Ten More Pounds of Electra

While I weeded the flax plot on May 6th, I was simultaneously glad for the opportunity to dig out the campion, and worried about weed pressure later in the summer, and worried that nothing had come up yet. So, I decided to spread another ten pounds of seed. There were a few reasons for this. First, I was worried that I hadn’t accounted enough for the possibility that I’d get a really low germination rate. Second, the more densely the flax is planted, the less the stalks ought to branch as they grow. Third, the more crowded the plants are, the finer the stalks will be and theoretically the finer the fiber will be. Fourth, a dense stand of flax might, hopefully, crowd out weeds.

I decided to just hand-broadcast the new seed. Then, I worked it in with my newly acquired Garden Weasel, procured from Hadley Garden Center. In the photo below I am about a quarter of the way down the plot. The darker soil to the right has been worked over:

As I worked the Garden Weasel through the soil, I became more intimately familiar with the crops that were grown on that site last year:

The side of the field where I planted the Electra had been planted with beets last year. The bed right next to it was planted with Brussels sprouts. The Brussels sprout stalks are really impressive. They remind me of a piece of cholla cactus wood:

Once I had worked over the whole plot, I walked around on it to pack it down more firmly. There were still quite a lot of seeds on the surface of the soil, but I hoped that the majority had been worked under. Recommended planting depth for flax is between a half inch to an inch. Any deeper than that and they might not be able to emerge at all. So, I decided to err on the side of too shallow.

That night, it rained heavily again, which was a relief. For the rest of the week, I worried about whether I had disturbed the seeds from the first sowing date, and perhaps made matters worse with all my fussing and re-working of the bed. The weather was dry but very cool. Finally this morning, May 13th, there are some seedlings emerging!


Weeding Out Campion

On May 6th, after the rain stopped, I stopped by the flax plot to see how things were going. There were no flax seedlings, but there was a lot of some other plant that I didn’t recognize.

They were big, robust, and had very deep and spreading roots. Since the flax hadn’t emerged yet, I decided to seize the opportunity to weed out as much of these deep-rooted plants as I could. So, I got a pitchfork and began digging.

Here are some of the uprooted plants:

I noticed some dried seed pods in the soil, and it reminded me of a familiar wildflower. At the time, though, I couldn’t remember the name. Here are the seed pods:

Fortunately, Ryan from Many Hands Farm Corps came along, and stopped for a brief chat. I asked him what the plant was, and he identified is as campion. He also said it is the most significant weed he deals with in those fields. I can see why! It is incredibly hard to dig out.

The Minnesota Wildflowers page has some great information and photographs. I think this type is white campion, but I’ll know more once it blooms. According to my favorite weed identification guide Weeds of the Northeast, the Latin name is either Silene alba or Silene latifolia (it lists other synonyms, too). Here’s a plant that’s getting ready to flower right at the edge of my plot:

Campion is a very pretty wildflower, and once it starts blooming (which will be in May), I’m sure I will be happy to see it. Which really just underscores the fact that a weed is only a plant that is growing where you don’t want it to.

By the end of the evening, I felt pretty satisfied with the results of my weeding:

Planting Electra

On Sunday April 30th I planted this year’s flax crop. Thanks to the generosity and support of Bernard Brennan at Amethyst Farm and Jeffrey Silberman in the Textile Development and Marketing Department at Fashion Institute of Technology, I am going big this year. Well, big for me. Up until now I have never grown much more than 225 square feet in a given season. This year I have planted approximately 1500 square feet!

Last summer at the Flax and Linen Symposium, Jeff donated a 25 kg box of flax seed to our study group. That’s about 55 lbs. if you’re more of an imperial measurement person, like myself. It is a type called Electra which was grow at Biolin in Saskatchewan, Canada. It is from 2012, so it is a little on the old side, but Jeff has been growing crops from the same shipment since then, and it has worked well for him.

Jeff recommended planting more densely than usual to account for the decreased germination rate that one might expect from older seed. At the rate that the Zinzendorfs recommend (a pound per 100 square feet), I would have put in 20 lbs. for a 2000 square foot plot. I decided at first to plant 20 lbs. in 1500 square feet, and hope that was dense enough.

Bernard was kind enough to disc harrow the plot in mid-April, in a plot next to some of Many Hands Farm Corps‘ CSA fields. He went over the plot again with a spring tooth harrow and culti-packer on April 29th, and we met on the morning of April 30th to plant.

Here I am measuring out the plot:

We marked the corners with stakes. I decided to try spreading the seed with a seed spreader rather than broadcasting by hand, as I usually do. I thought it might be quicker and might help me to spread more evenly. When I do it by hand, I tend to get clumps and bald spots. Bernard lent me a spreader for the occasion. You hang the bag around your shoulders, and can adjust the size of the opening through which the seeds fall out the bottom. On the left you can see the gauge for adjusting the opening. On my first pass I had it set too small, so I opened it a little wider for the rest of the process. You turn a crank on the side to spin a little blade that disperses the seed as it falls:

Becoming skillful with this tool would take some practice. Since this was my first time using it, I am not sure if I was able to sow any more evenly than usual. But, it was a good learning experience. I walked up and down, around and around, and back and forth until all the seed was spread. Twenty pounds of Electra filled 4 gallon sized zip-lock bags, in case you’re wondering. Each bag weighed 5 lbs. I started with a 5 lb. bag, then put in 10 lb. for the next pass, and the last 5 lb. bag for the third pass.

Then, Bernard went back over the whole thing a few times with the spring tooth harrow plus culti-packer  to work the seeds down into the soil and press the seed bed to make it a little flatter.

