Should Everyone Spin? Another Yarn Manifesto

I returned from the Spin-Off Autumn Retreat, overloaded and fatigued with mind racing. Recovering, thinking over the prior week’s events, I sat with my cup of strong coffee catching up on blogs, and one of the things I found was Cassie asking the question, “Should everyone spin?”

You know, I never thought to consider that, till 2 days ago when Cassie posed the question. Really.

In Chinchero when I was little, the assumption was that of course everyone should spin; you know, at least be able to spin, even if ultimately they didn’t end up doing much of it. Being totally unable would have been like Americans would perceive being unable to read. You know that it happens to some people, and it seems a horrible fate, a crippling one, something that could well be a dirty secret.

However, times changed, and times changed fast. This fact sank in for me in earnest a couple of years ago, when I was back in Peru, and the younger sister of one of the girls I grew up with asked me if her parents and older siblings were pulling her leg about stuff, or what. “Like what?” I asked her.

“Oh, you know, like how long did it take to go to Cusco?” she asked.

“Oh, man,” I replied, “It was kind of a big deal. In those days, the road wasn’t paved and in the rainy season it was especially bad, but if things were good and you got on the right truck before the sun was up, you could be there in the late morning and have time to do what you needed to before the trucks left to go back. I’d say you could get 4 or 5 hours in Cusco then, if you needed more you had to stay overnight and of course back then that was very hard to do for indigenous folks… you know, my little sister doesn’t remember all of that either, I guess.”

And she doesn’t; between 1977 and 1980, Chinchero saw the equivalent of somewhere between 50 and 75 years of change in most of the rest of the world. Maybe more. Bam, out of the blue, paved roads, electricity, toilets, cars, plastic, television, mass produced stuff, medicine, the telenovela, the fashion magazine, the goods and services you could only get with money and not with stuff for trade. The world changed, and one reflection of that change was people saying not “Should everyone spin?” but “Hey, we don’t need to do that anymore.” 30 years ago, there were no grownups in Chinchero that had never touched a spindle, anymore than there are grownups in the US who have never seen the written word. But now there are, and that started to happen with the kids who were just a little bit younger than me.

So for me, and my generation there, the question was never “should everyone spin?” but rather, were there enough numbers of kids not doing it, and enough parents who figured that was okay, that they might possibly be able to entertain the notion of actually not spinning? The question was, were we all wrong, who had till then so firmly believed that of course everyone should spin? We all believed, at the core of our identities, that you must spin. You could get away with being marginally able to cook or farm more readily than you could get away with simply not spinning at all. Reading, math, purely optional luxuries. Spinning? A basic life skill.

I, of course, knew this not to be the case in the United States; but as is the tendency for most children of field anthropologists (there are a few of us) I chalked it up to a simple cultural difference like questions of manners or perceptions of prettiness. It wasn’t until much later in life that I started to think about Bigger Picture Implications.

Last week at SOAR in Judith McKenzie McCuin’s workshop, at one point she asked — as an aside to the class — “What’s the first question you always get asked about this, anyway?” And the responses were split, pretty much right down the middle, between “What are you doing?” and “Why would you do that?” The first is easy, and the latter… not so easy. For the longest time, the only answer I had was “Why would you not?” Being asked why I’d spin was not unlike being asked why I’d cook. You need to eat, right? So, cooking is how you get food. Thus, you understand spinning — it’s how you get yarn.

But then I realized everyone didn’t figure they needed yarn. This one really took work for me to wrap my brain around. Of course everyone needs yarn! Plus you need what’s made from it, and everything that comes from the making of it. I felt like I was having conversations where, if I just swapped food for yarn, they’d go like this:

Them: What are you doing?

Abby: Oh, I’m cooking food, from raw ingredients. See, these materials here, if I use the right steps, turn into my lunch.

Them: Why would you do that?

Abby: Well, I like eating.

Them: Why don’t you just buy food? You know they have restaurants, right?

Abby: This way I get what I really want and really need.

Them: My grandmother used to cook, or so I’m told, but then now that we can just go to McDonald’s none of us have bothered for a long time. Now I wouldn’t even know where to begin doing it, whew!

One time I had such a conversation, with someone who I knew was a competition shooter who loaded his own carefully crafted ammunition so it would all be uniform, pristine, exactly how he wanted it. “Why do you load your own ammo?” I asked him. “Well, you can’t BUY my ammo,” he responded, instantly. That level of “why” was obvious to him, but the whole “making yarn” thing didn’t make visceral sense — even though he was deeply involved in a sport which is dying out, threatened by people not understanding it. We kept talking. And then something in my brain snapped.

