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215to leave everything %u2014 language, culture, family %u2014 behind. The professor made me doubt where I came from, what I knew, and claimed that his was the right way to think. Only he didn%u2019t cut my hair off.In moving from a childhood in the woods to the university I had unknowingly shifted between worldviews, from a natural history of experience in which I knew plants as teachers and companions to whom I was linked with mutual responsibility, into the realm of science. The questions scientists raised were not %u201cWho are you?%u201d but %u201cWhat is it?%u201d No one asked plants, %u201cWhat can you tell us?%u201d The primary question was %u201cHow does it work?%u201d The botany I was taught was reductionist, mechanistic, and strictly objective. Plants were reduced to objects; they were not subjects. The way botany was conceived and taught didn%u2019t seem to leave much room for a person who thought the way I did. The only way I could make sense of it was to conclude that the things I had always believed about plants must not be true after all.That first plant science class was a disaster. I barely scraped by with a C and could not muster much enthusiasm for memorizing the concentrations of essential plant nutrients. There were times when I wanted to quit, but the more I learned, the more fascinated I became with the intricate structures that made up a leaf and the alchemy of photo synthesis. Companionship between asters and goldenrod was never mentioned, but I memorized botanical Latin as if it was poetry, eagerly tossing aside the name %u201cgoldenrod%u201d for Solidago canadensis. I was mesmerized by plant ecology, evolution, taxonomy, physiology, soils, and fungi. All around me were my good teachers, the plants. I found good mentors, too, warm and kind professors who were doing heart-driven science, whether they could admit it or not. They too were my teachers. And yet there was always something tapping at my shoulder, willing me to turn around. When I did, I did not know how to recognize what stood behind me.My natural inclination was to see relationships, to seek the threads that connect the world, to join instead of divide. But science is rigorous in separating the observer from the observed, and the observed from the observer. Why two flowers are beautiful together would violate the division necessary for objectivity.I scarcely doubted the primacy of scientific thought. Following the path of science trained me to separate, to distinguish perception from physical reality, to atomize complexity into its smallest components, to honor the chain of evidence and logic, to discern one thing from another, to savor the pleasure of precision. The more I did this, the better I got at it, and I was accepted to do graduate work in one of the world%u2019s finest botany programs, no doubt on the strength of the letter of recommendation from my adviser, which read, %u201cShe%u2019s done remarkably well for an Indian girl.%u201dA master%u2019s degree, a PhD, and a faculty position followed. I am grateful for the knowledge that was shared with me and deeply privileged to carry the powerful tools of science as a way of engaging the world. It took me to other plant communities, far from the asters and goldenrod. I remember feeling, as a new faculty member, as if I finally 15What does Kimmerer mean by %u201cmutual responsibility%u201d (par. 11)? What kinds of discoveries might result from asking plants, %u201cWhat can you tell us?%u201d3 What exactly is unconventional about Kimmerer%u2019s approach to plant science? What is your understanding of the importance of %u201cobjectivity%u201d (par.13) in scientific inquiry?45 Robin Wall Kimmerer34Copyright %u00a9 Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers. Distributed by Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers. For review purposes only. Not for redistribution.