If we cannot by reason, by influence, by example, by strenuous effort, and by personal sacrifice, mend the bad places of civilization, we certainly cannot do it by force. —Auberon Herbert

Greetings Dear Ones!

I know it’s not like me, but I had actually started writing this entry several days ago—I was 400 words into a convoluted ramble about how I accidentally bought hog panels instead of paint for my new sewing studio (the hog panel was NOT for the studio! It was an impulse buy…) Since then, I have been driving like a circus clown, crouching beneath the hog panel, which extends from the windshield to the back window until I realized I had two flat tires… But that story will have to wait until next week…

I have fallen so Madly, Deeply, and Hopelessly IN LOVE that I now have to write about That instead.

As luck would have it, I drove (after I had pumped up the tires, yet still beneath the hog panel) all the way to my local library, only to find out it was NOT, in fact, my local library after all. (Perhaps the ten-mile drive should have been my first clue.) Apparently, I had passed at least two other libraries en route to this one but, to my surprise, they were not my “local” library either. I explain to the cheerful librarian that what threw me off is that the town listed on my address and the name of this library were the same. “Yes,” she says, “we get that all the time. I used to work in your local library; that’s how I know that this is not it. Your library is in a different town, with a completely different name. In fact, it isn’t even a town, really; technically it’s a village.” We chat a while longer and my eyes keep straying to a display of books on clothing and fashion near her desk.

“Can I join this one anyway?” I ask. “You have some books here I would love to borrow.”

“Are you interested in fashion?” she inquires. She is far too polite to look me up and down as she says so—but I certainly do NOT resemble anyone “interested” in fashion. I am headed to the co-op next door to buy vegetables and have on my big leather farm boots, a canvas barn coat, and at least a Spring lamb’s worth of wool around my upper torso. We’re swinging from sixteen to twenty-seven degrees Farenheit here in southern Vermont—NO one is interested in fashion. Asking someone “what pronouns” they use to refer to themselves is not just a polite thing to do—this time of year it is literally impossible to tell males from females in this part of the country. Forget genders—we don’t even look human. Throw in a menopausal mustache or two and no one dares to speculate.

“Not really,” I admit. “I’m more interested in sewing and preserving our heritage than actual fashion. I’m appalled by the waste and the cost to the environment. I refuse to buy new clothes that are basically plastic and last three washings. I’d rather save the old.”

She nods vehemently.

“It’s a small fee to join,” she says, “And you can take out anything you want today.”

“Great!” I say, gladly forking over the money. I love libraries. Absolutely LOVE them. I’d join them all if I could. (As of this writing, I now have joined every library within a ten-mile radius of Hermit Hollow.) Libraries and I go way back. There is something about the smell of a library that makes me feel very young and comforted. I love the Grand Silence of shelves, books, and padded chairs all Full of stories…whispering…. I especially love cracking open the binding on an old book in its cellophane sheath and falling headlong into another world… Going to a library is an instant mini-vacation.

She helps me check out a few books on the fashion industry. I am particularly drawn to Elizabeth Kline’s books on the high cost of cheap fashion.

“You are welcome to join our Mending Bee on Sunday, if you like to sew,” she offers kindly. “We don’t have a seamstress near here so we all get together once a month on a Sunday afternoon to mend our clothes. We gather to share thread, machines, and know-how. Some of the women are really quite good and they help the others. I keep my own machine here in the office. Our big tables are perfect for a work space.”

My jaw hits the floor so hard, it abrades any menopausal chin hairs right off. I won’t have to pluck for a week.

“Are you kidding me?” I gasp.

“No,” she smiles shyly. “We’ve been going for three years now. I had to stop advertising because we were having as many as forty people at a time show up and we can’t deal with that kind of volume. Now, we’re down to about twenty, which is easier to manage. But you should feel free to come. It would be a great way for you to meet people in the area who like to sew and who share similar ethics about mending or repurposing things before they discard them.”

I am not exactly sure how I managed to get back to my car and squeeze myself under the hog panel again. I think I floated rather than walked. I could not wait for Sunday. It was worse than having to wait for Christmas as a child.

On Sunday, I pack a big basket of things to mend but I can’t immediately locate my tiny basket of tools. In my current state of Upheaval (the heaval one experiences when attempting to rise UP), anything could be anywhere. So, I assume it is in the car already. I usually have it with me. I have taken out the hog panel but replaced its volume in the car with painting equipment, three plastic totes of musical instruments for toddlers (for a little “strengthening families” music gig I had recently), an overnight bag, and my usual load of crap that consists of yarn, knitting, empty bottles of Kombucha, bags of half-eaten granola, spare boots, the tire-pumper-upper-thing, jumper cables, blankets and first aid equipment. When I get to the Library, I dig through the piles and still cannot find the case that contains my scissors, pin cushion, glasses and thimble. What am I going to do??? Frantically, to my increasing shame, I wind up unpacking Everything in the parking lot like I am setting up camp for winter. Are they already looking out the window at me, wondering who is that Mad Lady with the jumper cables and a sleeping bag? I can hear them now—“Why does she have a whole tote full of plastic egg shakers? Is she planning to paint something? A bag of sheep feed? What the…? She seems to be chasing a ball of yarn into a snow bank now!”

