Risa Bear’s “How She Knows” follows a woman who judges her worth by what she can give back to her land and animals. She snaps old cornstalks to feed worms, feeds hens the weeds they like, keeps a nectar bottle for hummingbirds, and protects sleeping wasp queens even though they frighten her, because they benefit the garden. Her work is slow and careful: she mucks out the barn gently so cobwebs and egg sacs are not disturbed, values the rich mulch almost above everything, and carries soiled water to her trees to help them through dry weather. There is no grand drama here, just a long, gentle attention to small needs. The mood is solitary, patient, and quietly satisfied—an earned pride in being useful to the creatures and plants that share her world.
How She Knows — Summary
How she knows she is not useless yet: Old cornstalks must be shattered right Where they stood green, to feed worms She knows are waiting in darkness.
Her hens wait too, for water, for feed, Especially for deadnettles, nipplewort, Kale and comfrey. Some hummingbirds Now arriving check the lilac for their Own nectar bottle that hung there While last spring, summer and fall Slipped past. There are wasp queens She finds sleeping in her woodpile; Her heart skips a beat as she sees Each one, for she fears them, yet Interests herself in their rest and Safety, for the good they do her garden.
Now she mucks out her barn, for Of her things she values rich mulch, almost To distraction, most. But slowly; Under beams and eaves hang cobwebs, Sacs of eggs suspended in each, waiting End of winter, not to be disturbed.
Lest she forget to serve all equitably, Every bucket of soiled barn water She carries to her trees to tip out: Something to stave off drought.
Yes, she's earned the right, she thinks, Even in this so solitary place, To call herself an asset to her friends.