It’s summer in the Catskills. The kind of summer where the air is thick enough to chew, the tomatoes are suddenly behaving as if they have something to prove, and every porch chair develops a personal relationship with your spine. People start talking about “fresh starts,” which is usually code for cleaning out a garage or ending a relationship they should have ended back when flip phones were still acceptable.

Which brings me to something I recently stumbled across that I cannot stop thinking about.

In traditional Cherokee society, if a woman wanted a divorce, she didn’t file papers, schedule mediation, or sit across from anyone while they asked her to “state her intentions.” She simply put her husband’s belongings outside. That was it. Legally binding. No courthouse. No waiting period. No male relatives convening like it was a reluctant board meeting.

Imagine that.

“Bob, your stuff is on the porch. The marriage is over. Also, I watered your fern. Goodbye.”

Done.

What made that possible is that Cherokee society was matrilineal. Women owned the houses, land, food, and tools. The economic spine of the community wasn’t just supported by women—it was run by them. When a marriage happened, the husband moved into the wife’s home. If things went south, he wasn’t losing a house he built; he was leaving a house that wasn’t his to begin with.

When colonizers arrived in what is now the southeastern United States, they were shocked. They expected men to rule and women to obey. Instead, they found women sitting in councils, debating war, treaties, and tribal policy alongside men. Some held the title of “Beloved Woman,” a position of such authority their voices could spare prisoners or influence whether the nation went to war. One of the most famous, Nancy Ward, negotiated directly with colonists during the Revolutionary era.

Women weren't symbolic participants. They ran much of the economy, cultivating corn, beans, and squash—the “Three Sisters” that fed the nation. They built houses, wove baskets, tanned hides, raised children, and controlled the distribution of food.

Men played equally vital roles. They hunted, fished, traded, defended the community, negotiated with other nations, and did the dangerous work of warfare when necessary. Women and men held authority in different spheres, creating a balance Europeans often struggled to understand.

This wasn't a perfect society, but it was built on a different principle: women and men held authority in different areas of life, and both mattered.

One Irish trader among the Cherokee in the 1700s was scandalized, calling it a “petticoat government.”

Of course, colonization did what colonization does. Forced removal, boarding schools, and systems designed to replace Cherokee traditions with European ideas about gender and power. Male-only leadership was imposed, reshaping what had long been a shared structure.

Yet Cherokee women resisted, preserving language, stories, and traditions. Today, the Cherokee Nation continues to carry forward those cultural threads.

Which brings me back to summer.

Summer always makes people think they’re inventing reinvention. New haircut, new diet, new attitude, vague social media posts about “growth.” Cherokee women didn't need seasonal inspiration. They made decisions and got on with their lives.

So if this summer finds you reassessing things—your garden, your schedule, your cluttered garage, or your entire emotional ecosystem—remember the Cherokee women.

Somewhere in history, a woman decided a marriage was over, gathered a few belongings, and placed them on the porch. No lawyers. No judges. No endless paperwork.

Just: here are your things. The wind is warm. Please exit.

Mind you, the fellow leaving wasn’t an idle bystander. He had his own work—hunting, fishing, trading, negotiating with other nations, and defending the community when needed. He just happened to be moving out of a house that belonged to his wife.

And honestly, compared with modern divorce proceedings, that still sounds remarkably efficient.