Trenchwork

This came up for me in a Ravelry discussion, and it’s been on my mind since then, so I’d like to take a minute to raise it here. If it seems morbid at a time when the season usually focuses on joy, forgive me. I honestly don’t see it that way, perhaps because the focus isn’t on “how the issue comes to be an issue,” but rather what happens after that, and it seems to me that when folks think this topic is morbid, it’s because they’re focusing not on the issue at hand, but on the doorway to the issue.

Let me explain.

In the back of one of our few closets, I have a plastic bin of odd skeins of Red Heart type yarn, leftover from crocheting indestructible afghans and baby blankets for people who have no use for wool or no desire to care for it. One of these days, I’ll pull that box out turn those skeins into a crochet version of a Log Cabin afghan or two. But if something were to happen to it, the world wouldn’t end. It would be a waste, and despite the occasional claim that synthetic fibers are only good for kindling, they are useful for certain things. (If you’ll forgive a small rant, it seems to be the folks who grow up with wool who tend to think synthetics are a waste of space; the folks who grow up in warmer climates seem to have a much higher comfort level with synthetics, although they may have a real bias against wool. Both camps need to figure out that all fiber has a purpose and value in certain circumstances. Just because they’re not accustomed to X or Y doesn’t make X or Y useless.)

In another plastic bin, I have leftover bits and an odd skein or two from other yarn projects. They’re all different weights and not enough for any one project, but I might be able to come up with some small things if I just sort through it and group like weights and fibers. But again, if something happened to that bin, the world wouldn’t end. And if something happened to me, those bits and pieces would probably be adopted by the local family as odd additions to their own stash and eventually used.

Finally, and much more serious, there is a bin of proper stash. This is what I actually consider my yarn stash, and it’s the only one I’ve ever had. I don’t think of the odd leftover meterage as stash; they’re like the crusts from bread which you can either use to feed the birds or toss into a bread pudding. This box, however, has some very good laceweight and sock yarns: Zephyr, Claudia, and a lovely hand-dyed fingering weight wool that was gifted to me and which needs just the perfect project. Several of the yarns in this box were gifts, and I know that the local family wouldn’t understand their value.

If something happened to that box, it would be a dreadful shame. But, I’m inclined to think that folks would not simply throw the stuff out; they’d recognize that it was yarn, and hopefully recognize that it was good yarn.

But even that isn’t the thing which concerns me.

This is the loft where I have all the fibers I’m not working on at the moment. In other words, this is where the real stash is.

The fibers on the left are natural colored rovings and tops. It includes superwash, kid mohair laps, a 50/50 Merino/Tussah, and a wonderful sock blend (Merino/Rayon/Tussah). Most of what’s there is wool, but there is also some angora, camel, llama, and alpaca.

The fibers on the right in the shelving unit are mostly dyed rovings and tops, silks, bamboo, and tencel.

All the stuff to the right of the unit, however, is raw fleece. Most of it is washed and ready to be carded or combed. There’s a variety of breeds ranging from Navajo Churro to Cormo, Shetland to BFL, Wensleydale to Romney, and mohair. There’s a Huacaya blanket, a Suri llama fleece, and a couple pounds of regular llama. With only a couple of exceptions, all that fleece is good stuff, and most of it is simply outstanding.

And therein lies the problem. If something happened to me and DH, I know that my in-laws wouldn’t have a clue what to do with it, and absolutely no idea of its quality, significance, or value. Most of it would end up in the trash, or dumped with the local Goodwill if they thought about it at all. And that—that would be a crime. There is so much joy there, and so much other spinners would relish.

DH knows to sell the stuff, and what he can’t sell, simply find a home for. He knows he can start with my spinning group. But it’s not a large group, and they’re not at the point where they’re interested in raw fibers or creating their own blends. And, truthfully, they may not reach that point. They’re happy where they’re at, and they’re progressing nicely. I won’t push them, and I won’t make them try something they’re not interested in. That’s foolish. They should be able to enjoy their own journey, and their own process, and I’ll fight for their right to do so.

But there are no such things as fiber fairs here, no other guilds, and not many networks connecting spinners (my own Spinners’ Home is one, but even it is limited). And in addition to the fiber, there are three wheels, a handful of spindles, some combs and hand cards, a couple of ball winders, an umbrella swift, a couple of small tools, and a small carder.

These things simply cannot be tossed out in the bin or dumped at Goodwill. They cannot. I refuse to allow that to happen. They need to be re-homed. Not all together, but relocated with spinners and fiber folks who’ll enjoy them, cherish them, and put them to use. And that means that I need to make a few changes to the “what to do if” instructions, and make sure those instructions are understood and available. And it strikes me that I need to appoint a Fiber Advocate to deal with it all in the event DH and I happen to leave this plane of existence at the same time.

It also strikes me that I’m not the only one in this predicament. For people near their family or who have guilds handy, things are easier. The guild can step in and help buy/sell/distribute equipment and stash; a family member can be appointed in a will or unofficially designated ahead of time to handle things. But for expats like me who have no family near and for whom estate distribution would probably end up in the hands of the unknowing and elderly in-laws, and who have only a fledgling spinning group which is not yet into experimenting with anything other than commercially prepared fibers . . . This is a problem. And I think it’s something we need to think about—and plan for. At a minimum, those fibers and equipment may help add some very welcome pennies to the family’s resources. No less importantly, though, they could add joy to someone else’s life, and continue an important tradition.