In despair, I realize I am going to have to go in empty-handed or not at all. How dumb will that look? Should I just wait until next month? No. I decide, I might be the ‘new kid’ all over again but I’m a Big Girl now. I square my shoulders, adjust my Big-Girl panties, take a deep breath, and go in. Libraries are safe spaces. I can always hide out in the history section and spy on them through the racks.

The oak door swings open and there they are, as foretold by the Wise Woman. About 14 of the most Magnificent people I have ever seen have dragged in their mending baskets full of holey socks and other projects, to sit around the table and fix things. They fix their clothing, they make new stuff out of old, and they give me something I had not realized I so desperately need: “Welcome!” they say, “come join us!”

“I didn’t bring my work,” I lie, “but I’m happy to help anyone who needs help.” A lady graciously lets me darn a rash of moth holes in a cashmere sweater for her and within minutes, we are all talking and trading as if this is a reunion rather than a first meeting. One woman is making the most Gorgeous tunics out of repurposed old T-shirts she has collected from thrift stores. Two are darning socks and sharing wool threads of different colors. Another is a talented costume designer from a local theatre group, working on a costume. A young woman is needle-felting an art project of stunning beauty. Everyone is busy with hand-sewing of some sort, while shared machines sit idly by. The energy is fantastic.

It strikes me that what we are doing is a very “Political Act”—let’s face it, what is NOT political these days? It seems anti-Capitalist to fix things, to mend what is broken, rather than discard it and buy new so that the economy can keep running. Yet the sense of gentleness and strength in this group is so nourishing, so sustaining. They are determined, rather than angry; laughing rather than resentful. Their sense of “economy” is not typical. They see things in a global perspective, rather than local—and yet, they gather Locally to make their changes. They see Big, but act Little. It’s so simple it blows my mind.

A spokesperson makes an announcement and we all agree that in two weeks time, we will have a supplemental meeting to make bags out of T-shirts for a second-hand clothing store whose profits support Hospice Care in this area. The shop receives many wonderful donations they sell but they also receive great numbers of old or stained t-shirts they cannot. With the ban on plastic shopping bags here, they have taken to converting these old t-shirts to shopping bags. The mending group at our library is joining forces with area students looking to get the requisite Community Service Points they need for graduation. Our plan is to repurpose at least two-hundred T-shirts that otherwise would have gone in the trash. We will teach the teens how to cut off the sleeves, cut out the neck, and stitch the bottoms shut on these t-shirts so that shoppers will have a convenient (and reusable!) way to carry their purchases; the T-shirts won’t be wasted; and both Hospice and the Environment win. And the teens learn to sew. We all win. Actually, there are too many wins to count here. I LOVE it.

THAT’s my new-found love—that’s why I am swooning. Because overwhelmingly Giant and depressing situations can have such manageably SMALL and FUN and LOVELY solutions when we gather together to do our Mending. The layers of what is “Economical” to our survival can be unpacked in so many ways and skewed by pundits who confuse us with their agendas. The benefits of Mending Together are simple, local, social, communal, environmental, global, and Spiritual. Is there any better form of Gratitude than of taking care of what we have?

During the next three hours, I learn more about the Thoughtful Doers of this town—that many are musical (there’s even another fiddler in the group!); many speak multiple languages; many are involved in a variety of other communities, churches, or groups. A Quaker woman has just been to a mid-west conference on the “Gay Bible”—just to see what scholars had to say about that topic. Two others have been traveling recently. Some have children the same ages as mine, others are grandparents. “What brings you to Vermont?” they all want to know. When I try to explain, stammeringly, as best I can (sometimes even I don’t know the answer to this question!) my closest neighbor looks at me and says, “Well, Home calls us all from within as we make our way along the path. It sounds like you are coming Home.” I look around the table as she says this—all the faces are smiling at me kindly at the same time. It’s almost more than I can bear.

In a Library… Surrounded by preserved trees full of preserved stories... Sewing…with Wise and Giving people who care about each other and the land… I’m not sure I have ever felt so At Home in my life. I think about that mess I have in the car and briefly consider setting up camp in the parking lot for good!

Why isn’t every library a “Mending Library”? I’m pretty sure Anyone can start this in his or her own library, school, grange or communal space. You don’t even need to know how to sew or possess any tools. Just invite people to come and they will bring what they have and teach each other what they know! It’s that simple and Magnificent. Instead of clamoring at rallies and protesting about “what is…” why not get out our needles and threads and quietly mend it? Together? Who needs “the government” when WE are the People? Everyone knows that mending we leave to do alone or “later” never gets done. Let’s do it Now. With Friends. Hell, it might even be fun.

Button up and ‘aye be cheerie’ my Darlings. I hope this finds you warm, inside and out! Keep doing your Good Work. I love you Sew much,

Yours aye,

Nancy