all lower than the control in year 1, but not by year 3. In contrast, Holl (2006) found that harvesting of aboveground biomass favored flower production in the annual grassland forb Holocarpha macradenia over the short-term,

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however annual plants, lacking underground reserves and clonal growth, may respond quite differently due to life history differences alone. The indigenous harvested plots, in which only A. syriaca ramets were removed but neighboring species left intact, had similar growth and reproduction at the end of the experiment to the harvest-then-mow plots, in which both A. syriaca and neighboring species were removed. From this similarlity I inferred that A. syriaca was not under strong competitive pressure for light during early regrowth. Aboveground damage of A. syriaca was thought to reduce its competitive ability in a study by Evetts and Burnside (1975), although removal of neighbor species in mowing treatments had a negative, not positive effect in this study. Apparently, the indigenous-timed harvest allowed for ample in-season regrowth even with relatively tall neighboring species that shaded A. syriaca in early regrowth. Consequently, it appears that A. syriaca is a good competitor in old field situations and usually surpassed neighboring species in height even when harvested early in the season. However, the mowing treatment, which removed aboveground biomass later than traditional harvest time did show reduced growth as indicated by shorter ramets and smaller genets than the control plots.

Effects of burning on growth and reproduction Simulated indigenous Miami burning provided evidence of sustainability of growth and reproduction of A. syriaca under indigenous burning regimes. Responses to the semi- annual burning treatment were largely neutral—there were no significant changes to genet size, ramet density, or ramet height as a result of burning. These findings supported the prediction that indigenous burning regimes are sustainable, yet did not support the hypothesis of overcompensation as documented for other clonal, perennial herbs (Anderson 1993b, Striplen and DeWeerdt 2002, Shebitz and Kimmerer 2004). Similar positive or neutral effects have been reported for experiments conducting non-indigenous related prescribed burns of other perennial herbs (Knapp 1985, Bowles et al. 1998, Kirkman et al. 1998, Menges and Dolan 1998, Pendergrass et al. 1999, Kaye et al. 2001, Copeland et al. 2002, Silleti and Knapp 2002, Cass 2005). However, ramet density and heights decreased over the three year study in the unburned plots, suggesting that periodic burning provided a disturbance that prevented negative effects seen in the controls. It is probable that burning

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temporarily reduced competition of certain oldfield species and inhibited successional processes that negatively affect vegetative growth of A. syriaca in this setting. Although no direct benefit to growth or reproduction was observed as a result of harvesting or burning, the methods used were not designed to detect successional effects on A. syriaca even if present. Unexpectedly, indigenous burning did not have any positive effect on ramet density and ramet height, as indicated by other studies where burning increased cover (directly related to ramet density) and reduced competition which allowed taller ramets of A. syriaca (Evetts and Burnside 1975), specifically in the first two years following a burn (Cass 2005). In contrast, this study found similar ramet densities between burned and unburned plots and taller ramets in unburned plots. Taller ramets in unburned plots may be due to an overgrowth of the invasive exotic, Cirsium arvense, Canadian thistle in burned plots. The dramatic increase in cover following the burn potentially competed with A. syriaca for light, space and nutrients and reduced heights compared to unburned plots. It was noted that C. arvense emerged 1-2 weeks earlier than A. syriaca allowing it to partially shade A. syriaca. No changes in ramet height or density in response to burning were detected, either positive or negative, lending support to the hypothesis that indigenous burning, timed during the dormant season, does not measurably alter A. syriaca growth and reproduction, indicating sustainablility. Sustained growth and reproduction of large numbers of long ramets is important to the Miami who use the stems not only for food, but for fibers from the cambium layers, for use in technology like cordage and weaving. Sexual reproduction was also sustained by indigenous burning. Burned and unburned plots had similar densities of flowering and fruiting ramets, pod densities, proportion of fruiting ramets and pod lengths at the end of the study. Burning has been reported to have no negative effect on sexual reproduction in other grassland-dwelling perennial herbs as well (Pemble et al. 1978, Betz and Lamp 1990, Bowles et al. 1998, Copeland et al. 2002). Lack of burning apparently had a relatively negative effect on pod density (per fruiting ramet) and pod length over the course of the study, where both response variable values had decreased significantly by the end of the study, whereas in the burned plots these remained stable. This suggests that lack of burning was incrementally reducing pod densities and lengths over time. As in the case of ramet height, it appears that

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burning suppresses negative effects that occur when an oldfield is left unburned. Perhaps burning positively benefits A. syriaca by maintaining the successional sere it inhabitats and slowing domination of woody species. Although unburned pod densities were almost two times greater than burned in year 1, this effect was temporary, no longer statistically detectable at the end of the study, supporting the prediction that indigenous burning had neutral effects and is sustainable with regards to sexual reproduction. Indigenous harvesting and burning did not improve growth or reproduction of A. syriaca in this study. However, indigenous harvesting and burning did allow for harvest of useful plant parts with a no net loss in production of these parts over the three year study, in contrast to mowing, which did not follow indigenous timing of biomass removal. During year 2 of the study new ethnographic information was received of another traditional harvesting level for A. syriaca—25% of all ramets encountered. Future studies may reveal that even lower indigenous harvesting levels are not only sustainable but enhance growth and/or sexual reproduction in A. syriaca.

