Storied Landscape Research Articles

A Note to Readers for Essays: Waewae Taku Haere and Whakamana

A note to readers for essays: 'Waewae Taku Haere: Stepping into Belonging in Storied Landscapes' and 'Whakamana: Embracing Uncertainty in Relationally Responsible Spatial Design Studio Pedagogy for a Flourishing Aotearoa'.

Student Responses to Waewae Taku Haere: Stepping into Belonging in Storied Landscapes

Student responses to Waewae Taku Haere: Stepping into Belonging in Storied Landscapes.

Waewae Taku Haere

The sites of spatial design practice are storied landscapes. Most spatial design projects begin with site analysis — a research process of coming to ‘know’ site, context, parameters, and opportunities. Even more fundamental is a process of listening; of attuning. In colonised countries such as Aotearoa New Zealand, the contexts of site include histories of colonisation and the marginalised stories of the Indigenous peoples whose lands, place names, and histories are often overwritten by settler-colonial stories, education systems, and built environments. How might spatial designers attune to Indigenous stories in the land? What new processes, modes, relationships, and understandings are required? How and to what extent should those who are not mana whenua (tribal groups with local territorial rights, relationships, and responsibilities) have access to this knowledge, often located within oral traditions of story and song? How do we prepare to work with these stories — a journey often filled with uncertainty and emotion — and keep ourselves and others safe throughout the process? These are essential skills for spatial designers in a decolonising/reindigenising world. This text-based research essay constitutes a journey of critical reflection and conversation around an experimental studio project the authors ran with third-year undergraduate spatial design students. Led by tangata whenua (Māori), tangata Tiriti (non-Māori treaty partner), and mana whenua researchers, the project was conducted within a bicultural framework informed by mātauranga and tikanga Māori (Māori knowledge systems and protocols). Students were introduced to a waiata pātere — a Māori chant that ‘maps’ places in a landscape — that had been composed for our learning community. They employed embodied methods of research and representation to generate immersive experiences that responded to the pātere and the stories in the land, as a way of coming to belong to, rather than to ‘know’, place.

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast by Chad L. Anderson

Reviewed by: The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast by Chad L. Anderson David L. Preston The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast. By Chad L. Anderson. Borderlands and Transcultural Studies. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2020. 288 pages. Cloth, ebook, pdf. John Mitchell's 1755 Map of the British and French Dominions in North America was so comprehensive and expansive that it remained influential in imperial boundary making for decades to come.1 As a summary view of the British imperial imagination, it drew upon previous cartographic work and expressed Britain's territorial claims to North America from the Mississippi to Newfoundland. Along the crest of the Appalachian Mountains, Mitchell engraved the word Iroquois in letters that stretched from Virginia's frontier northeast toward Montreal and the Saint Lawrence Valley. The Haudenosaunee, as the Six Nations or Iroquois are more accurately known, figured prominently in British imperial ambitions in North America, as they maintained a powerful and independent Indigenous confederation in the eighteenth-century Northeast. Mitchell's rendering captured the eighteenth-century British fiction that their Six Nations allies controlled those designated lands, based upon an equally fictional Haudenosaunee claim of having won them by right of conquest. As Chad L. Anderson makes clear, Iroquoia was a "storied landscape" that remained central in British and American imaginations, even after triumphant revolutionaries had expanded into that region and destroyed much of the Indigenous landscape in the years following the American Revolution. Anderson's The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia traces how early Americans both erased and appropriated the Native past as they imagined the new republic. Ignoring clear evidence of Haudenosaunee towns and agriculture, Americans increasingly portrayed Natives as forest fixtures rather than as skilled and settled farmers. They justified Native dispossession by arguing that American improvements and "progress" would lead to the "inevitable" decline of Native peoples. Echoing familiar themes of classic works by Anthony F. C. Wallace, Laurence M. Hauptman, and Alan Taylor, [End Page 389] the book's greatest value is in how well it captures contested European and American perceptions of the Haudenosaunee past and their meanings for the early republic.2 But in contrast to those authors, who deeply explored Haudenosaunee experiences and perspectives, Anderson focuses almost exclusively on European or American views of the Iroquoian landscape and past.3 Making a compelling case that a close examination of colonizers' ideologies is warranted, Anderson's central contribution is to trace the evolution of Americans' attitudes about the Haudenosaunee lands and landscape, past and present, as they "struggled over the meaning of conquest" (15). Unfolding like a series of focused journal essays, the book first explores the Haudenosaunee world and landscape in the mid-eighteenth century and argues that the "American Revolution marked the turning point in their ability to define the nature of settlement" (11). Anderson underscores that the Haudenosaunee were settlers with ineffable connections to their homelands. Haudenosaunee territories framed by the Saint Lawrence, Champlain, Mohawk, Susquehanna, and Ohio Valleys constituted a built and natural landscape brimming with historical, mythic, and spiritual meanings for the Haudenosaunee. On the eve of the American Revolution, the Haudenosaunee population of around nine thousand prospered in distinct towns and settlements with abundant agriculture. Anderson describes Haudenosaunee lands prior to the revolution as "relatively unknown to outsiders" (8), but his use of "relatively" misses a long and complicated interaction between Haudenosaunee and Euro-American settlers who had competed for land and resources since the early years of the eighteenth century. He claims, for example, that "Europeans did not permanently settle in the lands of the Haudenosaunee prior to the American Revolution" (19) but does not take into account scholarly literature examining how Palatine, Scottish, Dutch, and other European families had been permanently settled—in many cases cheek by jowl—alongside Oneida and Mohawk communities beginning in the 1720s.4 [End Page 390] Indeed, in the early years of the Mohawk Valley's settlement, Europeans initially requested permission of the Haudenosaunee owners to establish their farms. Similarly, French Canadian habitants lived intermixed with Haudenosaunee communities in the Saint Lawrence Valley (an area of Iroquoia that the book...