“Look,” I said, “Do you want to live in a cave, wearing skins, unable to keep fire going, banging rocks together to enable you to hunt and gather and be dead by age 20 or so? Because this — this right here in my hands — this is why you don’t. Without this, that is all you can do. Without this, there is no civilization, there is no technology, there is no history, there’s no agriculture, there’s no animal husbandry, there’s no permanent settlements, the whole of human history JUST DID NOT HAPPEN. Without what I’m doing right now, making yarn, there is no life as we know it.”

He thought I was nuts. And you know, a lot of people think I’m nuts.

Okay, okay. There have been cultures without textile technology, and there are a few still existing in the world today. But let’s be honest about them: they’re extremely low-tech cultures. They depend on chance in the world around them. They hunt, gather, find shelter, move on. That’s not bad — but it’s also not a life most of us would choose anymore. Given comfortable permanent settlements, clothing, secure crops and livestock, literacy, construction, science, and medicine, most of us would absolutely not choose to go live naked in a cave with no matches or tools.

But when we give up our textile heritage — much of which exists in skills — we’re making exactly that choice for all the future of all the world. We’re saying that now that we have bootstrapped ourselves to a certain point, we no longer need to know what’s at the base of it all. It’s like saying that now that we can buy canned chicken broth, nobody needs to be able to make chicken broth; now that we have automatic transmissions, nobody needs to know how gears work. Now that we have audiobooks, nobody needs to read per se. Now that there are big industrial farms, nobody needs to know how to grow a tomato. Now that we have velcro, nobody needs to understand buttons, zippers or laces. Leave it to the hobbyists.

If you press people, folks will usually say “Okay, someone has to know that stuff. I guess. You know, just in case. But we have a lot of it written down so it’s not really at risk.”

But here’s the thing. All of those other technologies? They all depend on the textile ones. They depend on them like we depend on the air we breathe. We sure can’t see it, but if it was gone, we’d be in deep trouble, really fast — before we even were sure what happened. That’s what would happen if we lost the things that have happened because of textiles and fiber. It’s not just our clothes, our furnishings, our homes. It’s our bridges, our highways, our buildings, our machines, our lore, our literacy, our daring. And if you’re a fiber-obsessed textile nut job (I know you are, but what am I?) then you see these things everywhere.

However, if you are not a fiber-obsessed textile nut job, you might not notice these things at all. Okay, and even if you are, you might gloss right over them from time to time. But start looking. Start really looking. First, start textile-spotting. Start right now. What are you sitting on? I’ve give it a better than 50/50 chance of being a textile, no matter who you are or where you’re sitting. Drive somewhere. Hey, have you ever seen what a tire looks like in cross-section? Textile. How about looked under the hood at your plug wires and cables and stuff? Go ahead, look — textiles. On the way there, look at the telephone and electric wires. Take it on faith that they contain textiles, but then let’s move to the next level here. Ask yourself: how did they put them up? You’ve seen spools of cable in various places. You’ve noticed how that’s related to spinning, or buying thread, or various things. There’s lots of stuff on spools. Spools have been around forever. There have always been spools, right?

No. Once upon a time, the spool did not exist. So people devised it. Now, ask yourself… why? To solve what problem?

The answer is, a textile problem. A yarn management issue.

And with that devised, with that premise in existence, what else could you do with it? Thank you, yarn dorks dead and gone; if somebody hadn’t devised a system to control and contain vast lengths of continuous flexible material, we couldn’t have worldwide telecommunications and electricity and all of that sort of thing.

That’s just one example, a totally random one. But things that have revolutionized the world have textile revolutions at their cores, at their hearts, as their prerequisites and dependencies. Consider the block and tackle: a textile technology, one that is for textiles and uses textiles (because ropes are textiles). The block and tackle is, “Hey, check out what I can make this yarn do, you’re not gonna believe this, all I do is run it around some wheels… works every time!”

Or consider the modern lifestyle. We live in a world where we buy our goods, and they’re manufactured a long way away from where we live, and we can buy them finished and ready to put to use. In order to do this, we go to work at jobs — outside of our homes, typically — and earn money, which we trade for these goods. Most of what we use, we did not produce, and we often live in settings where we couldn’t even if we knew how to. Most of what we use, we’ve never seen being made. If we have, we’ve likely seen a part being made, but not an object start to finish. Few things are made that way anymore — the assembly line, mass production, distributed manufacturing environments, and complex distribution networks are all essential to the modern, industrialized way of life. And these are all premises that arose all over the world, often independently, to solve textile problems.

