It’s been a little while since I have blogged. Words have sat in my heart, thoughts roamed my mind questioning, learning, open. We have spent hours studying, working, dyeing weft, cleaning goat wool to make traditional warp mixed with yellow cedar and hand-spinning it. We have traveled to Juneau meeting other weavers and seeing their beautiful creations, we’ve woven hours creating the Chilkat Circle: so much achievement and knowledge in that small circle which has been passed down through the generations. We are fortunate to be here in the Chilkat Valley surrounded by the rivers, mountains, and people who are all a part of us, just as we are a part of them.
Marsha challenges us often to ask ourselves, “Why do you want to learn? Why did the grandma’s weave? Why did your Great-Grandma weave?” The questions sit in the back of my mind. Sometimes I pull them out and think on them and ponder. Other times they sit there challenging me to explore them.
As an artist I have often thought on the beauty of creating and why it is so important to me. As I remember Great-Grandma and read her words or hear stories that others tell me I can see the importance of creating and honoring. She spoke often of our creator and remembering Him. I look at you and at me and I see image-bearers, I can’t take that out of what I do. The act of creating to be put simply, is spiritual: our hearts are moved to create.
A couple of weeks ago my boys and I went to Chilkoot Culture Camp: my boys as campers and me as a helper. Some may wonder what this has to do with weaving and my answer is that it has everything to do with weaving. I hope that someday I will be able to weave with ease and move in the knowledge of weaving with confidence, but I am discovering what I have always known: the technical aspects are only a part. It’s important to learn our culture, our history, our ways.
During Culture Camp the kids got to make and experience so many great things. They learned how to make tinaas, drums, nettle cord, they picked berries and jarred them, but one of the things that sticks out the most was all of the fish processing. Dad was a gillnetter, so to be around fish reminds me of dad, it always will. The campers filleted and cut fish into strips for smoking. Many people while cleaning fish will cut-off the heads and backbones and throw them away. The kids were taught how to scrape the flesh right off those paper-thin bones using spoons, scraping them clean. The salmon was then placed into canning jars, everything should be valued and used.
During the time of Culture Camp I was supposed to be finishing up the very last bits of my circle weaving. However, I kept finding myself so tired in the evenings that all I did was look at my weaving, move on, and hope to finish the following day. Our little community of campers, leaders, and helpers was being woven together more than my piece hanging on my loom at home.
I felt as though my weaving traveled with me as I went about my day. My mind tried to figure-out the last parts and how to follow through with all that Marsha had been teaching and showing us. The moving parts of a weaving are still a challenge for my mind to wrap around, but it becomes easier as time goes on. I am positive that no matter where I am on my journey of weaving, that there will always be something to learn, something to glean. I see that in the amazing weavers of today: their contagious excitement when someone has accomplished something or discovered something new for themselves and others.
Our last day of Culture Camp will never be forgotten by me. We walked the children to our ancestral gravesites, remembering those who came before us. It’s important to remember our history, my dad always wanted to make sure that we would. As we were cleaning-up I kept looking around wondering where the gravestones were that I used to see growing-up. The reality of it slowly took hold like a spoon scraping my heart. The walk back to camp was a bit quieter although the kids still laughed and played, there was a solemness in us, a resoluteness, a feeling of sadness, but a feeling of hope too. This year I have found that hope can speak in the saddest of times or walk with us when we feel alone. I listened to the river rushing by, heard the birds singing, and the children’s voices still finding wonder about them, and I thought too of my weaving that I still needed to finish.
Some may wonder what this post has to do with weaving, and my answer is that it has everything to do with weaving. Marsha’s questions will always prod the back of my mind. We can’t forget, we honor the past and move forward with integrity, we tell our history and our stories: it’s all a part of how we were uniquely created. Just as the salmon that was scraped and placed into jars, I hope that no pain will ever be wasted.
Pieces of my left-over warp. Marsha said to find uses and don’t let them go to waste. Beauty can be found in the small, as well as the big.