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast by Chad L. Anderson

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast by Chad L. Anderson

Mapping Abundance for a Planetary Future: Kanaka Maoli and Critical Settler Cartographies in Hawai'i by Candace Fujikane (review)

Reviewed by: Mapping Abundance for a Planetary Future: Kanaka Maoli and Critical Settler Cartographies in Hawai'i by Candace Fujikane Mary Tuti Baker (bio) Mapping Abundance for a Planetary Future: Kanaka Maoli and Critical Settler Cartographies in Hawai'i by Candace Fujikane Duke University Press, 2021 THE ACT OF MAPPING ABUNDANCE for a planetary future is audacious and necessary for planetary survival. Candace Fujikane works toward this goal in Mapping Abundance for a Planetary Future: Kanaka Maoli and Critical Settler Cartographies in Hawai'i. "The struggle for a planetary future," she argues, "calls for a profound epistemological shift" from economies of scarcity to economies of abundance (3). To engage this shift, she takes readers on a journey along fault lines of capitalist economies of subdivision and accumulation that are laying waste the 'aina (land, that which feeds) and she maps the procreative pathways of abundance through Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian) stories of resistance, struggle, and transformative social practice. Her analysis of this epistemological shift uses two parallel cartographic methodologies: Kanaka Maoli mo'o'āina cartography and critical settler cartography—interlaced methodologies that she frames with the following questions: How are the exhausted cartographies of capital being transformed by the vibrant cartographies of Indigenous and settler ally artists, scientists, writers, and activists to restore more sustaining arrangements of life? How can abundance be mapped to show functioning Indigenous economies not premised on the crises of capital? How are lands mapped as an ontology—a life, a will, a desire, and an agency—of their own? How can such cartographies help us to grow a decolonial love for lands, seas and skies that will help to renew abundance on this earth? (4) She addresses these questions through a thoughtful study of mo'olelo (storied histories), cutting analysis of the failures of the occupying state, and loving interactions with Kanaka Maoli whose work on the land and in community bring ancestral knowledge and values to bear in the present to engender future economies of abundance. Fujikane's work begins with critical settler cartography that critiques "the toxic logics and imaginaries of late liberal settler colonial cartography" and then moves into the "expansiveness of Kanaka Maoli cartographies that map familial relationality among humans, lands, and elemental forms, plant [End Page 156] and animal 'ohana (family)" (17–18). These cartographies are set in motion as we traverse the storied landscapes laid out in each of the six chapters. The battle plays out again and again between ancestral knowledge and practice and the practices of wastelanding that destroy relationships with 'aina in order to possess it. The text is dense. Her lyrical writing moves readers deftly through the details of a mo'olelo into a topography of complex land formations that echo and support the claims of stewardship and protection embedded in the stories. A full appreciation of the many references to and invocations of Kanaka Maoli mo'olelo, wahi pana (storied places) and the ancestral knowledge and cultural practices of her companions on the journey requires a careful reading of the text. I wonder if some of the richness of her analysis might be lost to readers outside of Hawai'i and those who do not have direct visceral experience of the elemental forces and ancestors she invokes. Fujikane identifies as a settler aloha 'āina. Aloha 'āina is a highly politicized positionality in contemporary Hawai'i. It is both the act of loving and caring for the land and one who practices aloha 'āina. The term emerged in Hawai'i politics during Kanaka Maoli resistance to settler rule in the nineteenth century and the descendants of these Kānaka Maoli declare allegiance to the sovereign Hawaiian nation with the phrase "until the last aloha 'aina." To what degree can settler aloha 'āina be included in this accounting? There will always be an incommensurable difference between settler and native subjectivity. In the book's introduction, Fujikane engages in a frank assessment of the challenges of this incommensurability. Settler aloha 'aina must navigate the discomfort and, as she maintains, commit to a shift in consciousness with respect to land-based knowledge. It necessitates growing "an intimacy with land that brings about more pono (just, balanced, and generationally...