It’s what makes a Sheep To Shawl work. It wasn’t invented sometime in the past 150 years by a guy with a factory; he put these ideas to work for him. It didn’t happen first with the guilds of Europe. It didn’t happen first in Rome. It wasn’t a purely Egyptian invention, nor Byzantine, nor Pre-Columbian. These premises were everywhere with textile technologies, assumed, taken for granted, refined, repurposed, expanded upon. Empires have been born, swaddled in cloth, spread across seas with sails of fabric, died and been laid to rest in textile bindings that we don’t even think about at all.

We talk about the printing press and literacy. Hey guys, it needed paper. Lots and lots of paper. Not only is paper, at its roots, a textile technology, but it’s often made from textile waste. So even leaving aside the question of any mechanical developments that came from the textile world, the materials required in order to spread literacy and have the printing press matter at all depended on textiles. Or hey, computers; a computer is honestly nothing more than a very elaborate cardweaving setup. I mean, VERY elaborate; but that’s all it is, at the heart of it.

So here I am going off down fiber-obsessed textile nut job avenues to try to explain that, yeah, really, if it weren’t for spinning, we might as well all just go live in a cave pounding rocks together. Not that there aren’t days when that sounds terribly appealing, and not that significant value hasn’t derived from banging rocks together. I mean, I even like banging rocks together. And there is a useful point here that deals with it: how many flint knappers do you know? Have you ever used a knapped knife?

I have met one flint knapper, and I have used a stone knife a few times. Wow, they’re good knives! Extremely functional things. And flint knapping, man, that’s hard. But yet we know that most people used to be able to generally do it to some extent. Now nobody can, and the people who do have a difficult job trying to figure out how this worked, how that could be done… and in many cases, there is nobody alive anywhere in the world who could show them, because we let the skill die.

It’s gone. No amount of writing about it, guessing about it, studying specific things about the artifacts, can tell us exactly how a skilled hand grasped something, how quick it moved, how tight it held, if there was a sound you’d be shooting for that would let you know you were on track… the lore is lost, and can’t be retrieved (though perhaps painstakingly and with time it could be rediscovered and rebuilt).

Any lore is at risk in this way, even that which we have committed to a jillion backups and offsite recovery locations and so on. But the lore of hands, the lore of physical knowledge, the lore of the assumed skills and needs that pushed us to develop civilization to better meet those needs — that lore is the most at risk of all. Why? Because we now accept, for the most part, that everyone should read, everyone should be computer literate, everyone should know math, and we expect that, no matter what, the ubiquity of those skills will see us through pretty much anything. And because those skills are so everpresent, that could be true: in the event of an unscheduled apocalypse, we probably won’t lose all the readers, at this point.

But we could lose all the spinners, and it’s the spinners who hold the lore in their hands, not even in their minds, of how and even, at a subconscious level in many cases, why. And if we lost all the spinners, or even most of them, we’d lose the root of all textiles, and that’s the root of life as we know it.

So for me, the answer to the question of “Should everyone spin?” is a vehement “Yes.” It’s the same yes I’d answer to whether everyone should know how to not get burnt by fire, chew their food, keep wounds clean, not defecate in the potable water supply, and know which part of the blade is sharp. For extra credit, I’ll add “read, write, and perform simple arithmetic” to that list. These are the things from which civilization is made. These are the things which, if enough people don’t learn, will be lost and cause a new dark age.

Every new spinner of whatever skill level, whatever interest, whatever goals, whatever degree of commitment — even if they never touch a spindle again after I force them to — brings me a tiny hint of relief. The lore is that much safer. There’s that much less risk of my children or grandchildren or, hey, my sibling suddenly waking up one morning to find it’s all gone, all of civilization, and we can’t get it back, because everybody kept saying “Well, nobody really needs to do that anymore, I buy all my clothes and yarn is just for knitting, which is just a hobby, and you can get that stuff at Michael’s.”

For me the big challenge is in toning down my answer, finding ways to take it one step at a time. Because, I mean, should everyone spin? My gut, unfiltered response is: My god, yes! And yes, I mean you! And you! And everyone you know or are likely to ever know! Go, now, before it’s too late and the apocalypse comes and all is lost, and SPIN! Don’t take chances with Life As We Know It! You don’t know how? I’ll show you. Yes, now! There’s no time to lose! Don’t you realize the fate of the world depends on this? Bring me more would-be spinners, quick before it’s too late! Don’t make me tell you what has already been lost, you’ll cry! By the way, let’s do this now, I also heard there’s a guy who lives in a desert hidden under the deepest sea, in a world you can only get to through a magic mirror, and he knows a cool spinning trick nobody else does, and we have got to hit the road and go learn that, right now, because the world depends on it! Whaddaya mean, “should everyone spin?” What’s next, “should everybody breathe?”

