Leaving Weaving

I parted with an old friend today. As I watched my Cassandra I weaving loom drive away in the bed of Carol Bingaman's truck, I heard a sad whisper. Like the news of the death of a neglected relative I'd been meaning to visit more often but never found the time to see. I had ordered the loom in 1978. It was one of the last of its kind, as Thought Products, Inc., the company that manufactured it went out of business between the time I ordered the loom and the time it was delivered in 1979. Made of solid cherry wood, the loom's design anticipated the advances that computerization would soon bring to weaving. I requested all the special options offered and could not wait to try them out. When the loom was installed at my house in Fillmore, it took up half of the living room. I promptly dressed it and began to weave. The loom and I were pictured in an article in the Fillmore Herald about my hand weaving hobby.

We had a few good years together before I was drawn into raising natural colored wool sheep and began hand spinning wool from my own flock. Compared to weaving, spinning was like learning to swing dance after sedately waltzing with a dull partner for several years. Spinning was portable and you didn't have to commit blocks of hours to do it. You didn't have to worry your mind with mathematical calculations relating to threads per inch or yards per pound. You could tell pretty quickly whether your product was pleasing or not, unlike weaving where you might not know until you had invested several days in a project. Gradually the loom became invisible. It was literally like the elephant in the room: everyone noticed it, but no one commented on it. It sat silent, taking up space and gathering dust. When I moved to Ventura in 1989, the loom came with me to take up space in the garage where my car should have been parked.

I didn't even look at the loom when I decided to list it for sale. Gathering together books and magazines on weaving that were also stored in the garage did not kindle even a spark of desire. I felt a sense of pure relief when I put the word out to a few friends that the loom was for sale. When I didn't have an immediate inquiry, I listed it on Craig's List. I was a bit surprised to have three inquiries within the first day. The first person wanted to see photos, so I pulled down all the fleeces that were stored on the loom and dragged boxes away from it so I could get some shots. As I emailed the photos to her, I began to feel nostalgic about the loom. I thought that if I didn't sell it, I wouldn't mind starting to weave again. The second person simply asked if the loom were still available. An odd opening question, I thought, since it was posted about four hours after I had sent in the listing at 9:00 p.m. Carol's inquiry wanted to know about the loom's history and how it had been cared for. After talking to her on the phone for a few minutes, I felt that if she wanted the loom, it would have good care and give her the pleasure I had enjoyed.

Carol and her husband, Bart, drove up from San Fernando Valley to look at the loom this afternoon. I was embarrassed to show it to them without having had a chance to remove the dust, polish it off and see if it were intact. They examined the loom and all its parts closely. A private airplane pilot, Bart showed an impressive knowledge of the engineering and technical aspects of the loom. Carol wanted to understand how it was different from the looms with which she was familiar. I was basically no help, as I had not touched the loom in over twenty years. We examined the instruction book, made some guesses and experiments about how parts moved and worked, and then I left Carol and Bart alone with the loom.

In the end, Carol decided she wanted the loom, and the three of us worked together to load it onto the truck. When they drove off with my Cassandra I, it was like the end of a finely woven dream. While I had always wanted to believe that I would return to weaving one day, the reality was I never gave it a thought for many, many years. As Bart described the garage they had converted into a large studio for Carol, I could see that the Cassie would get much better care than I had ever given it. Anyway, I can't really return to that part of my life again. If I feel the urge, I can finger a few woven pieces I still have to remind me of the hours in which, long ago, I would happily lose myself in counting threads or swaying with the rhythm of throwing the shuttle.

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Donna Hamer
Ventura, California
My Blog: gardenofdeedee@blogspot.com