The Chatelaine's Keys

Sharon September 11th, 2007

I attended last year’s Community Solutions Conference with some reluctance, because it was scheduled for Rosh Hashanah, and I didn’t much enjoy being away from my family over the high holidays. But I went, and I had a wonderful time, and I was selfish enough to end my talk with some meditations on the connection between my faith and peak oil. I honestly don’t remember what I said – I was making it up as I went along. But some bits and pieces remain, and I thought, in honor of the new year that begins tomorrow, I would meditate a bit on the same subjects here. This is not the speech I gave, but a variant on similar themes, brought about by the forthcoming holiday.

In Judaism, we tell the story that at the beginning of the New Year (Rosh Hashanah), G-d decides the fate of all human beings in the next year. They are, metaphorically speaking, “inscribed” into the book of life or death. Now there are several variants of this story. In some, those who do not fall in the category of obviously wicked or obviously good (that is, most of us) are not inscribed at all until Yom Kippur, ten days after. That is, there are ten days left for us to prove our worth, and to repent for our sins. Other versions suggest that G-d makes a provisional decision, but may change her mind in the interim, if we truly alter our ways during the ten days of repentence. In either case, as the story goes, our future hangs by a thread, by the things we do now to make ourselves worthy to be inscribed in the Book of Life.

I know that the New Year is coming, but somehow, it always sneaks up on me. First it is summer and there’s all the time in the world, and then, in a blink, the high holidays are upon us, and I am unready to face my future. I have not prayed or prepared or thought as far as I ought to – even though I knew it was coming. I have not been the person I ought to – I have left things undone and done things I shouldn’t have, and failed to make amends. And thus, I am grateful that G-d understands us so well, that grace is offered for those, like me, who miss the obvious, who somehow convince ourselves that there is always more time, even when there isn’t.

I would suggest that this is in many ways, an apt metaphor for the place we find ourselves in right now, facing peak oil and climate change. The world is becoming something very different, something that we have made it and yet, that we are almost wholly unprepared for. We are entering an era in which the cheap energy we’ve relied upon for our wealth and comfort is moving out of our reach. We are in danger of transforming our planet in such a way that billions of us may die. The New Year, the new era, is upon us. And we are not ready. We are desperately pleading for more time, an easier transition – and the inexorable reality, which does not negotiate, confronts us. But perhaps, just perhaps, there’s a little grace left for us. We can at least hope that we still have time to repent, make good, repair.

In some senses, our fate is sealed and scheduled. We do not have the range of choices any of us would like. All of us would like to make gradual cutbacks and a smooth adjustment to the coming hard times. But that’s not an option any more. The new data about ice loss in the arctic suggests we are hitting one of the major tipping points in climate change *NOW.* Data coming in on world food supplies suggests that the confrontation between population and resources is coming very soon. We are probably already past our oil peak, and all sources of reliable energy may well peak within two decades. Our choices are few and hard, and those who will pay most and longest are those who had the least to do with causing the problems. If we are to fix things, it will involve a great deal of self-sacrifice and difficulty.

And the environment may not give grace periods. If we were to make draconian energy cuts, along the lines of the ones that the Riot for Austerity advocates across the board, we’d still have no better than a 2 in 3 shot of avoiding a tipping point – and the odds are probably worse now than when they were calculated almost two years ago. James Hansen has said that any solution that doesn’t include the extraction of carbon from the atmosphere will probably fail.

It might be helpful to imagine ourselves in another story – Sleeping Beauty. The child is blessed by each of her fairy godmothers, until the one who was forgotten, the embodiment of the things we have left undone, returns and curses the innocent child to pay the price for the adults’ neglect. There remains only the last fairy godmother, who cannot undo the curse – she can only soften it a little. We too are the last and weakest of the fairy godmothers, unable to undo all that we and those before us have undone. But that does not mean that we cannot soften the curse a little. We, like the fairy godmother, can make a small recompense for what we failed to do before.

