Reciprocity

Pen has been and continues to be my best friend. It has been that way for the last 60 years. (I was going to say 50 but realized that was woefully wrong—good grief!) 

Honestly, I’m not sure if I have been Pen’s best friend during all that time. That could be my insecurity talking. She is wiser than I am. She is smarter. Richer. And in my eyes much more beautiful. Because of that, I am not sure what I give her in return.

Maybe it’s because I have always treated her as my equal. Her money and family name tends to make people deferential but I have never been in awe of all that life has given her. Her childhood and family life were painfully poor compared to mine. They were formal, stilted, and unfeeling. After her parents, died I discovered that money brings with it a lot of responsibility. You have to take care of it, use it for its best purpose, and make sure it is always in replenishment mode--all of that is stressful. And because of its magnitude, it provided no boundaries for Pen’s life. My financial life is all about boundaries. I never have to ponder if it is a good idea for me to buy something I don’t need. It is never a good idea. On the other hand, I can’t make mistakes. Pen does all the time without any impunity.

When Pen met my mother for the first time away from school, Pen was gobsmacked. My mother asked her about herself…not her family, but things Pen was actually interested in like badminton and beach combing and writing poetry. In return, Pen adored my mother. Of course, my mother was exceptional at making us each feel she had all the love, acceptance, and respect we could possibly need or use.

Which relates to a book I just finished reading. Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Gathering Moss is a quiet, contemplative revelation. Initially, I thought a book about moss would have a pretty narrow focus; instead, Kimmerer opens up an expansive world of miniature forests, water-vessels, and ancient survivors. She invited me to kneel down at forest floors and creek banks, looking closely at these tiny, intricate plants that so often go unnoticed underfoot. In doing so, she reveals not only the resilience and adaptability of mosses, but also the web of relationships that binds all living things together.

What makes Gathering Moss so uniquely beautiful is Kimmerer’s blending of scientific insight, poetic observation, and Indigenous wisdom. As both a trained bryologist and a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, she approaches mosses with equal measures of scientific curiosity and reverence. She names and describes their processes with precision, but she also reminded me to listen, to wonder, and to remember my kinship with these soft, persistent forms of life.

Central to Kimmerer’s worldview—and interwoven throughout her work—is the concept of reciprocity. In its simplest form, reciprocity suggests a two-way exchange of gifts, care, and respect. But Kimmerer applies it in a deeper, more ecological sense: rather than viewing nature as a resource bank, she reminds us that we are participants in a living community of beings, each contributing and receiving to maintain the balance of life.

It seems that mosses are a perfect example of this principle. In their habitats, they provide essential services—such as water retention and soil stabilization—often in small but critical ways. They benefit from the microclimates that taller plants provide while in turn creating miniature ecosystems where tiny invertebrates can thrive. Kimmerer sees a lesson in these ancient green cushions about how life supports life, each part doing its share in a quiet, constant conversation of survival.

From an Indigenous perspective, reciprocity also involves gratitude and responsibility. Kimmerer suggests that if we learn from mosses—if we truly see them as our teachers—we can better understand how to inhabit the Earth as ethical and appreciative beings. Instead of taking resources without acknowledging our debt to the land, we can practice giving back. This might involve physical restoration efforts, like planting or conservation, or it might be an offering of time, attention, care, and humility.

Ultimately, Gathering Moss awakens a sense of relationship—between mosses and water droplets, forests and humans, human communities and Earth’s many beings. Kimmerer illustrates how these interconnections are cyclical and continuous, a dance of giving and receiving that sustains life. Through the lens of reciprocity, she suggests we not simply admire nature from afar, but we consider ourselves a part of its intricately woven tapestry.

I didn’t mean to dump a book review on you, but the idea of reciprocity is very much on my mind since the election. Does this make any sense?