A Poetic Inquiry Into (Re)Connecting With the Language of the Land: Walking with dįį ndéh

In this article, I strive to move beyond the pervasiveness of colonial ideologies and intellect, decolonizing my experiences by learning through the physical act of being and doing on the Land, while provocatively listening to the silences. It is through the exploration and ingenuity of poetry that the language and knowledge of my ancestors evolved. Weaving in and out of poetic and storied landscapes, I engage with learning from and with dįį ndéh as the medicine stories of my matriarchs begin to unfold.

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast

According to Chad L. Anderson, “Humans create an imagined landscape to correspond with the physical one” (8). In The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia, Anderson examines the imagined landscape of Iroquoia, the ancestral homelands of the Haudenosaunee, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. As Anderson argues in his first chapter, Euro-Americans had little influence over Iroquoia’s “built and natural landscape” before the American Revolution (1). These visitors relied on Haudenosaunee informants to glimpse how Iroquoia’s landscape “connected the Haudenosaunee to their myths, history, and identities” (44). After the war destroyed much of Iroquoia’s built landscape and opened the region to settlers, white Americans created a physical and imagined landscape of their own in Iroquoia. For the remainder of the book, Anderson successfully argues that this imagined landscape appropriated Iroquoia’s Haudenosaunee past while denying the Haudenosaunee a place in Iroquoia’s future.Anderson shows that settlers used Iroquoia’s built and natural landscape to tell stories that glorified US expansion. After the war, Americans built their farms on the ruins of Haudenosaunee towns and fields. According to Anderson, this destruction helped settlers ignore evidence of Haudenosaunee agriculture and imagine the Haudenosaunee “as hunters, doomed to extinction” (71). Their belief that the Haudenosaunee were “doomed” was bolstered by new ideas about extinction, which Americans learned by exterminating local predatory mammals and investigating mammoth fossils. As white settlers gained a foothold in Iroquoia, they also produced local legends, often connected to landmarks, in which “Indians appeared as foils for heroic frontiersmen to battle” (109). Anderson traces the evolving legends of two monuments, the Painted Post—where Americans falsely claimed a Haudenosaunee leader was buried—and Queen Ester’s Bloody Rock, where Americans alleged that Haudenosaunee people massacred settlers. These stories acknowledged a Haudenosaunee past in Iroquoia, but they were inaccurate “celebrations of white settler victory,” according to Anderson (109).Once Americans saw the Haudenosaunee as antithetical to progress, they began to deny that Haudenosaunee ancestors built Iroquoia’s most visible landmarks. During the colonial period, some Euro-Americans thought the Haudenosaunee oversaw an extensive empire, but their descendants “denied a possible future of Native Americans on the new ‘civilized’ landscape of America” (116). It was in this context, Anderson argues, that Americans came to believe ancient Europeans or another extinct civilization created Iroquoia’s mounds. One such American was the prophet Joseph Smith, who wrote the Book of Mormon from his home in Iroquoia. Smith claimed that Iroquoia’s mounds were built by the Nephites, an ancient Christian civilization conquered by the Lamanites, the supposed ancestors of the Haudenosaunee. According to Anderson, although Smith’s Book of Mormon denied that Haudenosaunee ancestors built mounds, its “alleged Indian history proved essential to its believability” (177). Consequently, Anderson argues, “Mormonism could not have emerged at another time or place other than the early American republic’s newly conquered Native American homelands” (177).According to Anderson, white Americans dominated public discussions on Iroquoia during the early republic, but Haudenosaunee people also participated. In the fourth chapter, Anderson examines Tuscarora historian David Cusick’s work on Iroquoia’s landmarks and their origins, which American intellectuals dismissed while promoting their own improbable theories. I wondered what stories other nineteenth-century Haudenosaunee people—many of whom remained in Iroquoia despite being dispossessed of much of their territory—told about this region’s built and natural landscape. Nonetheless, Anderson convincingly shows the myriad ways white Americans and a few Haudenosaunees contributed to an imagined landscape of Iroquoia during the early republic. Thus The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia is an important read for those interested in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century myth making and public memory of North America’s Indigenous people and their homelands.

