[ Nature sounds ]
[ Music ]
>> Jonathan Hall: Being in
these outdoor spaces, foraging,
the overarching feeling
that I feel is being
at a family reunion.
And one of those big family
reunions where you know,
you might be familiar with a
few of your closest cousins
and relatives, but you know, the
other more distant ones you --
you don't quite know who they
are, and what their names are,
and their stories, but
it's a joyous time, right?
It's a joyous space to
be there because you know
that you are related
to these individuals,
and that you're connected
to them.
And that they care about
you, and you care about them.
Lots of little friends.
Wow, lots of little friends.
[ Music ]
>> Mike Costello: The
natural environment
of West Virginia has attracted
people here throughout history.
And we usually hear about
people who came here
from somewhere else,
exploited the resources,
and sent the profits
somewhere else.
But when Jonathan moved here, he
connected to this place in a way
that was just so
enriching for those
of us who've lived
here our whole lives.
>> Jonathan Hall:
Three right here.
Three for the whole
tree, it looks like.
>> Mike Costello: Growing up
in the suburbs in Maryland,
he never thought he'd
find himself living
in Central Appalachia.
But through hunting and
foraging in these mountains,
he found community, and
he found family here.
And not just in the
humans that live here.
>> Jonathan Hall: I
think it's really awesome
and a different way to
think about my relationship
with nonhuman relatives
to think about when
to expect them, right?
And so, in the spring, in
Appalachia, in West Virginia,
and thinking about foraging, the
things that I am really excited
about are [inaudible]
and [inaudible], right?
Getting out into the woods and
you know, trying to see when --
when is the right time,
and is this the right
time to pick those?
Nothing like it.
Nothing like it.
I feel like that first
one is like so key.
>> Mike Costello: It is, yes.
Yes, where you see one,
you know there's more.
Jonathan and I first met
because of our common interest
in wild food.
Almost right away, he started
coming out to the farm,
often with his family, his
wife Audra and their kids.
And what stood out
early on was the way
that he stressed how we
are related to these plants
and animals we were harvesting.
>> Jonathan Hall: And
this is chickweed, right?
>> Mike Costello:
Chickweed, yes.
That's a really nice
one in the spring.
And that's an idea that has
guided the Native peoples
of these lands for
thousands of years.
>> Jonathan Hall: This
concept of thinking
about nonhuman species
as relatives I think
is something that's
really important.
That way of thinking really
creates the sense of humility
that we need as a
species to remember
that we are the youngest,
you know?
Before we were here, you know,
our mammal relatives were here.
The beavers, and
deer, and before them,
there were plant relatives, the
oaks and the maples and things.
I try to keep that in
mind when I'm, you know,
going through the forest
and meeting new relatives
and communing with others
that I'm more familiar with.
You know, we were just in
the woods now and you know,
looking at the ants that were
eating the oyster mushroom.
Wow, the ants are really
like taking this --
it's like definitely
being broken down.
They weren't here.
That's so fascinating.
And both of those are
-- are older siblings.
They've been doing that for
many, many years longer than --
than you know, I've been
alive certainly, and you know,
my great, great, great,
great grand relatives
have been around.
So, that's you know,
that's humbling.
>> Mike Costello: In some of
our earliest conversations,
Jonathan talks so much about
some of the indigenous scholars
and activists and storytellers
that he was reading
and listening to.
There was Robin Wall Kimmerer,
Adrienne Keene, Kim TallBear
and so many others whose
words encouraged him to think
about the importance
of relations.
>> Jonathan Hall: Oscar,
those are [inaudible]
right there, those greens.
[Inaudible]
>> Mike Costello: In a
state like West Virginia,
which is so dominated
by extractive industry,
we learn that nature
is just there for us
to conquer for money and status.
And we don't think about the
consequences of taking too much,
especially when we
see humans and nature
as these two unrelated things.
>> Jonathan Hall: We're not
going to eat those specifically.
We're going to get some
other ones to eat, okay?
Yes, there's more this way.
Come on. When we begin to
interact and be sustained
by our wild relatives, we have
the responsibility to make sure
that -- that they are being
taken care of in a way
that we can keep
coming back to them.
And that they can keep
coming back to us.
It's sort of like an
antidote to greed.
So, you know, that means
not clear-cutting you know,
a forest to harvest the wood.
That means not taking all of
the Pawpaws that are there.
Not taking all of the
mushrooms that are there,
and really getting
to know those --
those relatives in a way that --
that you feel comfortable
that that relationship
can be sustained.
You care about the relatives
that are sustaining you,
and so you can't just
liquidate their bodies
and destroy their -- their homes
if you want to see them again.
You know? If you want to
-- to relate to them again.
>> Mike Costello: That wisdom,
that idea of relations is
so fundamental to
Jonathan's learning.