Yeah. It’s hard to not answer like that. It’s hard to put it in terms of “I really think it can bring you lots of new enjoyment of things you already like” and “Oh, just give it a try, see if you like it” and “It doesn’t have to be hugely expensive to start,” and so on.

And the realist in me knows that everybody won’t, and everybody can’t, and everybody doesn’t want to. As I’ve matured, I’ve learned to be okay with that. Most of the time. I find it, emotionally, confusing and I don’t get it, but then my sister (blessed with a green thumb) doesn’t get how it is I can’t keep the spider plant from dying, and why it just saddens me when she tries to find me a plant I can keep, because I know full well that to bring a plant into my home is to condemn it to death one way or another. Agriculture is totally important too, just like textiles, and I stink at it. So I can accept other people not having a textile thing. Rationally.

But it’s still only very recently that I have actually realized that most people think of spinning as, well, optional. I mean, is cooking really optional? I mean the most rudimentary level, like even if all we mean is “heat stuff in microwave?” Are reading and writing optional? Everybody doesn’t need to be a grand chef or write a brilliant novel, but… outright optional? Seems so strange.

44 thoughts on “Should Everyone Spin? Another Yarn Manifesto

  1. Call me paranoid, but I can’t help the thought at the back of my head that says, “What if something happens and I REALLY need this?” Maybe I’ve read too many SciFi novels. I can tomatoes and make jam, I’ve done an apprenticeship in letterpress printing (the way Gutenberg did it) and now I knit and spin. That’s pretty much the big three: food, education and clothing. Aside from the paranoia, though, I get such intense pleasure and satisfaction from making things myself. Last night I plied a sock yarn that was so beautiful I could hardly stand it. I mean, come on, I MADE YARN! How incredibly cool is that?! I believe everyone should learn to make something, anything, with their hands. I think the world would be a better place.

  2. As an aside, one of the truly fun bonuses from SOAR is that I can literally hear, in my head, your spoken voice as I read your blog. It makes such a neat addition to the connection made.

    The discussion panel got me going too. While doing history homework with my 13 yo on Wed evening (he’s doing the european explorers, again), I was spinning on a spindle. I mentioned that all of the sails on the ships were made with treads that had been spun on spindles. That got the conversation going. It apparently stuck and, better yet, got repeated in class. Now, on Monday afternoon, I will be in 7th grade history class showing them how to spin and descfibing the ways cloth and sails would have been made during Columbus’s day. I’m not sure whether this will raise or lower my son’s “coolness” with his peers (or mine with their parents), but it should be an interesting afternoon.

  3. There is a chance that there might be some coming apocalypse when we run out of oil, b/c we aren’t smart enough to find alternative technologies before it’s too late.

    And our habit of making people specialize in one thing to earn money is going to make it very hard for us to survive.

    People should be generalists, not specialists. We should know where things come from and how to make things from scratch. (Although when the apocalypse comes, I will be the one wearing knitted pants, b/c I just can’t get excited over something that seems as tedious as weaving–[ducks and runs for cover]).

    But I don’t know that EVERYONE needs to know how to spin, but we need enough people who do it, and maybe everyone should be familiar with it in case there is ever a need.

    I disagree with the commenter who said she knits b/c when the apocalypses comes, she’ll be warm and the other person will freeze to death. I think if that situation ever arose, she would knit that person a sweater to keep warm, especially if it were a friend or family member. That’s why I don’t think everyone needs to know, just enough people.

    I think one person could supply the needs of a couple other people, if not more. Because in an extreme situation where resources are scarce and people are doing things themselves, you don’t have the behavior we have today where you have a closet stuffed with clothes that you bought at the store, that you wear once and throw in the laundry, which wears them out faster, and you start the cycle all over again. We would have fewer clothes, we would take care of them well, and they would last for years. One person could knit their family warm winter hats. One person shouldn’t be expected to knit 5 hats in 5 different colors for each of her family members.

    The way we’ve traditionally done is that when people clamor for more, we just automate a process and treat people like robots and give them carpal tunnel and bad backs. (Although it’s probably more correct that automation came first and then through propaganda and advertising the need for more was created). But if we’re doing things for ourselves, then when someone clamors for more, we just teach them how to knit for themselves.

    Anyway, this comment is getting too long. I just wanted to say, “Great post.”