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast by Chad L. Anderson

The Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast by Chad L. Anderson

Embodying Emergence: Reclaiming ȽÁU, WELṈEW̱

W̱SÁNEĆ territory, located on what is known today as the southern part of Vancouver Island, is a storied landscape, holding within its geographical features many sacred places with their own SENĆOŦEN names and stories. For the Grade 3 students of the ȽÁU, WELṈEW̱ Tribal School, a visit to ȽÁU, WELṈEW̱, the mountain that bears the same name as the school, unearthed an unfamiliar layer of the stories connected to this place, which has long been held sacred to the W̱SÁNEĆ people. In the voices of these students, who are now in Grade 4, this article recounts their trip to the ȽÁU, WELṈEW̱ mountain in June 2018 and the process of toponymic activism that followed. The students’ Grade 3 teacher, a Euro-settler educator, joins the students in co-authoring this article, which illustrates why reclaiming Indigenous place names is important to decolonizing the map, first locally for these students and this particular place, and then in a broader sense.

Shovels Out

Abstract Review of: T.P. Wiseman, The House of Augustus: A Historical Detective Story. This engaging and accessible book conclusively puts to rest the longstanding misidentification of grand ruins on Rome’s Palatine Hill as the ‘House of Augustus’. Wiseman defends the view that Augustus’ buildings on the Palatine carefully differentiated between private modesty and public munificence while aligning the princeps with Romulus through their various imprints on this storied landscape. Sound archaeological arguments are couched within a less convincing attempt to reframe Augustus as a populist hero.

Cosmological Subjectivities: Exploring 'Truth' Environmentalities in the Haa Highlands of Bhutan

This paper explores local perceptions of the landscape in a small highland community near Haa, Bhutan. Through the lens of ethnoecology, it documents a storied landscape in which an animist cosmology, underpinned by Buddhism, shapes local subjectivities in particular ways that influence behaviour in relation to this landscape. We draw on this case to contribute to a growing body of research exploring how environmental governance understood as Foucauldian-inspired 'environmentality' works to create 'environmental subjects'. While initial work in this area describes a monolithic environmentality, more recent research outlines multiple environmentalities (neoliberal, disciplinary, sovereign and truth) to demonstrate how processes of subject formation occur differently in relation to each of these. Within this research, however, attention to truth environmentality and the particular forms of environmental subjectivity it cultivates has been largely absent thus far. Our analysis addresses this gap by exploring how members of the herding community in the case under investigation describe relationships with a set of cosmological entities that motivate specific self-understandings leading to conservation-conducive behaviour. In this way, our analysis highlights how this particular approach to the 'conduct of conduct' works to shape specific environmental subjectivities beyond those currently highlighted in the burgeoning environmentalities literature.

Myths on the Map: The Storied Landscapes of Ancient Greece

Disons-le d’emblee, le fondement conceptuel de cet ouvrage collectif est volontairement et explicitement flou. A partir d’un hypothetique « spatial turn » qui semble correspondre a une vague focalisation sur l’espace de nos interpretations modernes des « mythes » greco-romains, la reflexion introductive (par Greta Hawes, la coordinatrice du volume collectif) suppose une superposition entre « myth-making » et « map-making » (p. 2). Ainsi non seulement la question de l’espace est reduite a cell...