So, it becomes fundamental
to his teaching.
And teaching is what
brought him here.
He's a university professor, and
he studies how people interact
with land and wildlife in
order to feed themselves.
So, wild food becomes the
vehicle for his lessons
in the classroom, sure,
but especially to his kids.
>> Jonathan Hall:
Yes, come on dude.
You know, being out in
these outdoor spaces
and introducing nonhuman
relatives to the young people
in my life, my children, I think
is probably the most important
thing I could do.
So, for my children who
are going to be seven
and four this year, you know, I
think it's so important for them
at this early age where they are
so receptive to knowledge,
right?
They're so interested and
sort of have this disposition
to learn things,
to introduce them
to as many relatives
as I possibly can.
Okay, let's keep moving, okay?
Because just, you know, the
saying, "It takes a village
to raise -- raise a child,"
that village, at least for me,
includes not just the
humans, but the nonhumans.
Oh, ha-ha, found one.
>> Can I hold it?
>> Jonathan Hall: Not yet.
Hold on. Being able to --
to introduce these relatives
to your children,
you also learn things
about the young people
in your life, right?
Simone, our eldest, our
daughter, has an incredible eye.
Oh, yes. Nice job, Simone.
And the fact that
she enjoys that.
She's like, "Oh, I
spotted a Morel," you know?
Yes, it's really wonderful.
>> I found it.
>> Well done, Simone.
How did you see it?
>> I don't know.
I'm going to pick it.
>> Wow. Good job
mushroom hunter.
[ Music ]
[ Nature sounds ]
>> Jonathan Hall:
Oh, is that -- yes.
Here's one.
And there's one.
Oh, yes. Yes, there's
a bunch in there.
Pop, sha-pop, pop.
And little [inaudible] leaves.
[ Nature sounds ]
>> Mike Costello: As much as
Jonathan and I have in common,
race has made us walk
completely different paths
to hunting and foraging.
>> Jonathan Hall:
It's so beautiful.
Spider.
>> Mike Costello: For White
people, from mostly White,
rural communities, it is
so easy for us to imagine
that we all have the
same experiences,
we all have the same access,
and that we're all treated
the same in the outdoors.
My personal safety is not
something I have to consider
when I'm on my land,
when I'm on public land,
or pretty much anywhere else.
But for Jonathan,
that is not the case.
>> Jonathan Hall:
That's a thing that I --
that I always think about,
no matter where I am,
no matter how many White
folks are around with me,
I'm thinking about,
"What is going to happen
when a White person who claims
ownership on this space shows up
and demands an explanation
of why I'm there."
Right? "Why is this Black
person in this space?"
The ways that blackness
interacts with rural spaces
in this country has always
been contentious, dramatic,
anxiety inducing, even when,
you know, out in the woods
and experiencing things
and having a joyful time,
my consciousness about people
who I don't know showing up in
that space is always there.
We were up on the hill
a couple of times,
and there's a fence
there, right?
And one of the thoughts that I,
you know, have in my head is,
"What will I do if the
next person over rolls
up on their four-wheeler,
and my White friends
are not in view, right?
And this person rolls up
and sees a Black person
who they don't know,
right, in their space?"
Like, "What am I going to say?
How are they going to react?
And then, how am I going to
try to deescalate the situation
so that I can make it out
of this -- this space?"
And all of that thinking has
this long, really sad, tragic,
awful history attached to
it, that collectively as a --
as an American society, we
haven't really reconciled.
>> Mike Costello: You know,
some folks deny racism and say
that his fears are completely
unfounded, but read the news.
If Black people are killed when
going for a jog or reaching
for a wallet, or trying to
buy a toy gun at Wal-Mart,
then Jonathan has to think about
the risk of being in the woods.
You know, especially
when it's deer season
and he has a real gun.
>> Jonathan Hall: You know,
there's a lot that goes
into being a person
who's not expected
into a space to get into it.
I think you know, for most
-- for most White people,
it's just like, "Where
is a space that I can go?
I don't have to really worry
about the other people
that are there?
The interactions or anything.
I just need to find a space so
I can go walking or go hiking."
And then, you know, sort
of as a non-White person
or a Black person, you figure
out who are the human relatives
that you can trust to
be in those spaces,
then comes like all of the
other knowledge and things
that you have to learn about
your nonhuman relatives.
So, it's sort of like a
whole category of stuff
that Black folks, non-White
folks need to account
for before we even
get to the point
where we're learning the names
of plants that we don't know.
>> Mike Costello: In order
to understand these
current realities,
you have to understand
that people were
forced off this land.
And after that, certain people
were prevented from owning
or accessing this land, and
that all comes back to race.
Every bit of that past goes
into who is expected here,
and really who is even allowed
to be in these places now.
That's what Jonathan
wants us to understand.
