Catherine Ludgate's Blog

The company of women

Catherine Ludgate — Sat, 17 Nov 2007 14:35:18 -0800

Last weekend, I went with a pal up to Pemberton for a
weekend long knitting retreat. Friends and family looked at me skeptically when
I told them of my plans: “A what? Knitting? Retreat?” Like they had misheard.

I had my doubts too, before the weekend. My new pal and I
don’t know each other very well yet, and I wondered if we’d find enough common
ground to cover the travel time up and down and fill in the patches over the
weekend. And, I’m not much of a knitter, despite my call to action to reclaim
knitting in public. I haven’t knit anything in a while, and wasn’t sure I would
remember well enough to not embarrass myself in a group of knitters so
dedicated to their craft as to go on retreats together.

My colleague Elisabeth provided a crash reminder on casting
on and reading patterns, and my new pal helped me negotiate the purchase of
wool and needles and a simple pattern at a local yarn shop. I was set, but not
without apprehension.

The weekend was, to my surprise, wonderful. Truly wonderful.
And I didn’t realize what made it wonderful until it was almost over. It was at
the parting of knitters, when I was exchanging contact info with some women
that our conversation turned to what we did professionally. And then, it hit
me. We had been together for two days and nights – time filled with not only
knitting but a fashion show of knit treasures, a tour of a winery, a gourmet
meal at a local inn, a wacky lesson in making wool boas, drinking and eating of
goodies, walking in the great outdoors, petting of companion dogs – and we had
not talked of our careers or jobs.

But we had shared the most intimate of stories, stories of
love and loss and laughter, all expressed through the knitted items we had
completed or were pursuing. We learned of one knitter’s first grand-daughter,
and the exquisitely complicated pink jumper being knit for her, and of another
knitter’s recent loss of her husband, and the comfort of his smell lingering in
the hand-knit cardigan, and of another knitter’s struggle with depression and
work to overcome a lifetime of abuse, and the intricate triangle patterned
scarf that kept her focus on the present and the future.

When we were parting, I discovered I was knitting
alongside a lawyer, a payroll clerk, an insurance adjustor, two psychologists,
a civil engineer, a person on disability insurance, a newspaper editor, an
executive assistant, a merchant, a file clerk, and a cashier. Until then, I had
been in the company of women. And I was sorry to leave that company for the
cast of careers. The weekend was a lovely time to roam about in the democratic
and egalitarian company of women who shared of themselves through their knitting
and the stories the knitting told. I will keep knitting and I will look forward
to the next opportunity to refill my heart at the next knitting retreat, in the
company of women.

A leak of faith

Catherine Ludgate — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 18:20:55 -0700

I was chatting with pals yesterday about our global failure to achieve sustainability. And how it feels like, in so many ways, we cannot get past the individual aspirations and goals to have and accumulate and “prosper.” We talked about what it would take to move from this apparent suicide path we are on globally.

“It’s a leap of faith,” said one pal. “We have to trust that if we individually make a commitment to sustainability, we won’t be disadvantaged.” Which reminded me that one of the challenges to sustainability is our sense of ourselves as individuals (with entitlements).

We know, intellectually, that in fact we aren’t individuals isolated from the natural environment, from other species, from other communities. We know that we don’t start and end as physical vessels isolated from the rest of the planet. We do understand that life cycles, and energy transfers, and that every minute we each breathe in cells from other creatures (and aspirate and shed our own for others to share), and we understand how the butterfly effect explains how a small change somewhere in the system can result in a tremendous chain of events.

But, day-to-day, we act as isolated individuals. And we get scared about what might happen as we move to a sustainable society: what might happen when we leap from this way of existing to that new way of being. Are we holding ourselves back by thinking we cannot move until we have been shown that sustainability will work? Will we then leap?

Let us remind ourselves that we don’t start and end at our fingertips and our toes. We are connected to everything else. We don’t need to leap: we need to remind ourselves how we leak into the world around us and it leaks into us. Let us start each with changes as we can identify them and change the way we leak in and out of our world. Let’s plan on a better tomorrow as we take this leak of faith.

It makes a difference for that one starfish ...

Catherine Ludgate — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 18:15:25 -0800

The Starfish Rescuers

adapted from The Star Thrower by Loren Eiseley (1907-1977)

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

This story has appeared all over the web in various forms, usually with no credit given to Mr. Eiseley. Loren Eiseley was a anthropologist who wrote extensively. He was the 'wise man' in the story, and he was walking along a beach after a storm and encountered the fellow throwing the starfish back. Sometimes it is a little girl throwing the starfish into the ocean, sometimes a young man, once even an elder.

Wilderness knitting

Catherine Ludgate — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 18:35:36 -0700

So, I read my cyber-friend's change about creating a community of Urban Knitters, and while I am not a great or very committed knitter, I have spent time on road trips and camping adventures engaged in Wilderness Knitting. I agree: knitting should be performed in public. It reclaims a dying art and demonstrates how a form of art and craft is also a completely practical use of time and resources and something that can be done while also (1) conversing; (2) planning for change; (3) developing campaigns; and (4) building community, among other things. To steal from Wendell Berry, let us go down to the peace of Wild Knitters....

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.