Positive effects to culturally important organs? No evidence was found to support the hypothesis that effects of indigenous harvesting and burning would be more closely tied to culturally important response variables (directly related to harvested organs: ramet density, ramet heights, density of flowering ramets, density of fruiting ramets, and pod densities) compared to other organs (indirectly related to harvested organs: genet size, proportion of all ramets fruiting, and pod length). Year 2 genet sizes in the indigenous harvesting treatment were larger than other harvesting and mowing treatments, but this was a temporary condition, no longer present at the end of the study. In addition, there was an overall decrease in ramet density during the same time that genet sizes increased. Overall, there was a decrease in total ramets per genet initially, which provided fewer early spring ramets for harvesting. Flower and fruit production were also similar between indigenous harvesting and burning treatments and non-indigenous treatments. This indicated that although immature flower and fruit harvesting would be sustainable under indigenous Miami methods, they were not particularly benefited by indigenous methods of interaction, more than other non- indigenous treatments, during this study. Most likely, all response parameters are so tightly

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correlated due to growth and development patterns that individual parameter responses are unlikely. An absence of benefits to culturally important organs, in conjunction with sustainability of growth and reproduction overall in indigenous methods, suggests that the traditional Miami methods of harvesting and burning A. syriaca may not be designed solely for resource procurement without concern for the livelihood of A. syriaca. In other words, benefits to culturally important organs and not others might indicate that harvesting or burning methods are aimed at enhancing culturally important traits of the plant at the expense of others, and would suggest less concern for culturally unimportant plant parts. This does not appear to be the case, nor is such a resource extraction-centered approach traditional to the Miami or other indigenous communities. A variety of Miami customs relating to harvesting A. syriaca tell us that the opposite is true: various types of tobacco offerings and prayers are given before harvesting, only ¼ to ½ of all culturally important resources encountered are harvested, and caution is exerted not to harm unharvested plant parts and neighbor species during harvesting procedures. Considering results and given Miami customs, it is clear that the Miami harvester considers the persistence of the harvested species and population essential and has developed harvesting and burning technologies to ensure vitality of this reciprocal relationship.

Managing culturally important species Because indigenous harvesting and burning practices with plants were developed to maintain culturally important plant resources, they share a common goal with the field of restoration ecology—enhancing and sustaining plant species and populations. Effective incorporation of indigenous practices into restoration efforts must first start by elucidating causal linkages between specific indigenous practices and their effects on individual plants or communities of interest. Close examination of the specific, quantitative effects of indigenous harvesting and burning regimes can yield information useful for understanding plant species biology (Anderson 1996, Joyal 1996, Stevens 1999, Ticktin and Johns 2002) as well as provide critical information for conservation and restoration (Gadgil et al. 1993, Posey and Balee 1989, Redford and Padoch 1992). For example, findings from this study demonstrate that indigenous harvesting had a positive effect in initial years of the study,

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and mostly neutral, sustainable effects on growth and sexual reproduction over the longer- term. For this reason, careful attention should be paid to the timing of harvesting or similar disturbance (Anderson and Rowney 1999, Anderson 2005, Turner and Peacock 2005) and should be heeded for sustainable or beneficial effects to species of restoration concern. Likewise, the frequency and intensity of burning may also be crucial for benefiting plant growth and reproduction either directly or indirectly by maintaining successional habitats upon which the plants depended (Boyd 1992, Anderson and Rowney 1999, Peacock and Turner 2000, Reid 2005). If A. syriaca is to remain viable, both ecological as well as culturally, certain aspects of indigenous disturbance regimes may need to be implemented, including harvesting that increases individual and population sizes. Although A. syriaca genet size expansion was accompanied by ramet density thinning in harvesting treatments in the first year of the experiment, expansion may be more important to the long-term persistence of a A. syriaca population--given low recruitment. Thus, methods of indigenous harvesting or mowing that promote genet expansion, even at the cost of lowered sexual reproduction may promote population persistence and genetic diversity. Results from this study can be directly employed to maintain populations of A. syriaca on Miami and other tribal lands. For example, if mowing of prairies or oldfields is needed for management, the later-season timing of that mowing found to be detrimental to growth and reproduction can be avoided. Burning can be conducted least once every nine years and still sustain A. syriaca harvests, and this information can be used as a starting point for experimenting with other frequencies of burning. Although traditional Miami knowledge has long been aware of sustainable methods of harvesting A. syriaca, this study can serve to build a bridge between scientific and traditional knowledge, and promote mutual respect and collaboration. Quantitative studies of effects of indigenous harvesting and burning regimes, combined with studies from herbivory and prescribed fire, and qualitative ethnographic information regarding indigenous disturbance, present interested land managers with a holistic view of plant species biology and management, derived from multiple sources and long-term empirical data from indigenous interactions with plants (Kimmerer 2000). The more specific the treatment or disturbance used, the finer-scale the results—indigenous

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methods of harvesting or burning and the rich context of traditional ecological knowledge in which they are stored, provide relatively precise ‘disturbances’ yielding highly detailed results for land management. Where indigenous interactions with plants are shown to be sustainable or enhance species growth and reproduction, they can be used in the reestablishment of historic plant and animal communities and concomitantly repair both cultural (Minnis 2000) and ecological functions (Anderson 2002).

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Endnotes 1From the Miami perspective, scientific knowledge, called neepwayoni, is a more recent way of knowing the world that is a subset of all knowlededge, neepwaahkaanki. Therefore, the word ‘management’ for indigenous harvesting and burning practices in this study is used to convey a traditional practice that is rooted in ancient lifeways and a worldview that existed long before settlement of North America by Europeans. The Miami view plants as a type of kin, and harvesting and burning plants like A. syriaca are viewed as participation in a long-standing relationship. In contrast, ‘management’ in the contemporary scientific sense is often used to describe manipulation of the natural world to obtain desired resources at desired quantities, and is based in a long-standing view of humans and nature as separate.

2Careful attention must be paid to the cultural context in which the harvesting or burning is initiated—often indigenous communities interactions with plants involves a rich cultural context and complex system of customs and methodologies, and harvesting and burning of these species outside that context may be inappropriate and ineffective (Gonzales and Nelson 2001).