We cannot undo everything. We cannot go back 30 years and make better choices. We can, at best, only soften the blow a little, take the burden that will fall upon our children and grandchildren, and carry a little of it ourselves. We will give them a warmer world, fewer resources, fewer choices. But perhaps it need not be a disaster. We can recognize the harm we’ve caused, and resolve to shoulder as much of that burden as each of us can possibly bear, but we cannot make it go completely away.

We could weep for that. We could and rightly do mourn the possibilities we no longer have. We could, even knowing that it is just, weep for what we have, mostly unknowing, inflicted upon ourselves and our children.

Or (or perhaps “And”), we can stop weeping, and shoulder our burdens, and face the truth and find satisfaction in honor and courage. What if the stories were real, and one’s fate could be known? What should we do, if we knew that this year, this month, were our very last, that we had been inscribed for death in the coming year? Would it still be worth repenting? The parents of Sleeping Beauty know that no matter how long it is delayed, someday, death will come for their daugter – perhaps the day after she awakens from her hundred year sleep. Is it still worth softening the curse? Would any parent ever answer “no?”

It would still be worth repairing the evil one had done, even if one was to die, because in doing so, you transform both the history of your life and the nature of your death. It would still, to the parents of the sleeping child, be worth it to give her one more day, for them all to have one more day. And it will still be worth it to us to make the tremendous sacrifices necessary even if we cannot fix everything – because we will have done what we could, what we should. Even if we cannot perfectly mend the future for our own children, we will have done what we can for someone else’s, and given one less grief to the world.

It isn’t that there isn’t every reason to weep, but there are greater reasons to get to work, to face the future square on, and with all the courage we can muster. Because even if our magic is weak, and our future foreordained, we can still change the way that future falls upon us. We can face it with honor or dishonor, courage or moral cowardice, concern for the future, or eyes looking only back to what we’ve lost. The facts may not change, but the stories we tell about them, the way we understand them, the way we understand ourselves, that we have power over. And we may still be able to change the facts as well. If we are willing, if we have courage, we might still make a fairly graceful descent. If we are willing, if we have courage, we might still preserve what is most needed for the future. If we were willing to give up enough, to act, as David Orr has put it, as though we truly love our children.

At Rosh Hashanah, we read the story of the binding of Isaac, the Akeda, the classic story of faith. I admit it is a tale that fills me with great ambivalence, because I certainly have no such faith, and I’m not sure I ca
n admire Abraham for having it. Abraham, who argues with G-d in other contexts, takes up the knife here. I’ve never fully been able to come to terms with Abraham, even through the lens of Kierkegaard’s Panegyric. Nor, as is often the case, I think in religious life, am I all that happy with G-d.

I have often wondered what the story would look like if Sarah, rather than Abraham, had been asked by G-d to sacrifice her only son. I enjoy constructing Biblical sounding variants of “Are you out of your freakin’ omnipotent mind?!?!?” I cannot imagine a scenario in which Sarah and her son would walk willingly together to the mountain. That is, of course, perhaps why Abraham has the job, but I have often wondered whether it would truly be a poorer Judaism if a different sacrifice were as hallowed. Perhaps this illuminates some essential limitation in me, or perhaps in Jewish mothers.

We learn from the commentaries that Sarah dies from this event – and at least one of the tales that is told of her death is that she dies at the moment that Abraham raises the knife, whether from fear or knowledge, or perhaps, as seems appropriate, because she, at a distance, inserts her own life in front of the blade that is set to take Isaac. It is never described as such, but whether or not her sacrifice was required, in some sense, Sarah does what many parents would literally choose – to lay their bodies in the place of the children they are asked to sacrifice. I cannot imagine any conversation between the woman who had the courage to laugh at G-d, and G-d that does not include the request that the sacrifice G-d asks be made of her, not her child. Because, to the extent that we parents have the courage, that is the way of things. It is our job to value our own lives less than the lives of our children.

It is our job to find a way to return to living our lives, as David Orr says, as though we truly love our children. It is our job to find the way that Sarah found. We are not told why she died at that moment. There is no indication that her sacrifice made any difference in the outcome. Perhaps she thought it might. Perhaps she did not expect to die, merely wished for it. Perhaps she knew it would not matter, that G-d would not alter the outcome.

