Gretel Van Wieren’s family cabin, the Cedar Shack, in northwest Michigan’s Manistee National Forest, is where she learned to fish and wade in rivers, build fires, send smoke signals, and distinguish false from true morels. It’s where she came to love the water and woods, and where she is now trying to teach her children to do the same. But decades of moving from place to place—from Eastern Africa to New England—have made trips back to the Cedar Shack scarce and short-lived. Even after moving back to Michigan, she and her husband’s obligations as university professors and parents of three overscheduled teenagers have made forest time rare and brief.
 
It wasn’t always like this. For years, Van Wieren studied and attempted to emulate the lives of the mystics. As a pastor in rural, dairy-farming New York, she walked the fields and woods behind the parsonage daily. Remembering that time in her life, Van Wieren concludes that she is out of practice, and she goes to the H. J. Andrews Experimental Forest in Oregon’s western Cascade Mountains to conduct a spiritual experiment: Is it possible to rediscover a deep sense of connection with the natural world, and can it be done, with children, in today’s high-tech, hyper-busy world?
 
Listening at Lookout Creek weaves philosophical and spiritual interpretations of the natural world with personal, hands-on experiences of particular landed places. It will be of interest to students of environmental ethics, religion, and nature, conservation practitioners, hunting and fishing enthusiasts, and all those who work to connect children with nature.
 

The tide is rising ahead of the early morning sun on the northeast coast of the Hawaiian island of Kaua‘i. Waves rush singing onto the outer reef where two throw net fishermen stalk the surge. An elderly woman with her silver hair in a kerchief makes her way toward shore, two octopuses tucked in her mesh bag. Within hours, two hundred tourists will snorkel, sunbathe, and teeter on the coral, few ever knowing that people fish here or that their catch sustains an entire kaiāulu (community) connected to this stretch of reef.

This coast is known as a playground for tourists and backdrop for Hollywood movies, but catch from small local reefs, and the sharing of this abundance, has sustained area families for centuries, helping them to thrive through tidal waves, hurricanes, an influx of new residents, and economic recessions. Yet fishing families are increasingly invisible and many have moved away, threatened by global commodification and loss of access to coastal lands that are now private retreats for star entertainers, investors, and dot-com millionaires.

Building on two decades of interviews with more than sixty Hawaiian elders, leaders, and fishermen and women, Kaiāulu shares their stories of enduring community efforts to perpetuate kuleana, often translated to mean “rights and responsibilities.” Community actions extend kuleana to include nurturing respectful relationships with resources, guarding and cultivating fishing spots, perpetuating collective harvests and sharing, maintaining connection to family lands, reasserting local governance rooted in ancestral values, and preparing future generations to carry on.

An important contribution to scholarship in the fields of natural resource management, geography, Indigenous Studies, and Hawaiian Studies, Kaiāulu is also a skillfully written and deeply personal tribute to a community based not on ownership, but reciprocity, responsibility, and caring for the places that shape and sustain us all.