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Table 1.—Experimental treatments for A. syriaca genets in the harvesting and burning experiments. All treatments involving harvesting employed a Miami method of cutting and removing ramets by hand, while the amount of ramets removed varied (50% or 100%). Sample sizes reflect the number of plots at the beginning of the experiment and decreased slightly by the end of the experiment. Name n Treatment description Harvesting experiment Control 29 0% ramets removed Indigenous harvesting 22 50% of all ramets removed by hand 100% harvesting 25 100% of all ramets removed by hand Mowing alone 20 100% of all aboveground biomass within genet perimeter removed with weed whacker. Harvest-then-mow 28 100% of all ramets removed by hand, followed by 100% of all aboveground biomass within genet perimeter removed with weed whacker

Burning experiment Control 15 Oldfield containing genets left undisturbed Entire oldfield containing genets burned Burned 14

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Table 2. Variables analyzed to examine growth and reproduction among treatments of A. syriaca harvesting and burning experiments. Variables analyzed Growth Sexual reproduction Culturally important ramet density density of flowering ramets (directly related to harvested organs) ramet height density of fruiting ramets pod density (per fruiting ramet)

Others genet size proportion of all ramets fruiting (indirectly related to harvested organs) pod length

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Table 3. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) Asclepias syriaca genet size from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 4 12.22 3.05 0.0206 Plot (Treatment) 94 4.00 Year 2 2.06 2.03 0.1352 Treatment×year 8 2.31 2.27 0.0253 Error 149 1.02 Contrast Year 1 – Year 3 4 3.19 3.14 0.0164

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Table 4. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) Asclepias syriaca ramet density from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 4 0.457 1.83 0.1266 Plot (Treatment) 94 0.657 Year 2 0.409 1.64 0.1981 Treatment×year 8 0.452 1.81 0.0802 Error 145 0.250 Contrast Year 1 – Year 3 4 0.716 2.86 0.0255

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Table 5. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) Asclepias syriaca ramet height from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 4 27371 1.50 0.2071 Plot (Treatment) 95 18193 Year 2 145809 63.10 0.0001 Treatment×year 8 11835 5.12 0.0001 Error 154 2311 Contrast Year 1 – Year 3 4 17031 7.37 0.0001

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Table 6. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) Asclepias syriaca flowering ramet density from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 4 2.38 4.29 0.0031 Plot (Treatment) 94 0.556 Year 2 1.40 4.83 0.0093 Treatment×year 8 0.933 3.22 0.0021 Error 145 0.289 Contrast Year 1 – Year 3 4 1.74 6.02 0.0002

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Table 7. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) Asclepias syriaca fruiting ramet density from the harvesting experiment, 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 4 2.260 4.36 0.0028 Plot (Treatment) 94 0.518 Year 2 1.230 4.75 0.0100 Treatment×year 8 0.903 3.50 0.0010 Error 145 0.258 Contrast Year 1 – Year 3 4 1.740 6.73 0.0001

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Table 8. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) burned and unburned Asclepias syriaca ramet heights from 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 1 13811 0.63 0.4355 Plot (Treatment) 22 21887 10.21 Year 2 39288 18.33 <0.0001 Treatment×year 2 4136 1.93 0.1548 Error 45 2143 Contrast Year 0 – Year 2 1 7283 4.44 0.0764

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Table 9. Repeated measures ANOVA results of ln(x + 0.5) burned and unburned Asclepias syriaca pods per fruiting ramet from 2003 to 2005. Treatments are listed in Table 1. Bold indicates significance at α = 0.05. Source term df MS F-ratio p

Treatment 1 0.311 3.32 0.0789 Plot (Treatment) 22 0.219 2.28 Year 2 0.607 6.31 0.0039 Treatment×year 2 0.908 9.43 0.0004 Error 45 0.096 Contrast Year 0 – Year 2 1 0.427 4.44 0.0407

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control 50% 100% mow h&m 50

) 40 2

30 *

genet size (m size genet 10 * 0 123

Figure 1: Mean A. syriaca genet size response to harvesting and mowing by treatment and year. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 2 (h&m = harvest-then-mow treatment).

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control 50% 100% mow h&m 3

2.5

2 2

1.5 * ramets/m 1 *

0.5 2003 2004 2005

Figure 2: Mean A. syriaca ramet density response to harvesting and mowing by treatment and year. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 2 (h&m = harvest-then-mow treatment).

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control 50% 100% mow h&m 110

100 * 90 *

80 *

ramet height (cm) 70 * * 60 2003 2004 2005

Figure 3: Mean A. syriaca ramet height response to harvesting and mowing by treatment and year. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 2 (h&m = harvest-then-mow treatment).

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control 50% 100% mow h&m 1.4

2 1.2 1 0.8 0.6 0.4 * 0.2 * flowering ramets/m 0 * 2003 2004 2005

Figure 4: Mean A. syriaca flowering ramet density response to harvesting and mowing by treatment and year. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 2 (h&m = harvest-then-mow treatment).

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control 50% 100% mow h&m 1.4 1.2 2 1 0.8 0.6 * 0.4 *

fruiting ramets/m 0.2 * 0 * 2003 2004 2005

Figure 5: Mean A. syriaca fruiting ramet density response to harvesting and mowing by treatment and year. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 2 (h&m = harvest-then-mow treatment).

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Figure 6. Mean A. syriaca ramet height in burned and unburned plots. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 5.

burned unburned 120 115 110 105 100 * 95 90 ramet height (cm) 85 * 80 2003 2004 2005

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burned unburned 6.00 5.00 4.00

3.00

2.00 * 1.00 pods/fruiting ramet pods/fruiting 0.00 2003 2004 2005

Figure 7: Mean A. syriaca pod number per fruiting ramet in burned and unburned plots. An asterisk (*) indicates within-year significant differences between each treatment and the control for year 1 (2003) and year 3 (2005). Means and standard errors are listed in Appendix 5.

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Chapter 5 Effects of dormant season indigenous harvesting and burning on growth and reproduction of dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum L., Apocynaceae).

Abstract Numerous North American indigenous groups have harvested and burned Apocynum cannabinum L. for millenia in order to effect its growth and reproduction and ensure harvest of stems for fiber. In this study I reintroduced indigenous methods of dormant season harvesting and burning of A. cannabinum and examined effects on growth and reproduction. Harvesting at three intensity levels did not affect growth and reproduction, but mowing treatments resulted in reduced ramet heights in two consecutive years, which was attributed to increased thatch causing delayed ramet emergence. Dormant season burning, conducted once during the three year study, also had no effect on growth and reproduction, which was in contrast to other studies involving perennial herbs, however many of these studies had perennial grasses as the target species. Overall, indigenous methods of harvesting and burning A. cannabinum were sustainable, and given the rarity of genets large enough to meet cultural purposes, traditional management may be important to the long-term persistence of this species at levels that maintain cultural viability.

