In just a few months our apprenticeship ends. It’s kind of hard to believe, though we still have a lot yet to accomplish. We are currently working on weaving a Chilkat Face, as well as weaving another circle piece. Marsha says it’s important to get that process down well. Truth be told, I am learning a lot by doing it again, more than I expected. I suppose that has been how this apprenticeship has been for me, there’s always more that weaving is giving. I hope that I will rise to the challenge and be able to give back to it as it has given so much to me.
Today marks one year since my dad passed away. As I type, I sit in the chair he sat in the last time he was at my house, the last day he was in Haines. I never expected it would be the last time I saw him. As I sit, I have a good view of our living spaces. It’s mostly the same from when he was here last, but there are also some distinct changes that I see. Behind my couch is my weaving loom with weavings hanging off it, covered with cloth for safe keeping. On my shelf I see rovings of wool, strips of cedar bark, mountain goat wool and merino wool spun into warp. There are weaving books scattered about here and there, some that he and mom picked-out years ago in hopes that one day Cara and I’d weave. My dad would like the view better now.
I am thankful for the lessons dad taught us, though not always in words, but often in observance and moving in the simple truth of, we all move in who we are. He loved the weavings and spoke so often of the mountain goat wool to us; the weavings were intricately linked to this place, not just in design, but the very core of their creation. The searching on the mountain side and harvesting and trading of it all were just as much a part of the majestic robes as the final weaving itself. I can see why he so wanted Marsha to teach us with her love of the traditional.
Don’t get me wrong, I love it all: the traditional, the contemporary, the past and the present. The weavers of old did that as well. This writing isn’t a bashing of merino wool at all, but I have to say, and I think most weavers would agree, there’s something that touches the deepest parts of us when we weave with mountain goat. I think it may have to do, in large part, to our connection to the land here.
Cara and I took part in the Spruce Root Business Class that was for Native artists and emerging artists. While taking the class over zoom we had a beautiful view that looked-out over the water and beach. The proximity to Raven House, dad’s former childhood home, and the village site wasn’t lost on me. As I listened to the speakers, I’d watch the ravens picking-up mussels on the beach and dropping them onto rocks in hopes to break them open for a nice meal. I paid attention to how the seaweed clung to the rocks, and the constant lap lapping of the waves. It reminded me that the robes, basketry, house screens, carvings, and poles are all just as much a part of this place as the creatures and flora and fauna are. It’s a constant giving, taking, and giving back.
We’ve moved into autumn here. It’s been mostly rainy bringing with it the promise of deep winter that will be here soon. I was thinking back to the beginning of this apprenticeship and the promise of spring and all that it brought: newness, gathering, planting of seeds, spring flowers, the ushering in of summer, hope of what seemed dead was springing to life. There are lessons to be learned in each season, but I have to admit, I was a bit saddened to think of all those things as behind us right now. Then I started to notice something odd in our valley, people posting pictures of spring and summer flowers giving one last hurrah before winter is upon us. I think they’re saying to each of us, “I see you, don’t give up. Hope still springs forth, even when we know winter is coming.”
A picture I took yesterday of the lupine along the roadway.