He's opened a lot of eyes and
started a lot of conversations
that otherwise probably
wouldn't have happened.
>> Jonathan Hall: What
I'm teaching my children,
what my parents taught me,
what my grandparents taught
my parents is that you know,
the cost of not understanding
those dynamics,
the cost of not understanding
the consequences of history,
the cost of thinking
that people look at you
through a colorblind
lens, could be your life.
[ Music ]
>> Mike Costello: When
you connect with somebody
through food, you
better eat, right?
And when Jonathan comes over,
we usually eat pretty well.
Early on, he introduced
me to this dish that --
that really meant a lot to him.
>> Jonathan Hall: It's a dish
called Nshima and relish.
So, it's sort of
like the main feature
of the dish is this cooked
cornmeal cake, right?
And it's sort of
like the starchy base
that you pair with a stew.
And so, the stew is
you know, a tomato
and leafy green based stew
with the meat and salted fish
and onions, and probably
like a okra.
You cook the stew and then you
-- you make this Nshima cake,
and you break off -- you eat
it with your hands, right?
And you break off pieces of this
Nshima and dip it into the --
into the stew and you eat it.
And it's just a delicious,
hearty meal, you know?
It sticks to your ribs and --
and fills your soul
and everything.
It's just so delicious.
Nshima and relish was one of
my favorite dishes growing up.
We didn't have it very often,
but whenever we did,
it was a treat.
You would sit on the floor.
We would eat with our hands.
It's a really special
-- really special meal.
>> Mike Costello: It's a dish
his parents learned to make
when they lived in Zambia.
And I could really feel
that personal significance
when Jonathan talked
about Nshima and relish
and all it represented
for his family.
>> Jonathan Hall: Both my
mom and dad moved to --
to Zambia, I think in the
early 70s, and it was a --
it was a really great,
great time for them.
My mother talks about
how you know,
it was one of the
happiest times in her life.
>> Hello?
>> Jonathan Hall: Hey, mama.
>> Hey.
>> Jonathan Hall: Hey.
>> Mike Costello:
Sometimes he'll call his mom
when he's making Nshima
and relish and she'll talk
about the way that she makes it,
or she's made it in the past.
>> Well, when I used to make
Nshima for the three of us--
>> Jonathan Hall: Yes.
>> When I used to make the
relish, I would start off
by bringing it to a boil,
about two cups of water.
>> Jonathan Hall: Okay.
>> Mike Costello: And it's
almost like she's there
in the kitchen, like
they're cooking together.
>> And then, I would
measure about oh,
I would measure almost
a cup of corn meal.
>> Jonathan Hall: Okay.
>> Into a measuring cup.
And put enough water in that
to make it into a mixture.
>> Jonathan Hall: Okay.
>> Pour that into
the boiling water.
>> Jonathan Hall: Okay.
>> Okay, son.
>> Jonathan Hall: I think
for my parents, you know,
the food was one of the things
that endured their experiences
that they could bring
with them, right?
And you know, in the same way
that passing on experiences
of being in these --
these outdoor spaces are
really important for me to pass
on to my children, I think
that was one of the things,
the gifts that they
could give me.
>> And it will thicken.
>> Jonathan Hall: Yes.
>> But it will not
be thick enough,
and then you gradually
add more corn meal,
but you stir it in
Jonathan, slowly.
>> Jonathan Hall: Yes, yes.
>> And you stir it following.
>> Jonathan Hall: Yes.
>> And you continue to
do that until it's the --
until it's so thick, that
it's very difficult to stir,
and it will start [inaudible].
>> Jonathan Hall: So, the
Nshima is just about ready,
and the way that my
mother would talk
about it being ready was
sticking a wooden spoon up,
and if the spoon stays,
then your Nshima is ready.
So, the Nshima is ready.
>> Mike Costello: One time,
he got in touch with me,
and said he wanted to make
this dish more personal.
He wanted it to represent all
the hunting, the foraging,
the community he found
here, all the relations
that define his time
in West Virginia.
>> Jonathan Hall: I think
that, you know, the idea came
from wanting to embrace
Appalachia, West Virginia,
in the ways that brought me joy
in understanding this place,
and of course that was you know,
this place will always be
the place where I learned how
to relate to my nonhuman
relatives, right,
in a really meaningful way.
But then I think also, it
was an opportunity for me
to express the gratitude
that I feel from --
for all the people
who've allowed me
to have this experience, right?
You know, the folks who have --
who I've hunted with and gone
out and been on their land
and done those things,
who've taught me so much about
you know, what it means to be
in good relation with
the environment here,
I think is a really
special thing.
So, yes, there's just -- they're
just so much wrapped up in this.
>> Mike Costello: At
first it was a discussion.
You know, what are
the ingredients,
what are the stories, that can
connect this dish to this place?
We had home canned tomatoes.