Introduction Ethnoecology of Apocynum cannabinum Apocynum cannabinum L. (Apocynaceae), commonly known as dogbane or Indian hemp, has been harvested and utilized as a major source of fiber by indigenous peoples throughout North American for millennia (Whitford 1941, Scholtz 1975, Erichsen-Brown 1979). In the seventeenth century A. cannabinum was an acclaimed source of fiber by Europeans, noted to be a higher quality fiber source than true hemp (Cannabis sativa L.) cultivated in England (Hussey 1974). Long-term use of A. cannabinum has been documented in the lower Great Lakes region by the Miami, Potawatomi, Ojibwa, Menominee, Delaware, Huron and other indigenous woodland peoples (Erichsen-Brown 1979, Cheatham and Johnston 1995 , Yeaman, pers. comm., 2001) as well as in California

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by several indigenous groups (Anderson and Morrato 1996). Within the cortex of the tall, straight stems of A. cannabinum are fibers of extraordinary length and strength (Woodson 1930) used by indigenous peoples for making nets for fishing, trapping deer and rabbits, and for making bags, tump lines, slings, belts cords, and bow strings (Anderson and Morrato 1996, Yeaman, pers. comm., 2001). Apocynum cannabinum is also used medicinally in eastern North America by indigenous peoples to treat numerous ailments including worms, diarrhea and colds (Densmore 1974, Moerman 1998) and by non- indigenous peoples as an ipecac substitute (Woodson 1930, Erichsen-Brown 1979). The Potawatomi and Chippewa used root extracts of congener A. androsaemifolium to treat heart conditions (Vogel 1970, Cheatham and Johnston 1995). Harvesting of A. cannabinum stems for fiber by the Miami and other Great Lakes indigenous peoples is traditionally conducted in the late fall after the first frost (Hoover 1974, Yeaman, pers. comm., 2001). According to ethnographic data gathered in this study, the fall timing of indigenous harvest of A. cannabinum is designed for procuring maximum stem lengths, which is directly related to length of cortex fibers, gathering stems when dry for ease of fiber removal (Buchanan 1987) and harvesting stems while dormant to avoiding unnecessary contact with the plant’s milky latex which contains toxic cardenolides (Lewis and Elvin-Lewis 2003). Miami elders have mentioned that contact with the milky latex can cause skin irritation in some people, a reaction also reported for closely related congener A. androsaemifolium (Kalm [1751] 1972), yet can also serve as an important medicine1 for other individuals. Historic ethnographic records indicate that the Miami and other lower Great Lakes indigenous groups burned the prairie and meadow habitats of A. cannabinum in the late fall or late winter to improve hunting grounds (Hennepin 1698 (1903), Whitney 1994) and maintain culturally important plant availability. Dormant season meadow burning has also been conducted by indigenous groups from California—the Sierra Miwok, Wukchumni Yokuts, North Fork Mono and Pomo also traditionally burned A. cannabinum about the same time to enhance growth and stem production (Anderson and Morrato 1996).

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Intensity and timing of harvesting Intensity of harvest is directly related to the amount of aboveground biomass removed. Traditional Miami harvesting is of intermediate intensity, characterized by removal of only 50% or fewer ramets found within a patch. Indigenous harvesting of A. cannabinum is timed after the aboveground parts are dead and the root crown is dormant, therefore it would not be expected to alter individual plant growth. Indigenous harvesting methods involve careful cutting of the stem at the soil surface preventing crown or root disturbance. Removal of ramets during indigenous harvesting could potentially create new sites for regrowth or new establishment of A. cannabinum and other old field species, but since the dried ramets are thin (single-stemmed with diameters < 1cm) and low in biomass, the soil space opened up is so small and shaded by oldfield grasses that it does not appear to constitute a functional gap. The most likely effect on A. cannabinum growth and reproduction as a result of indigenous harvesting could be the removal of pods with the stems and reduction of available seeds for dispersal. Yet traditional indigenous harvesting incorporates methods to mitigate this potential negative effect—elders purposefully open and release of seeds from A. cannabinum pods during harvesting and take care to leave pods in the field, while removing only the stems (Yeaman, pers. comm., 2003). Competitive interactions of old field plants are unlikely to be altered by dormant season harvesting, given that even higher intensity disturbances to grassland perennial herbs have been shown to have no effect (Wilson and Tilman 1995). The timing of aboveground tissue damage can also differentially influence growth and reproduction of A. cannabinum depending on the season. The effects of growing season herbivory or harvesting of perennial herbs is well documented (for example, see Gedge and Maun 1994, Nantel et al. 1996, Cruse-Sanders et al. 2004, Amsberry and Maron 2006), however very little research has been conducted regarding the effects of dormant season herbivory of herbaceous plants. The post-growing season senescence of aboveground tissues of herbaceous species and lack of nutritional value in plant tissues for herbivores make the occurrence of such herbivory very low. Studies regarding effects of dormant season herbivory focus almost exclusively on woody species that retain nutritional value for herbivores in some living, aboveground tissues in the winter (for example, see Singer et al. 1994, Tolvanen and Taulavuori 1998, Swihart and Bryant 2001, Zeigenfuss et

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al. 2002, Hester et al. 2004). I found only one study focused on winter herbivory of a number of perennial herbs and it reported no effect on growth and reproduction, except in the case of increased vegetative culm production of one bunchgrass on grazed sites (Singer 1995). Findings from studies of herbivory and/or harvesting of perennial herbs, suggest that dormant or early season herbivory of low to intermediate intensity, as is seen in indigenous harvesting of A. cannabinum, should have no effect on growth and reproduction.