When Sarah was barren, she sent her handmaiden, Hagar, to Abraham. G-d had told Abraham his descents would be as many as the stars above, but Sarah was old and the ways of women had ceased for her. So she tried to formulate a response to bring about the future that her husband and G-d seemed to want. It is not hard to believe that Sarah, who laughed when G-d told her he could make her pregnant, believes, because she has done it (with admittedly mixed results) that she is powerful enough to transform the future, to insert herself into what is foreordained. It is not impossible to imagine that Sarah died at the moment Abraham raised the knife because she hoped, she tried to replace his sacrifice with hers. Perhaps it didn’t matter whether she believed she could alter what was ordained by G-d. It mattered that she knew that she had no choice but to try and alter it.

We are not asked anything so great. For us, the requirements are fairly simple. That we recognize that other lives are at stake, in danger of sacrifice. That we do what is necessary to preserve them. That we make radical and difficult changes very rapidly, so that others may live. That we live our lives as though we love others, and value their lives more than our own comfort. That we, like Sarah, believe that we are powerful, and that our actions can alter what seems to be ordained, at that we live our lives as though our actions matter – even if sometimes it seems they don’t, that they aren’t enough, or that the future is not in our hands.

And doing so, we can hope for something better. That we, all of us, regardless of faith or origin, will be inscribed in the Book of Life. Not merely for this year, or the next or the one after, but for 100 years, and 1000, and 10,000 years. That we might be better, in the next year, that we might overcome some of our selfishness, that we might remember to do what we must do, and to preserve what we must preserve. That we might do well, and honorably, and deserve to honored by future generations.

May you all be inscribed in the Book of Life, and may you do and be well in the coming year.
L’shana Tovah Tikatevu.

Sharon

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Sharon September 11th, 2007

The title here is somewhat tongue in cheek, of course, but I do think that we knitters and crocheters, spinners and weavers have something useful to contribute to a lower-impact future – warm fingers and toes, homemade reusable cloth bags, beautiful clothing – all made from local or recycled or otherwise sustainable materials. So I thought a discussion of how to knit (and all the other useful fiber arts) sustainably was in order. I want to hear what other people are doing.

If you don’t knit, and you read this for advice about how to address peak oil and climate change, you may be thinking “couldn’t she have picked something even more boring to write about?” But here’s one of the details the apocalyptic websites rarely include – disasters are actually really boring. During the instant that bad things are happening there’s likely to be all sorts of excitement, screaming and running about, but in the aftermath of a disaster, particularly the sort that are likely in a slow, grinding loss of stability and wealth like the one we’re facing, there’s an awful lot of time spent standing around. Unemployment comes. You don’t have a car any more and can’t go out to the movies or to get a beer. No more recreational shopping. You turn the lights way down to save money at night, so you can’t read. Your sister in law and her three kids moved in and there’s nowhere to go to escape. What do you do? That’s the beauty of fiber arts. They are portable, cheap (or they can be – you can blow a lot of money if you want), and accessible. They provide something to do with your hands in a dark place, or a light one, it can be complex or relaxing. Whittling and other small woodworking projects work too, but fiber arts have the advantage of using only minimally pointy things, and being permissable in places like court and planes where knives get you in trouble. Seriously, this is the way the world ends – not with a bang but with a “Mooooommm…I’m bored!” Might as well have something useful to do with your hands.

First let’s talk books and patterns. I have my favorites, of course, and lots of them are just filled with pretty things. And you really could get pretty well along with a few downloaded patterns from the internet But if I had to narrow it down, I’d probably include in my knitting library the following books:

1. A sock book. Ok, you don’t need a sock book. One book, with one basic sock pattern will get you through your whole life. On the other hand, socks wear out fast, and you are likely to have to knit a lot of them. It will be much less boring if you have a few different patterns, and also faster if you have a variety of options for different yarn weights. You could really have almost any such book, but one of my favorite basic books is Knit Socks!. I like it because it includes a wide variety of patterns, very clear, very basic descriptions and a wide variety of yarn weights. I also love Nancy Bush’s _Folk Socks_. If you don’t like double pointed needles, Cat Bourdieu’s _Socks Soar on Two Circular Needles_ is way better than its stupid title, and the patterns are quite nice.

