The natural world holds great significance in Terry Tempest Williams’s memoir, Refuge, and Layli Long Soldier’s poetry collection, WHEREAS. In these works, Williams and Long Soldier articulate their identities and their perceptions of the world through their connections to their respective environments. Within this framework, these women strive to reclaim their power and seek justice for governmental wrongdoings. Long Soldier’s and Williams’s descriptions of the natural world reveal immense emotional complexity. Their writing underlines the link between femininity, spirituality, and ecology, ultimately exploring the intersection between womanhood and warriorhood. 

Long Soldier’s poetry immerses readers in its vivid sensory details. The imagery of the “grasses” becomes a significant motif in WHEREAS, as it works not only to ground readers in the lush natural world but also to signify the interconnection between Long Soldier’s sense of self and the earth. She opens her collection with a simple command: “Now / make room in the mouth / for grassesgrassesgrasses” (12) Save, for this stanza, the page itself is almost entirely devoted to white space. Long Soldier harnesses the physical appearance of the page as a visual component to her work — the vastness of the white space parallels the immensity of the plains. Meanwhile, the lack of spacing between “grassesgrassesgrasses” adds an auditory element, as the soft succession of the “s” sound captures the rustling and murmuring of the grasses. “Grassesgrassesgrasses” feels almost like an incantation, a powerful whisper reverberating through the undercurrents of WHEREAS. 

grass songs

a grass chorus moves shhhhh...

the solstice

makes a mind

wide makes it

oceanic blue a field in crests…

               I don’t trust nobody 

but the land I said (39) 

 By personifying the grasses as a chorus moving “shhhhh,” Long Soldier brings them to life, placing them, along with the “oceanic blue” crests, into an ethereal realm. She goes on to imagine the solstice as making a mind. This offers agency to the natural world, which, in turn, transforms it from an indifferent, inert entity into a purposeful, nurturing figure. When Long Soldier says she doesn’t trust anybody but the land, she implies her oneness with the grasses, with the hills, with the land of her people. This oneness is reinforced by Long Soldier’s use of enjambment, as the lack of punctuation causes the different ideas and images of the poem to bump together and merge. The rhythm of Long Soldier’s verses is quickened, evoking both a sense of urgency and fluidity. 

The deeply rooted unity Williams and Long Soldier feel with the earth imbue their roles as protectors and warriors. Williams frames the plight of her family’s women within the context of the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge. She situates the natural world almost as an extension of her family — as another woman wronged by the government. “We spoke of rage. Of women and landscape. How our bodies and the body of the earth have been mined,” Williams writes, linking women and nature in victimhood and resistance (10). Similar to how Long Soldier anthropomorphizes the grasses, Williams confers upon the “body of the earth” a sense of femininity and power. She does not merely seek inspiration and comfort from the land; rather, she sees herself as part of the land, as deeply embedded in its core. She renounces the dichotomy dividing humanity from the wild, erasing the chasm between the civilized and the feral. “I am desert. I am mountains. I am Great Salt Lake,” she proclaims; “I want to see the lake as Woman, as myself in her refusal to be tamed” (29, 92). With short, direct “I am” statements, Williams channels the immovable, undeniable strength of the forces of nature. She capitalizes “Woman” as one might capitalize God, implying a sort of divine grace inherent to womanhood. Williams also presents herself in opposition to subjugation, as she asserts that she, alongside the lake, will not be tamed. Her perseverance and self-determination mirror the resilience of the land; both seek to reclaim what has been taken from them. These passages are reminiscent of Long Soldier’s simple yet meaningful declaration, “I don’t trust nobody but the land” (39). 

Long Soldier’s intimacy with the plains serves as a backdrop to her exploration of her people’s painful past. Her decision to use the grasses as a recurrent image carries weight, as its history in connection with the Dakota tribe is unfolded in the poem “38.” Long Soldier reveals that when the Dakota people were starving, government traders refused to extend them store credits. One trader named Andrew Myrick gained notoriety for the cruelty of his statement, “If they are hungry, let them eat grass.” In “38,” Long Soldier abandons the lyricism previously found in her poetry. She instead presents a series of informative sentences, separated by white space, which describes President Abraham Lincoln’s order to execute thirty-eight Dakota men for their part in the Sioux Uprising. Long Soldier’s writing conveys her disdain for the United States government and her pride and grief for her ancestors.

When Myrick’s body was found,
                                          his mouth was stuffed with grass.
I am inclined to call this act by the Dakota warriors a poem.
There’s irony in their poem

There was no text.
‘Real’ poems do not ‘really’ require words. (63) 

Here, Long Soldier redefines what constitutes a poem, casting the grass stuffed in the trader’s mouth as a vehicle for resistance to oppression. Long Soldier indicates that a poem isn’t necessarily a body of words. It can manifest in a multitude of ways — in the pursuit of retribution, in the reclamation of power. Long Soldier illustrates that the Dakota people had something to say about their inhumane treatment, and they said it. Through the image of the mouthful of grass, the natural world becomes a symbol of this fight for justice.

Similarly, Williams’s connection with the natural world transcends an aesthetic admiration — it also holds political resonance. In the final chapter of Refuge, titled “The Clan of One-Breasted Women,” Williams details the role of the United States government in causing the deaths of the women in her family. She believes that her mother, grandmothers, and aunts developed cancer from nuclear fallout in Utah, and turns to protest as civil disobedience. In the face of environmental degradation and her family’s suffering, Williams gathers strength from her connection to the natural world, expressing that women “hold the moon in their bellies and wax and wane with its phases” (287). This implies that as a woman, she is privy to the inner workings of the world. She has a special understanding of Mother Nature’s desire to be wild; she has a complex comprehension of the violence faced by women and by Mother Nature. When government officials release Williams and other protesters at the Nevada Test Site in the desert, they believe the women have no way of finding their way. “What they didn’t realize was that we were home, soul-centered and strong, women who recognized the sweet smell of sage as fuel for our spirits,” Williams says with triumph (290). By equating the desert with home, Williams demonstrates the intersection of feminism and environmentalism and shows the spiritual bond she shares with her land. 

Through their writing, Long Soldier and Williams evoke endurance and survival, weaving together narratives of loss and change and strength. These women seek liberation and justice, not only for themselves but for their people and their homes. At the end of Refuge, Williams likens her pen and her pad of paper to weapons — a compelling comparison that captures both the spirit of her memoir and the essence of Long Soldier’s WHEREAS.