Timing and frequency of burning Timing is an important factor determining effects of burning on perennial herbs. Burns occur in all seasons and effects on grassland plant growth and reproduction can vary dramatically with timing (Collins and Wallace 1990, Henderson 1990). For example, dormant season burning of perennial herbs has mostly positive effects on growth and reproduction according to 26 studies I reviewed (Appendix 8), stimulating flowering activity (Pemble et al. 1978, Betz and Lamp 1990, Kirkman et al. 1998), increasing number of flowering ramets (Bowles et al. 1998, Cass 2005), increasing productivity (Storm and Shebitz 2006) and early season photosynthetic rate (Knapp 1985). Population modeling projects that dormant season burning can increase intrinsic rate of growth (Kaye et al. 2001) and allow persistence of perennial herbs (Menges and Dolan 1998). In contrast, effects from growing season burns vary, including positive (Kirkman et al. 1998, Copeland et al. 2002, Silleti and Knapp 2002) and negative effects (Henderson 1990, Damhoureyeh and Hartnett 1997) on growth and/or reproduction. From ethnographic records I was able to determine that Miami burning of grasslands mostly occurred in the late fall, during the dormant season, and because of this I expected positive effects to growth and reproduction in the burning experiment. Varying fire frequencies can also have differential effects on perennial herbs in the grassland and tallgrass prairie ecosystems that A. cannabinum inhabits, by affecting fuel accumulation. Low frequency fire results in greater accumulation of organic litter and dead standing material and, in turn, increased fire intensity when fire does occur (Collins and Gibson 1990, Gibson et al. 1990). Only two out of the 26 studies I reviewed reported negative effects of dormant season burning and these were in response to relatively high frequency burns that decreased ramet densities (Bowles et al. 1998) and overall

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reproductive effort (Hartnett 1991). Thirteen of the other 24 studies utilized low-to- intermediate frequency dormant season burns and reported positive effects to growth and reproduction. Intensity and frequency of a burn can not only influence the growth and reproduction of individual perennial herbs (for example, see Tester 1996, Kirkman et al. 1998, Silleti and Knapp 2002), but can also influence larger-scale spatial processes like changes in community composition (Fuhlendorf et al. 2006) and long-term temporal processes like succession (Packard 2005). According to ethnographic sources, traditional Miami burning was of intermediate frequency—burning was conducted to discourage woody species growth which occurs between 3-10 years in Ohio oldfields (Vankat and Snyder 1991), and to stimulate herbaceous growth to improve hunting grounds. Because the traditional Miami burning frequency was less than annual, yet presumably more frequent than at 10 year intervals, I considered it intermediate. This study involved a one time burn of A. cannabinum genets and habitat, on a site that had an average fire frequency of 3 years, which approximated the intermediate frequency of a traditional Miami grassland burn. I assume traditional fire intensity was also intermediate, due to the relatively regular, intermediate frequency of burning, preventing the accumulation of large amounts of fuels. Average temperatures for the burn used in this study indicated it was of intermediate intensity, compared to other studies of prairies (Risser et al. 1981). Fire was also used by indigenous peoples, like the Miami, to influence landscape-level processes, as in maintaining culturally important successional seres (Boyd 1992, Anderson 1993b, Peacock and Turner 2000) including habitat for A. cannabinum.

Scientific Research Objectives There exists a potential that indigenous human harvesting of plants has significant effects on plant growth and reproduction, affecting plant demography throughout the historic time period of enactment of these traditions. However, there are only a few quantitative studies reporting effects from traditional harvesting of plants by indigenous peoples. Specifically, this study sought to quantitatively examine response of A. cannabinum to different harvest intensities, including indigenous harvesting intensity and timing, and relate findings to the existing research on how intensity of aboveground

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biomass removals effect perennial herbs differentially. Questions addressed included: (1) Are Miami harvesting methods sustainable for A. cannabinum? (2) Does A. cannabinum benefit from harvesting, as some perennial herbs do from herbivory (McNaughton 1979, Paige and Whitham 1987, McNaughton 1993)? (3) How might the long-term growth, reproduction and persistence of A. cannabinum be affected by Miami harvesting, as inferred from this short-term study? Numerous studies have documented the effects of dormant season burning on perennial herbs and prairie species, but few have used traditional, indigenous burning techniques as the basis for treatments in experiments. This study utilized the traditional Miami method of dormant season burning and an intermediate fire frequency (3 year return interval) which approximated traditional Miami burning, to directly test for effects on A. cannabinum growth and reproduction. Questions addressed included: (1) Are Miami burning methods sustainable for A. cannabinum? (2) Does A. cannabinum benefit from dormant season burning, as reported for other perennial prairie herbs? (3) How might the long-term growth, reproduction and persistence of A. cannabinum be affected by Miami burning, as inferred from this short-term study?

Cultural Research Objectives To date, there have been no experimental results generated regarding the effects of traditional Miami harvesting and burning of culturally significant plant species. This study aimed to gather such data through experiments that utilized specific Miami harvesting and burning methods, to apply to specific tribal land management concerns. Cultural objectives of this study included: (1) Quantitatively document effects of traditional Miami harvesting and burning of A. cannabinum for use in contemporary Miami tribe land management, (2) Provide detailed descriptions of traditional Miami harvesting and burning of A. cannabinum for Miami tribe educational use, (3) Explore any scientific basis of Miami traditional ecological knowledge to help bridge scientific and indigenous knowledge systems and build on the model for management based on both (for example, see Peacock and Turner 2000, Anderson 2005).

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Study Species and Site Apocynum cannabinum is a clonally-growing perennial herb found in successional and crop fields, prairies, forest openings (Gleason and Cronquist 1991, Webster et al. 2000) and bottomlands (Lindsey et al. 1961) throughout North America. Clones of A. cannabinum expand during the growing season (Schultz and Burnside 1979) through vegetative reproduction from horizontal, lateral roots (Woodson 1930). Apocynum cannabinum is self-incompatible, and pollinators must release the anthers, which are closely adpressed against the stigma for successful pollination (Woodson 1930). Apocynum cannabinum leaves feed Monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus) and Tiger moth (Pyrrharctia isabella) larvae, and flowers provide nectar which nourishes adult Monarchs, Tiger moths and bees (Woodson 1930). Experimental harvesting plots of A. cannabinum were located on lands managed by the Cincinnati Nature Center properties (N 39º 07.828’, W 084º 14.501’, 227 m elevation) and experimental burning plots were on lands managed by the Hamilton County Park District (N 39º 16.385’, W 084º 45.127’, 177 m elevation), both in southwestern Ohio. Plots were located on early successional grasslands and prairies with dark greyish brown, friable, HoA-Henshaw silt loam soils, with 0-2% slope (Soil Conservation Service 1982) and a high cover of pasture fescue (Festuca arundiacea), other early successional oldfield species such as Solidago spp., Vernonia spp., Rubus spp., Aster spp., and occasional woody species saplings (e.g. Robinia pseudoacacia L.). All A. cannabinum genets used were wild, not planted.