These story-rich, heirloom
varieties, that have been handed
down in West Virginia
communities
for so many generations.
And you can't have
Nshima and relish
without the Nshima itself,
which is made from corn.
So, that was actually the
first thing he asked me about.
You know, "Can we make this
dish with Bloody Butcher corn?"
>> Jonathan Hall: The interest
in being able to make the Nshima
with Bloody Butcher corn,
was sort of like an
anti-Colonial sort of step.
And to sort of like be conscious
of this important plant
that was you know, the --
so much the agricultural
and in many cases,
the economic backbone
of many indigenous people
here on these lands.
Shelling this corn makes
me think about the hands
that spend a lifetime
doing this, you know?
What do those hands feel like?
What do -- what do those
hands know about you know,
this process and the care
that goes into taking care
of you know, members of the
family by taking care of members
of this -- of this family, this
relative, this corn relative?
If this dish is going to be
meaningful, and it's going
to be local, and it's going
to be sort of paying homage
to the humans who sort of
created this space, then we need
to think about the first humans
who created this
space, for all of us.
And you know, cooking
this meal in Appalachia,
and using a variety of corn
that was cultivated here,
again like grounds this
meal in this place.
Alright. Oh, yes.
Not too fine, and it really adds
to the kind of the silkiness
of the stew that we're going
to be dipping this into.
So, it's not only
a flavor contrast,
but it's a texture contrast
that when it comes together,
just makes it really,
really lovely.
So, this is -- this is perfect.
>> Mike Costello:
And then of course,
he wove in all the wild foods.
>> Jonathan Hall:
So, this is one
of my favorite wild
plants, lamb's quarter.
It's relatively mild green, but
it's just packed with nutrients.
It holds up well to you
know, just eating raw,
but also in stews and
cooking and everything.
And you know, it's already
a gorgeous color green,
but when you put it in a stew
or in liquid, it turns this --
this really, deep, emerald,
green, and it's just
so satisfying and
delicious to eat.
So, I'm just excited
that we have this for --
for this dish, this
Nshima relish.
And it's just going
to be fantastic.
>> Mike Costello:
The recipe for Nshima
and relish calls
for salt cured fish.
So, we used salt cured trout.
Salt trout was very common in
certain parts of West Virginia
until about the early 1900s.
That's when commercial
logging destroyed almost all
of our trout streams, and
this tradition was disrupted.
In this ingredient is a
lesson about what happens
when we choose not to think
about relations and reciprocity.
It is the very kind of
lesson Jonathan tries
to teach through wild food.
For sausage, we ground
venison we harvested,
and we made our own.
In that part of the stew,
there is so much significance
for Jonathan, but also for me
because of those very
different journeys that led
to us hunting together.
>> Jonathan Hall: Thinking about
our hunt here and you know,
harvesting my first deer,
it feels like a slowly,
developing sort of like entity
of thoughts and feelings
and emotions, because
it was such a powerful
and special experience.
You know, we went through so
much to get to that point.
It comes to the surface
every time I open my freezer
and I see you know, a piece
of that deer that's there.
Like it all bubbles
up, all of it.
The anxiety, the joy,
the hard work, the pride,
the gratitude, everything.
It's a living memory.
>> You used the salted trout?
And what else?
>> Jonathan Hall:
And the deer sausage
from the deer that
-- that I shot.
>> Right.
>> Jonathan Hall: In December.
>> Mike Costello:
Some people love
to debate what Appalachian
food means.
Would a Zambian stew be commonly
accepted as an Appalachian dish?
Well, why not?
In every bite, there are rich
stories, and so many layers
of meaning connected to place.
>> Jonathan Hall:
We crave stories.
We create stories.
And that's, I think,
how we view the world
and how we create
meaning in the world.
And the more enriching
stories rooted
in reciprocity we can create,
the more we can fulfill our good
relations on this planet, right?
And you know, I think at the
end of the day, you know,
food is about nourishing
-- nourishing ourselves,
not just our bodies but like our
sense and need to learn stories.
>> Mike Costello:
Jonathan's reverence
for his many relations,
for family,
his respect for this place,
for its people, for its past,
all of those ingredients have
been stewing and simmering
for such a long time
to make this possible.
>> Jonathan Hall: For
as long as I'm alive,
cooking this food will
automatically make me think
of my parents.
All the stories that I built up
over my lives with my parents.
And even you know, the
stories that I've received
from them secondhand, where I
wasn't there to experience them.
So, it's sort of like
a way to time travel,
and then to keep our treasured
relatives alive with us.
And that's what I want
for my children, right?
That's what I hope that
this meal will do for them.
To pass on as much of these
stories that I can to them,
so they can build their
own stories, right?
For them to value Nshima
and then maybe make it
in a different context,
wherever they might be,
in ways that are enriching
and meaningful to them.
[ Music ]