  4. Thanks for this article.

    I was out yesterday doing a spinning demonstration in front of a reconstructed blacksmithy shop (era 1810) where my husband was demonstrating smithing. I had a couple of folks ask why and I talked about how the spinsters made their keep in households and the saddest thing was that the era we were depicting was the very beginning of the industrial age and once the machines took over the spinning, many women and children were forced into horrible working conditions and later were forced out of work altogether. I explained that a whole village was involved in making textiles: the farmers (flax and sheep), the spinners, the weavers, the tailors/seamstresses, the woodworkers and blacksmiths working together to make the looms and the spinning wheels and the wagons and horseshoes. Then there were the folks who made felted goods…. and the few knitted garments (stockings, mitts and hats) were usually made by women and children in between their regular household work (which also included spinning). I live in an isolated community and know how to snare/hunt, harvest and grow/gather and cook and preserve my own food without electricity. I also now have the skills I need to clothes for my family or at least can make products with which I can barter. I also make homemade honey wine (mead).

    My sons know how to do all this but are at the age where they claim to be uninterested. I intend to teach my grandchildren as well in case my boys drop the ball. We need to know how to do this stuff.

  5. Speaking as a writer? Hell yeah, you should find a magazine to send it to. Free critique: I would edit about 30% out of it first. My attention started to drift after the point about flint knapping (excellent example, btw) because you start to get repetitive.

    I would end with this sentence: “These are the things which, if enough people donโ€™t learn, will be lost and cause a new dark age.”

    Punchy. I like it.

  6. From a new spinner, thank you for sharing your thoughts on this – very enlightening and thought-provoking and adding to a quickly deepening appreciation of the craft. Inspiring.

  7. Deb’s blog sent me here. Thanks for a good essay – I’ll go share the link on my blog. More people need to read it!

  8. Thank you for this. I wish you would get on your soapbox more often and tell us what you really think. It makes me want to go out and rope in more unsuspecting non-spinners and sneek something into their brains.

  9. It’s not that everyone needs to be able to spin, it’s that *we* need everyone to be able to do something that’s the equivalent of spinning. Longhand division and other calculations without electronic aids; fell trees, season timber, build structures that stand; cook from scratch; care for livestock; grow food. It’s not just that we may not always have technology to do these things for us (although I happen to think hard times lie just around the corner), it’s that we really do need to understand the processes that sustain us and our civilisation.

  10. On bad days, I tend to think it would be better for us and for the earth if we were still banging rocks together in caves. ๐Ÿ™

    I agree on the edit. Many of your points are good, but it’s hard to read long essays in small print on a computer screen. But thank you for your thoughts!

  11. My earliest memories include textiles of some kind. Usually watching them being woven or stitched by hand by a family member. I believe I knew and understood this before I could talk. Since then I’ve grown up in a world where things made beautifully by hand have the highest value. I’ve been a basketmaker and have seen the effect of learning the process has on the maker. I’ve seen children who are “unteachable” learn this skill and then turn around to teach others. I’ve seen children who are unable to concentrate or sit still, sit for hours…HOURS…until their basket is finished. To the shock of the adults in their lives. There is an incredible value in this work. Everyone SHOULD do some kind of textile work…the real, hands-on, basic work of spinning or weaving or stitching or knitting. To slow down and open up.

  12. I have only just caught up with this, but I have to echo the comments, this should be published.

    It was thought provoking and enlightening – as were the comments.


  13. Beautiful. And after reading all of this I think instead of all the mandated school crap, my daughter will be practicing her spinning this week ๐Ÿ™‚

  14. Wonderful, wonderful rant.

    I also think that everyone should know how to do basic things. Not because there’s going to be an apocalypse, but because nothing else gives you the feeling for the real time of things. How long it takes for raw ingredients become soup, the pace of bread. One thing spinning does for me (a newbie of one year) is to make time make sense. You can’t really rush it (without disaster).

    Also doing things yourself gives you understanding. Though I’d let a comuter do it now, working your way through some sticky statistical problem by hand or doing the calculus makes you see why it works, not just that it works.

  15. Abby, Iโ€™m way behind the ball here. I keep thinking reading your blog is optional in my life and then I start and wish I was chewing it over in my mind in smaller chunks. Guess some day I will figure it out.
    Anyway, love the essay! I always enjoy your thoughts. And, I agree, submit it to Spin Off. It is a good piece of writing as it is (compared to most of what I read these days) but I am sure that a little rewriting and editing as suggested will make it even better. I
    What really needs to happen is for you to get a job writing a column for Spin-off so I can read them at home, where I have no internet computer. At home I have only those things I printed out to show my husband. Besides, it would add tremendous value to every issue, at least in my eyes!

  16. Pingback: “Granny skills” and why everyone should learn to spin! | Welcombe Spinners

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