Methods Harvesting Experiment Plots were located within genets and > 2m from an ecosystem edge (road, forest) and > 2m distance from another conspecific genet, to reduce edge effects. To help evaluate effects of contemporary anthropogenic harvesting regimes on the two target species, mowing was chosen as an additional treatment. Plots of meadow species in the ‘harvest & mow’ treatment were harvested then mowed. Plots were mowed at the height of six inches, corresponding to the average mowing height used in non-experimental maintenance on involved properties.

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Apocynum cannabinum harvesting methods followed traditional Miami and other indigenous harvesting techniques by cutting senescent ramets after the first hard frost, where both the air and soil temperatures have gone below 0º C, at soil level (Anderson and Morrato 1996, Yeaman, pers. comm., 2003, Peacock and Turner 2000). Harvesting levels included, 50% (indigenous level), and 100%, two additional treatments involving mowing for comparative purposes and a control. Circular 2m2 plots nested within large (>50m2) genets were subjected to treatments annually for 2 years, with 20 replicates per treatment. Genets were distinguished using criteria reported by Cardina (pers. comm., 2002) and Frazier (1944), where ramets > 2m apart were considered from separate genets. Response variables were chosen to quantify growth and reproduction while also being culturally important to the Miami (Table 1). Pre-treatment sampling was conducted just prior to first treatment in the fall of 2003 (Year 0), both sampling and treatments conducted in the fall of 2004 (Year 1, post-treatment), and final sampling in fall of 2005 (Year 2, post-treatments). Plots were located > 2m from the genet edge to reduce edge effects.

Burning Experiment Genets served as plots in this experiment and all plots were located > 2m from an ecosystem edge (road, forest) and > 2m distance from another conspecific genet, to reduce edge effects. Six genets (plots) were randomly subjected to one of two treatments, a one-time, late winter, low intensity burn or a no-burn treatment, with 3 replicates per treatment. Fire temperature data was collected during the prescribed burn using 11 Tempil pellets ranging from 125-1200º F melting points, wrapped in heavy duty foil and placed near each plot center at ground level. The average temperature of the burn was 228º C. The burn was conducted on a still, clear day on March 18th, 2005, with air temperature at 8.3 ºC, 52% relative humidity and 5 mph windspeed. Plots were monitored annually in the fall for 2 years post-treatment (2005-2006) and eight measurements were made annually in subplots centered along the north-south axis of the genet. Within each circular, 2m2 subplot the following measurements were taken: ramet number, ramet height, number of fruiting ramets, number of pods, and pod length. A minimum of five subplots were used for each genet and each subplot had to have at least 1 ramet to serve as a subplot. Genet size (area)

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was determined by calculating areas of the eight triangles formed by measurements taken from the center of the genet (marked subjectively at the beginning of the experiment and fixed) to the perimeter, in eight fixed compass directions (N, NE, E, SE, S, SW, W, NW).

Analysis All analyses were performed using the SAS Statistical Package, version 9.1 for Microsoft Windows (SAS Institute, Inc. 2003) PROC GLM. A split-plot design was used with plots as blocks in the harvesting experiment, genets as blocks in the burning experiment and time (year) as the sub-plot factor. Seven variables derived from measured variables were used in statistical analysis (Table 1). To normalize ramet height and pod length data, averages were multiplied genet averages by total ramet and pod number, respectively, in a post-statistical model weighting. All data except ramet height and pod length were log-transformed ln(x + 0.5) to meet assumptions of ANOVA. To test for effects of harvesting and mowing treatments on A. cannabinum demography, a repeated-measures ANOVA was performed with time (year 0-2, 2003- 2005) as the within-subjects factor and treatment as the between-subjects factor. For each response variable a total of 13 comparisons were made. These included 8 within-year contrasts between each treatment (n=4) and the control for two years: year 0 to understand pre-treatment differences in experimental groups and for year 2 to look for end-of-study effects. Five between-year comparisons were also made, one for each of the four treatments and the control over years 0-2, to look for cumulative effects. The significance level of each of the 13 t-tests was adjusted to α = 0.0038 using the Bonferroni correction to account for multiple tests. To test for effects of burning on A. cannabinum demography, a repeated measures ANOVA was performed with time (year 0-2, 2004-2006) as the within-subjects factor and treatment as the between-subjects factor. For each response variable five comparisons were conducted, specifically three within-year contrasts between the burned and unburned groups for years 0, 1 and 2, and two between-year comparisons for both burned and unburned groups over years 0-2. The significance level of each of the 5 t-tests was adjusted to α = 0.01 using the Bonferroni correction to account for multiple tests.

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Results Harvesting experiment Of all seven response variables of A. cannabinum, only ramet height displayed a marginal treatment × year interaction over the three year study (df = 8, F = 1.95, p = 0.0560) (Table 2, Figure 1) resulting from significant differences in ramet heights in years 1 and 2 between mow treatments and the control (See Appendix 9 for means and standard error values for the harvesting experiment). Ramet heights were 14% and 17% lower in the mow-only treatment compared to the control in year 1 (p < 0.0001) and year 2 (p < 0.0004), respectively, and 16% and 18% lower in the harvest-then-mow treatment compared to the control in years 1 (p = 0.0029) and 2 (p = 0.0001), respectively (See Appendix 10 and 11 for p values of all comparisons made in the analysis of the harvesting experiment). Within-treatment changes over the course of the study included a 3.4-fold increase in fruiting ramets (p = 0.0004)(Table 3, Figure 2) and a marginally significant 2.8-fold increase in proportion of ramets fruiting in the 100% harvest treatment (p = 0.0042)(Table 4, Figure 3). These represented changes over time of a variable within one treatment, as opposed to differences of a variable between treatments and the control.

