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The Heaviness of What Gets Passed Down

This excerpt gathers wisdom from Alsie Parks, founder of Motherline Farm and institutional steward of SAAFON. Interviews conducted by Keesa V. Johnson

How do you define land defense?

For me, it is about the preservation and protection of a communal or familial asset.

What are your thoughts around land ownership?

It means intentional stewardship to me. Stewardship is a family value that I was born into. I understood that our family’s land was our wealth, and a place that my family has belonged to for

generations. I understand the importance of land ownership, as our land is where my ancestors lived, loved, labored, and fought to protect. Where they made [a] home, grew nourishment and more land for their descendants, to provide us with an offering that we would understand the value of and to have an asset that can take care of you. If you take care of the land, it will take care of you.

For me, land ownership also means responsible stewardship: knowing what’s happening on the

land, being present with it, protecting it by keeping taxes paid, knowing its history, and

understanding what it took to get and keep it. Land ownership is part of the cultural and familial

inheritance that I’ve received. I would say, in the Black Southern tradition (and this is something

that resonates across the biodiversity of Blackness), land provides us with the ability to feed

ourselves, decide for ourselves, self-determine, and have choice. I understand ownership as the

ability to make decisions with the responsibility of care.

What is the history of the land you’re on?

I am grateful to know the history of the land. It was passed down generationally from my

great-great-grandparents, JJ and Alsie Hawes, who purchased the land in the 1870s. JJ and Alsie passed it to their three youngest daughters: Essie, Emma, and Rupert. They had access to educational privilege during a time and in a place that was rare and at the time lived unconventional lives marrying late in life, or not at all, and collectively raised children. The youngest of 14, Rupert gave birth to my godmother, Alcye who is now the matriarch of the family, one of the last of her generation. They passed the land down to her. I am now part of an intergenerational land stewardship transference, which I understand as a process with her and the land. 

How do you use the land?

The land is our homeplace. Where my people live, we utilize the land for daily life, rest, respite, and for family gathering. We steward a small fruit orchard and a whole lot of trees and wildlife. That’s its current usage.

But I also have a vision for its usage, and I think that is part of why it’s so important for me to be

intentional about what that stewardship transference looks like - to sit and talk, tell stories,

iterate, and really build the trust that’s needed. For a Black elder to be like, “I see you, I trust

you, and I want you to do that here with me.”

Over the last two years, holding and sharing my vision has prompted a lot of conversations to fortify what happens on the land. But in earnest, I’ve been in this process for over a decade, so these aren’t new conversations, they’re ongoing, cumulative. Over time it’s been like: “Hey, I see you. I see how you carry your responsibilities. I see all the work that’s important to you, to us, for our family and beyond.”

That trust allows me to say, “Hey, I’m ready to plant some food and herbs, put up a chicken coop, establish new roads, or clear some land for cabins.”

How does it feel to own and steward land in one word?

Heavy.