2. A mitten/glove book. If you live in a cold climate (and why would you knit mittens if you didn’t), Robin Hansen’s classic _Fox and Geese and Fences_ has recently been reissued, I’m told. This is, IMHO, the best mitten book for *practical,* *warm* mittens in the world. If it will keep a Maine fisherman warm while hauling lines, it will keep your fingers warm. You can still find used copies around as well – mine is starting to fall apart from too much love.

3. Or, if you wanted one book to cover all the little objects, including socks, mittens and gloves, I’d go with _Homespun, Handknit_ by Linda Ligon. This is a useful book for those making their own, but also has some lovely and practical patterns, some that are intriguing and challenging, and enough basics to keep even new knitters busy.

4. Now you absolutely don’t need any books at all to make scarves, baby blankets, afghans, washcloths, towels, etc… except a knitting stitch pattern book (actually, you don’t need even that, but you might go mad with boredom making 100 stockinette washcloths). You can make ‘em up on your own – they are flat rectangles, afterall. I wish I owned Barbara Walker’s multiple knitting stitch treasuries, but instead I have the decent _Big Book of Knitting Stitch Patterns_. Since you absolutely, positively do not need such a book, I’m being selfish in recommending Kay Gardiner and Ann Shayne’s _Mason Dixon Knitting_, which has a lot of patterns for cool things you can do with rectangles – felted boxes, washrags, towels, afghans. The thing is, the stuff is so cool and the book is so much fun that I’m recommending it anyway. Need is subjective here.

5. If you live somewhere cold, you need a sweater book. My favorite, because of its overwhelming applicability, is Priscilla Gibson-Robson and Deborah Robson’s _Knitting in the Old Way_, which shows you how to adapt almost any sweater structure to any size or shape, using any yarn or needles. I also like _The Wonderful Wallaby_ a pattern booklet from Cottage Creations. Wallaby sweaters are just about the coziest, cutest hooded sweaters on the planet. I’ve seen a number of them, know many people who knit them, have one on needles (for one of my sons) and am going to have to knit one for myself. It is, as the above, infinitely adaptable, and practical.

6. If you are going to knit for babies, I think it is helpful to have one book of ideas for doing so. I like Melanie Falick and Kristin Nicholas’s _Knitting for Baby_ quite a bit, but almost anything will do. The idea is “cute ideas” to keep you entertained. The other plus of this book is that it has a giant felted tote bag pattern designed to be a diaper bag, but also useful for shopping. I can’t really justify suggesting it, but there’s also a geat _Farmer’s Market Tote_ pattern in Falick’s _Weekend Knitting_ that I’ve made twice now. But you don’t need that book. Or any of these books. What I want them for is inspiration – of course I can knit a rectangle, but sometimes I like to see how things look.

Now what if you don’t spin, or knit, or crochet or weave? How do you learn? My first choice would be from a person – find a neighbor, a friend or a family member and ask them. Or call up a senior center and ask if anyone there could teach knitting or crocheting. Or join a local stitch and bitch group and ask for help. But what if that isn’t possible?

Honestly, I think the next best option is to use the internet, and some of the excellent video and image options out there. Unfortunately, I can’t link you to any, because I have achingly slow dialup, and don’t watch them myself. Do some searching, and maybe some folks who read this will have some suggestions. But these are all things best taught visually.

Last would be books – the books are sometimes useful as a reference point anyway, but I don’t think learning these things from books is easy. But if you are trying to figure this stuff out from descriptions, the best ones are books and directions written for children. For example, Melanie Falick’s _Kids Knitting_ and the other books in the series _Kids Crochet_ and _Kids Weaving_ are all terrific – very clear, good pictures, with instructions for making low cost materials like homemade needles and a pvc loom.