Burning experiment Burning had no observed effects on response variables of A. cannabinum among treatments or between years in this study. There were no treatment × year interactions observed for any of the eight response variables in the overall statistical model (See Appendix 12 for means and standard errors for the burning experiment), nor were there any significant differences in response variables observed between the burned and unburned plots in years 1 or 2 (See Appendix 13 and 14 for p values of all comparisons made in the analysis of the burning experiment). There was a marginally significant 1.2-fold increase in genet size of unburned plots over the three year study (p = 0.0127)(Figure 4), but this change was not directly related to treatments.

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Discussion Intensity and timing of indigenous harvesting Results from the harvest experiment indicated that harvesting at both intensity levels, including the indigenous level (50%) was sustainable for growth and reproduction of A. cannabinum over the three year study—both levels of harvesting had no effect on growth and reproduction of A. cannabinum. No significant effects for any response variable were observed for intermediate (50%) and high intensity harvest levels (100%), ruling out a particular intensity level as important to sustain growth and reproduction, which is in contrast to other studies indicating increasing negative effects with higher intensity harvesting (Doak 1992, Gedge and Maun 1994, Louda and Potvin 1995, Amsberry and Maron 2006). Findings from this study suggest that dormant season harvesting of A. cannabinum was sustainable for ramet heights, which is the single most important aspect of A. cannabinum to indigenous peoples like the Miami. However, dormant season mowing was not sustainable—ramet heights were negatively affected by the mowing treatment. These findings are consistent with other research reporting negative effects on old field species heights from high intensity herbivory, albeit in the growing season (Cadenasso and Pickett 2002). Mowing is analogous to a high intensity herbivory in that it severs most of the aboveground biomass, but there is a qualitative difference between mowing and intense herbivory. In mowing, severed biomass is not removed through consumption as it would be in herbivory; instead it remains in situ, which can be detrimental to seed germination and establishment (Kirkman et al. 1998). Timing of herbivory is a critical factor in determining a plant’s ability to respond to aboveground damage—effects depend upon the developmental stage at the time of damage (McNaughton 1983, Maschinski and Whitham 1989). The general trend gleaned from herbivory research indicates that the closer the timing of herbivory or harvesting is to the dormant season, the fewer the effects (Gedge and Maun 1994, Phillips and Maun 1996, Webster et al. 2000). Schmidt et. al. (2007) found that indigenous harvestings timed after growth and reproductive cycles were completed were sustainable, and had no effects on the perennial herb Synonganthus nitens (Bong.) Ruhland. These data and findings from this

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study suggest that indigenous, dormant season harvesting of perennial herbs may be sustainable in general.

Frequency and timing of indigenous burning Because I burned A. cannabinum only one time over the three year study, I did not directly test for differences in burn frequency effects. However, due to the burn history of this site, which averaged once every three years for the past 9 years, it can be concluded that frequency of traditional indigenous methods of burning prairies is sustainable for A. cannabinum growth and reproduction. Still, a lack of positive effects was unexpected, in light of numerous studies reporting positive effects from intermediate frequency burns of grassland perennial herbs (for example, see Knapp 1985, Bowles et al. 1998, Kirkman et al. 1998, Menges and Dolan 1998, Cass 2005). No positive responses of A. cannabinum burning were observed in the first year after the burn, as has been reported by Cass (2005). Instead, no significant effects were observed for all response variables in both year 1 and 2, post burn. Higher frequency burns, conducted annually, have been reported to have positive effects for A. cannabinum (Anderson 1993b), so it may be that accumulated fuels in this study provided too intense of a burn for positive effects on growth and reproduction. Effects of intermediate frequency burns may also not influence growth and reproduction of single species, as was found in this study, but may be more important and influential in community dynamics of grasslands (Fuhlendorf et al. 2006) including succession (Packard 2005). From past research of dormant season burns with perennial herbs, I expected positive effects on growth and reproduction (Pemble et al. 1978, Betz and Lamp 1990, Bowles et al. 1998, Kirkman et al. 1998, Knapp et al. 1998, Cass 2005, Storm and Shebitz 2006), yet no effects were observed. However, it is important to note that studies reporting differential effects of growing season and dormant season burns on cool and warm season plants are often focused on dominant grasses (Bragg 1982), whereas forbs like A. cannabinum may have very different response to cool season burning.

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Other factors influencing response of A. cannabinum to harvesting and burning Other factors may have strongly influenced or overriden any observed effects of harvesting and burning. For example, there were year effects observed for 6 out of 7 response variables in the harvesting experiment which may have been due to year-to-year differences in precipitation (Schultz and Burnside 1979), but correlations of these factors to effects were not investigated. Finally, the small sample size (n = 6) for the burning experiment may have been too small to detect any subtle effects on growth and reproduction.

Implications Indigenous-centered conservation Harvesting and burning that simulated indigenous harvesting and burning of A. cannabinum had no effects on growth and reproduction in this study, implying that this traditional practice has been sustainable over the long term. It is also possible that burning may have positively affected A. cannabinum by maintaining the successional habitat in which A. cannabinum exists. If the old-field and prairie communities utilized in this study are representative of others of the same sere in Ohio and Indiana (Miami homelands) conclusions can be drawn regarding the indigenous harvesting and burning of this species and long term effects on persistence and distribution of A. cannabinum. In southwest Ohio, where oldfields and grasslands undergo succession readily, woody species generally increase over 50 years of unchecked succession (Vankat and Snyder 1991). Woody species cover in the 20-year oldfields utilized in my study would also be likely to increase if the experiment was extended another 10-20 years. In fact, during the second and third years of the harvesting experiment, study site property owners had to remove woody plants that were beginning to encroach on the oldfield and prairie species. Increased woody cover in unburned experimental plots would eventually reduce growth and reproduction of A. cannabinum by competing for light, as opposed to the burned plots which would remain more open and hospitable to A. cannabinum.

