A few weeks ago, I came across a term I'd never heard before—Landgenetics. It was on the Landspeaks website, a space I'd stumbled upon while looking for resources about Indigenous storytelling. I expected information, maybe even inspiration. But what I didn't expect was to be so deeply moved by a single idea.
Landgenetics, as Landspeaks describes it, is the connection between land and people that runs deeper than ownership or geography. It's about the knowledge, memory, and emotion passed through generations and imprinted on places. It suggests that just as we inherit certain traits from our ancestors, we also inherit relationships with land—and that the land, in turn, holds a memory of us.
That idea gave me pause. I've always thought about ancestry in terms of people: grandparents, family trees, birthplaces. But Landgenetics makes you think in terms of place—not just where your family came from, but how the land they lived on shaped them, and how that shaping continues in you.
As I read through stories on the Landspeaks platform, I saw this idea reflected in countless ways. There were stories of people rediscovering their homelands after generations of separation. Others wrote about growing up disconnected from their heritage, only to find a sense of identity when returning to a forest, a shoreline, or even a city their ancestors once called home. Through their words, I could see Landgenetics not as a scientific term, but as a quiet truth—one we've always known but haven't always named.
I remember one contributor describing the sensation of standing on land their great-grandmother once tended. They couldn't explain the emotion—only that it felt like coming home. That story stayed with me. It made me think about the land my own grandparents farmed, how little I know about it, and how much I might still carry from that place without realizing it.
What I appreciate most about the way Landspeaks presents Landgenetics is its care and respect. This isn't just a poetic idea tossed into the digital world. It's grounded in Indigenous ways of knowing, and the platform goes out of its way to honor those roots. The stories are shared intentionally, with context and consent, and the emphasis is always on community, connection, and care.
In today's world, where land is too often treated like a commodity and history is fragmented or erased, Landgenetics feels quietly radical. It asks us to slow down, to reflect, and to recognize that the land has always been more than just soil beneath our feet. It has memory. It has wisdom. And it might even have a relationship with us that's been waiting to be remembered.
Thanks to Landspeaks and this beautiful idea of Landgenetics, I'm starting to see place not as a backdrop to my life—but as a participant in it.