Homemade tools are great – dowels make simple knitting needles, and my homemade spindle works as well as the much fancier versions I’ve tried out. I’ve not made a loom of any sort yet, although I’d like to, so I can’t discuss the merits thereof. There are also a ton of used tools out there – from cheap auctions of used knitting needles and crochet hooks to various source of pricier tools like looms and spinning wheels.

A spinning wheel is not a project for anyone but the most ambitious home woodworker, though. My personal preference (and others may have other ideas on this subject a
nd be more right than I), if you are buying a non-local spinning wheel (in my case, non-local means “old or used,” since I don’t know of anyone manufacturing wheels here), I like Kromski, because all the pieces are metal or wooden. That means if it breaks, it is likely I’ll be able to fix it.

One thing we might want to consider is going back to the walking wheel in some cases. While I doubt that we’ll ever entirely lose the industrial manufacture of cloth, it may be that local and artisanal yarns and clothing come back into fashion, and my own observation and discussion with historical reenactors is that the walking wheel is both quicker than the seated wheel once you are skilled, and also in some ways easier on your body, since you are not sitting all day. There’s a 19th century original in good condition at an antique store near me that I can’t possibly afford, but I visit it and pine occasionally. There’s also the charka, which has its merits for spinning cotton, one of them being its potential cheapness and reproduceability.

Ok, now yarn, fleece, etc…. Stocking up for the end of the world? Planning to keep a supply coming through all sorts of hard times? My first choice would be to explore your local fleece options. Some of my favorite yarn every comes from my friend Amy at Stone Fence Farm, who had some beautiful natural colored grey yarn spun up. I made mittens for every male I knew from them, and I’ve got to see if she’s got any left in her stash. She lives about 10 miles from me, so this is really and truly local yarn. There’s a woman nearby who dyes her own using mill ends from a spinnery an hour away. There are plenty of local shepherds around, and I’m fantasizing about my own stash of Romney or Icelandic fleece, from my own pastures.

Another option – buy old sweaters and unravel and reuse them. Our local goodwill will sell woolen sweaters quite cheaply. I’ve done this once so far, but the yarn I got was lovely once it was soaked and hung up to dry for a bit – just like new.

There are yarns out there that serve good causes – yarn is one of those light, dry things that isn’t too awful to ship around the world, and some of the coops make a real difference in poor places. I’m fond of Malabrigo www.handpaintedyarn.com, Manos del Uruguay (which wears like Iron) and Peacefleece. I also like MangoMoon’s recycled sari yarn, although it is too pricey for me to do much with. There are probably other good sources as well, as well as sources of organically raised yarn. I’m not familiar enough with all that’s out there to provide a complete sourcing, and I knit mostly with wool, so I honestly don’t know what is out there in terms of organic, sustainably grown cotton, politically correct alpaca, hemp, bamboo or soy. Someone else may have good advice – I know someone recently included in the comments that she was looking into making bamboo fiber – perhaps we’ll get to hear more about that.

Someone once suggested that the day will come, and not too long out, when we’ll carefully treasure our acrylic and polyester yarns, because they will be rare and valuable materials. Right now we’re not there yet – there are good acrylics out there, but they aren’t cheaper than most natural materials, and IMHO, their utility is pretty limited. They won’t keep you as warm as wool, or as cool as cotton, linen or hemp. Their major advantage is that they go through the dryer – which we shouldn’t be using anyway. Still, when I see sacks of the nicer cheap acrylics at yardsales, I occasionally buy them and donate them to various knitting charities. I also keep a few skeins around for teaching people to knit.

Even better than stocking up may be to make your own. Even apartment dwellers can keep an angora bunny or two (which will become many if you aren’t careful), or a dog with spinnable fur. Those of us with more land can choose from a dazzling array of sheep, camelids, goats and other critters to supply us with fleece. My personal interest is in animals that need are adapted to cold, wet climates like mine, and that are adapted for thriftiness. The Icelandic sheep I’ve seen fit the bill, although I may end up with Romneys simply because they also suit my region and are vastly less expensive.

Seriously, folks the apocalypse, such as it will be (and I don’t really believe in apocalyptic scenarios of any sort) will be boring. Bring something to do. Bring your knitting.

Sharon

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