The Horoscopic Place

This article investigates whether astrology is an alternative spiritual practice associated with divination, an occurrence beyond normal human experience. Between July 2015 and July 2016 I conducted semi-structured interviews with seven astrologers who had each been practicing, writing, and teaching astrology for twenty-?ve years or more. The interviews concentrated on understanding the space set aside by the astrologers to focus on the horoscope. The results revealed that the astrologers considered the repetitive behaviour of preparation for the consultation a ritual, re?ecting Emile Durkheim’s views that a special place set aside and reinforced by ritual became sacralised. As the astrologers discussed the storied landscape of the horoscope, a moment of recognition by the client allowed the astro­loger to see more deeply into what Henri Lefebvre called the lived space of the imagination. The ensuing conversation opened the way to a much greater depth of understanding between both astrologer and client and generated insights that did not require a connection with the supernatural.

Divergent visions of wildness and naturalness in a storied landscape: Practices and discourses of rewilding in Scotland's wild places

The public profile of rewilding has risen rapidly, and there is broad agreement within rewilding discourses about the desirability of enhancing naturalness and wildness. However, there are contrasting views about what such enhancement should comprise, both philosophically and practically. Here we investigate understandings and practices of rewilding amongst managers and owners of wild land in the Scottish uplands. The data, gathered in 2011–2013, comprise (i) semi-structured interviews with 20 stakeholders in the upland management sector, and (ii) an investigation, utilising the Delphi method, of the objectives and rationales of 17 upland estates engaged in rewilding. The results reveal some broad areas of consensus, but considerable divergence concerning the desired ends and means of rewilding, especially about (i) the place of people and cultural artefacts within wild land, and (ii) the relative merits of intervention and non-intervention. The paper presents a ‘many wilds’ synthesis of these contrasting perspectives in the form of a matrix with four interconnected axes (wild nature, wild places, wild experience and wildness), offering a way of conceptualising this plurality and of considering the conflicts which are the corollary of multiple goals for wild places.

Searching for the Center of the World: Kinship, Exchange, and the Meaning of Home in Eastern Native North America

Searching for the Center of the World:Kinship, Exchange, and the Meaning of Home in Eastern Native North America David Nichols (bio) Jean R. Soderlund. Lenape Country: Delaware Valley Society Before William Penn. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015. ix + 252 pp. Maps, figures, notes, and index. $39.95 (cloth); $24.95 (paper and e-book). Sami Lakomäki. Gathering Together: The Shawnee People through Diaspora and Nationhood, 1600–1870. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014. viii + 334 pp. Maps, figures, notes, bibliography, and index. $40.00. Native Americans rarely appear in internet memes, but one usefully subversive example of the form, featuring an indigenous American quartet, has been making the rounds for several years. Below a photo of the Apache leader Geronimo and three of his rifle-toting fellow countrymen appears the caption “Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorists since 1492.” The joke lies in the double meaning of the two words “terrorist,” here used to describe fanatical European colonists, and “homeland.” For many, if not most modern Americans, homeland evokes nothing in particular apart from the name of a television show and the unwieldy internal-security bureaucracy Congress threw together after the September 11, 2001, terror attacks. For many Native Americans, the word carries far more emotional weight. An Indian nation’s homeland has usually meant more to its owners than just a living space or a collection of resources: it also serves as a text of a particular people’s history, a vast aide-memoire recording the sacred and human events that occurred there. The Western Apaches, as anthropologist Keith Basso observed during long decades of ethnographic study, used place names from their Arizona homeland as a kind of oral hypertext. Apaches recited place names to one another during in-group conversation, using them to recall shared personal experiences and amusing or heartening stories they had heard from elders. A homeland, like a language, helped provide people with a distinct and unifying identity. Its absence deprived them of their stories and memories, and thus of a vital part of themselves.1 [End Page 203] Losing one’s homeland has been an all-too-common experience for Native Americans. The nineteenth century, in particular, saw several hundred thousand indigenous people—Choctaws, Nez Perces, Potawatomis, and many others—driven from their homes and sent to distant, unfamiliar reservations. Dispossession proved multiply traumatic for Indians, who lost kinfolk to the stresses of forced migration, lost property that whites forced them to abandon, and lost the “storied landscapes” of home that formed so vital a part of their identity. Yet if Native American history has taught anything to modern scholars, it is that Indians are among the most resilient human beings on the continent. The story of Native North America since European contact has been one not only of loss and trauma, but also of personal and cultural survival. American Indians have, over the past few centuries, learned how to manage and even (in some cases) master European colonists who intruded on their homelands. Meanwhile, many who have lost older homelands have shown how one can transplant kinfolk and rituals and sacred institutions to a new domain, hundreds of miles away, and thereby create a new home.2 Jean Soderlund, in Lenape Country, addresses the first of these two implicit questions: how can indigenous peoples retain control of their natal country in the face of European invasion? Her focal area might look to colonial historians like well-traveled ground: the Contact-era homeland of the Lenape Indians, astride the Delaware River. She surveys this terrain, however, with the aid of powerful new interpretive tools: the documentary and genealogical work of Gunlög Fur and Peter Craig, incorporating Swedish and Finnish colonists’ perspectives, and Robert Grumet’s extensive research on the Lenapes’ ethnic relations, the Munsees. These ensure that her journey through the Delaware Valley yields a persuasive new interpretation of the region’s seventeenth-century history.3 Soderlund identifies the Lenapes as the region’s dominant power until the 1680s. Europeans made eastern Pennsylvania and western New Jersey nominal components of the Atlantic World, but the newcomers’ interactions with the indigenes demonstrated that the country remained (in Kathleen DuVal’s perennially...