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The relationship between A. cannabinum and indigenous peoples, including the Miami, of the upper Midwest appears to be mutualistic, in which both plant and human benefit. Harvesting and burning do not measurably affect growth or reproduction of A. cannabinum, but long term burning at indigenous intensities would benefit both plant and human, by maintaining the successional habitat of A. cannabinum and providing a consistent source of fibers from stems. It may be that the combination of techniques used by indigenous peoples to manage A. cannabinum are designed to influence both the individual plant and the landscape of its habitat concurrently. In many states A. cannabinum is considered an invasive weed (Cadenasso and Pickett 2002) due to its effective establishment and expansion in early successional and agricultural fields. Yet, its viability has been compromised as a cultural plant, with few wild stands available for collection and use by indigenous peoples. Stands of A. cannabinum are either on private agricultural fields in which herbicides are applied, or too small to be viable for some traditional crafts. For example, Anderson and Morrato (1996) have estimated that approximately 35,000 stalks of A. cannabinum are needed to make an average 40 foot deer net for the Sierra Miwok of California, however large stands of A. cannabinum are rare in California (Anderson 2005). In addition, weeds have been shown to be important in ethnopharmacology (Stepp and Moerman 2001) and eradication may prevent further development of indigenous uses of this plant. Continuance or reintroduction of traditional management of A. cannabinum may be important to the long-term persistence of this and other species, for cultural use and biological value. The interruption of dormant season Miami burning of A. cannabinum habitat may alter the natural disturbance regimes to which it and other species are adapted (Kirkman et al. 1998). Population modelling projected that dormant season burning would increase intrinsic rate of growth of the perennial herb Lomatium bradshawii (Kaye et al. 2001) and allow persistence of the perennial herb Silene regia (Menges and Dolan 1998), yet contemporary prairie management emphasizes late spring burning which is during the growing season. The difference in season of prescribed burns may be moving prairie ecosystems off their natural trajectories and in the long-run make some restoration efforts unsuccessful in establishing and maintaining these pre-settlement ecosystems.

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Even dormant season harvesting may provide a small-scale disturbance that helps maintain this species and its community over the long term, like disturbances from burrowing animals such as meadow voles (Microtus pennsylvanicus) that may have maintained early succesional grassland forbs for 50 years in an oldfield (Vankat and Snyder 1991). If traditional harvesting and burning had significant contributions to the presettlement herbivory and fire regimes with which prairie species evolved, it is important to include these human-plant interactions in contemporary restoration efforts. As is the case for this study, quantitative demonstration of no effects on growth and reproduction from indigenous harvesting or burning can be used to support efforts of indigenous peoples to re-initiate harvesting and burning practices on public or private lands and support their efforts to revitalize plant-related traditions.

Beyond Science—Holistic Indigenous Stewardship Indigenous harvesting methods of A. cannabinum stems, for the most part, appear to have practical bases for acquisition of culturally important resources. Dormant season harvesting to obtain stems in a useable dry form, at maximum lengths and to avoid contact with toxins, is pragmatic. But some aspects of indigenous methods of harvesting are not easily explained through scientific reasoning and by a non-indigenous pragmatism. For example, this study demonstrated that harvesting 100% of all A. cannabinum stems encountered had no affect on subsequent plant growth and reproduction, so why do indigenous peoples not take them all? From the existing data regarding aboveground biomass removal of perennial herbs (from herbivory, clipping or mowing by non- indigenous methods) it would be expected that a range of harvesting methods to have evolved in indigenous communities, or at least higher harvesting levels, but this is not the case. Experimental methods and design used in this study may not have been able to detect any fine-scale effects resulting from indigenous harvesting levels, yet recent research may provide a clue to the basis for some indigenous methods. Niesenbaum et al. (2006) reported that simply visiting and touching growing A. cannabinum plants, individually, resulted in increased growth, concluding that some species are extremely sensitive to minor changes in their local environment. Both Cahill et al. (2001) and Niesenbaum (2006) found

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that visiting and touching A. cannabinum plants increased herbivory, and Cahill et al. reported increased survival in another perennial herb, Linaria vulgaris as a result of visitation and touching. It is possible that Miami harvesters have been aware of their affect on harvested plants, and in this case conducted harvesting during the dormant season partly for this reason, and harvesting only 50% of encountered ramets to decrease potential negative impacts (e.g. trampling) and ensure growth of future ramets. It may be that indigenous methods, in general, are designed to mitigate negative effects that have not yet been measured through scientific approaches and explained by pragmatism in resource maintenance and procurement. The Miami and other indigenous peoples interviewed regarding harvesting and burning techniques relayed that certain customs regarding plant relationships are based in spiritual values and beliefs, and serve to strengthen the relationship between indigenous harvester and harvested wild plants, which is intangible in a scientific sense. Prayers and offerings given to plants and habitats from which resources are taken are common traditional practices among the Miami are meant to respectfully engage in a relationship based on reciprocity (a common foundation in indigenous people’s relationships with plants (Herrmann 2006). Scientists would be hard- pressed to quantitatively measure the effects of such practices on growth and reproduction of plants with today’s measurement tools, although some scientific studies have attempted to quantify effects of very subtle interactions of humans with plants (Backster 1968). It may be that the Miami people understand and incorporate affects to plants to their traditional methods that have not yet been measured using scientific approaches, yet are important in the growth and reproduction of the species nonetheless. It may also be that scientific validation of indigenous harvesting techniques is not a necessary approach to learning from indigenous systems of ecological management. Instead, scientists may find it more useful to directly work with indigenous peoples on the non-quantitative aspects of traditional resource management in an effort to assist them in their contemporary conservation issues, and from these relationships with indigenous elders gain insights for adoption into non-indigenous resource management challenges. Building a bridge between western science and indigenous ecological knowledge may provide new ways for quantitative ecologists to understand and experience the natural world, which may provide more holistic outlook on the goal of restoring presettlement habitats (Smith 2005).

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Endnotes 1Miami elders use of the word medicine indicates something more than a chemical compound or mixture meant to cure a physical dysfunction in the human body. Often ‘medicine’ refers to something that is good for the whole person, including mind, body and spirit.

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