A narrative inquiry into the experience of negotiating the dominant stories of physical education: living, telling, re-telling and re-living

This paper explores the tensions that surfaced as a teacher of physical education (PE) shifted his ‘stories to live by’ [Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (1999). Storying and restorying ourselves: Narrative and reflection. In A. Y. Chen & J. Van Maanen (Eds.), The reflective spin: Case studies of teachers in higher education transforming action (pp. 15–23). Singapore: World Scientific] around PE. The tensions became explicit when his shifting ‘stories to live by’ bumped against dominant narratives of PE that shaped his professional knowledge landscape. Our inquiry is framed by Dewey's pragmatic ontology [(1938). Experience and education. New York, NY: Collier Books] and Clandinin and Connelly's [(1995). Teachers’ professional knowledge landscapes. New York, NY: Teachers College Press] narrative conception of experience as the living and telling, re-telling and re-living, of stories of experience. We also draw on Connelly and Clandinin's [(1999). Storied identities: Storied landscapes. New York, NY: Teachers College Press] narrative conception of identity as ‘stories to live by’ which is an embodied, fluid and context-dependent view of identity as situated at the interface between personal practical knowledge and professional knowledge landscapes. We begin with situating this work within the broader spectrum of narrative research. We then describe the relational processes of re-telling the stories through narrative inquiry and finally explore the re-living of these stories in order to show the tensions that surfaced as Ashley's ‘stories to live by’ shifted. We engage in the narrative inquiry process of re-telling using the three-dimensional narrative inquiry space (with dimensions of place, sociality, temporality), to show tensions and shifting identities. We conceptualize these tensions as moments of autobiographical revisions [Carr, D. (1986). Time narrative and history. Bloomington: Indiana University Press]. These revisions are seen as a part of a person's struggle for narrative coherence; a struggle to compose a life in the professional knowledge landscape that is meaningful to each individual. In these moments of autobiographical revision we show the reflexive relationship between living, telling, re-telling and re-living of stories. We end by considering what we have learned about our own stories to live by through this process and theoretically and practically suggest ways other teacher educators and physical educators might benefit from engaging in narrative inquiry work.

Storied Landscapes: Ethno-Religious Identity and the Canadian Prairies by Frances Swyripa (review)

Storied Landscapes: Ethno-Religious Identity and the Canadian Prairies by Frances Swyripa (review)

Storied Landscapes: Ethno-Religious Identity and the Canadian Prairies by Frances Swyripa (review)

Storied Landscapes: Ethno-Religious Identity and the Canadian Prairies by Frances Swyripa (review)