Here’s a closer view of the equipment:

Later that day it poured with rain, and we had cool, rainy weather all week, which meant I didn’t worry about water. I took this as a good omen!

Japanese Indigo Seedlings

Back on April 16th, I set up a germination experiment with about 300 Japanese indigo seeds from 2014. I put them between layers of wet paper towels inside a zip-lock bag and placed them on top of the hot water heater. It took a really long time for any of them them to sprout. Here’s what they looked like on April 24th:

Nothing had germinated, but there was a lot of gunky moldy stuff developing. I decided that more warmth was needed, and that they needed a fresh start. So I moved all the seeds to new wet paper towels, and rested them on top of a facecloth on the heater in the bathroom. We can close the door to the bathroom and keep the heat in. It would have been more efficient to have a seedling warming mat, but this method worked OK.

Here’s what they looked like on April 26th. Right in the center of this image is a little sprout:


By April 29th quite a few had sprouted. I was very excited, but the overall germination rate was terrible! Out of 310 seeds only 22 actually sprouted, which is about 7%. On the other hand, 22 is much better than nothing.

I potted them up on April 29th:

I put them in the wagon so I could pull them inside at night. For the first week of May we had a cool spell and it was very rainy. Not the best weather for tender starts. So, I scouted around for a way to create a make-shift greenhouse. Fortunately, that week our May Day celebration at school involved catering platters, so I was able to rescue a couple from the recycling bin and repurpose them:

It has worked pretty well so far. We put the platters out during the day and bring them in at night. Four pots didn’t fit, so they are just faring as well as they can in a milk-crate. As in previous years, our compost is full of tomatillo seedlings, but this year I was prepared for their emergence. On the left are some pots with a whole lot of seedlings, including tomatillos and a lone morning glory. On the right are the pots after weeding:

I am familiar enough with Japanese indigo seedlings now that I can tell them apart from the tomatillos. The Japanese indigo seedlings have pink stalks. Their leaves are rounder, more succulent-looking, and are a slightly darker shade of green. In this photo the leaves also have a pinkish tinge:


The Japanese indigo seedling is right in the center of the image above. My other identification trick was to place a single sprouted seed in the center of a pot, so I knew exactly where to look for emergence. So far, so good. If all goes well, I will have 22 Japanese indigo plants to transplant come June.


Farm School Dye Day

One of the fun things I got to do last week was to visit the Farm School in Athol, MA, and to lead a natural dyeing workshop for the participants in their adult farming program. The Farm School combines two of my favorite things: agriculture and education. I had never visited their farm before, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity to be there and to get a better understanding of their different programs. I was greeted by this cheery sign when I first arrived:

Well, actually, when I first pulled up I was greeted by large, white goats browsing the brambles along the side of the road. The goats were accompanied by some friendly humans with welcoming smiles, so I knew I was in the right place. But at that point I was keeping both hands on the wheel and was driving very cautiously. I did not try to snap photos, since goats can be unpredictable! In reality I took this photo on my way out, once the coast was clear.

After a helpful orientation, I was invited to a delicious lunch of spicy daal with the adult student farmers with whom I would be working that afternoon. The food was very yummy and much appreciated! And in case it wasn’t spicy enough, there was a bottle of Sriracha to squirt on top. That’s my kind of meal.

After lunch, we jumped right into the dyeing process. There were roughly 15 students, and the goal was to run a hands-on workshop in which everyone could directly participate. We ran five different dyebaths or vats, in order to offer a range of colors and techniques. We used dried weld to make a bright yellow, dried marigolds to make a golden yellow, an umbilicate lichen vat for a purplish-magenta shade, chopped madder roots for a brick-red, and natural indigo powder for blue.

Students divided into teams of three to make and monitor each dyebath.  We used the Farm School’s own wool for this workshop from their flock of primarily Border Leicester sheep, which were sheared earlier this season. The fleeces were spun into skeins at Green Mountain Spinnery in Putney, VT, and were mordanted with aluminum sulfate by Stephanie Cook, who organized this whole lovely experience.

Here is a photo of some of the students testing the pH of a dyebath using pH test strips:

Students also mixed and tested a solution of soda ash that we used as a pH modifier. The pH of a dyebath (how acidic or alkaline the bath is) can make a big difference in the colors that are obtained. Weld and madder also benefit from the addition of calcium carbonate (chalk) to enrich the color, so we used it for both of those baths.

Indigo vats are particularly tricky. For making blue, I usually use fresh plant material during the summer and fall months. For many years I have used woad, and more recently, have used Japanese indigo a couple times. I am very confident with those methods, but I was a little anxious about the indigo vat. While I have certainly run indigo vats before, they can be fussy and we were on a limited time table. Luckily, it worked out fine.

The team that set up the indigo vat wore gloves to handle some of the ingredients. In the interest of time, we used a quickie chemical vat rather than a natural fermentation vat. We used lye and thiourea dioxide to make the stock solution. The indigo powder and Thiox were from Long Ridge Farm in Westmoreland, NH.

Here’s the indigo station. The deep blue skein in the tub on the right is what we dyed that afternoon:

Here is a happy dyer contemplating the prospect of brightly colored yarn:

Here is a shot of students watching the stove:

Each team was responsible for monitoring the temperature of their dyebath and timing how long the dyeplant or the yarn was in the pot. This photo reminds me of the proverb, “A watched pot never boils.” I actually think that this adage is meant to remind dyers that you have to watch your dyebaths to make sure they don’t get too hot. When you are dealing with natural dye materials that are temperature sensitive, such as madder and umbilicate lichen, it is important to make sure that your pot never boils.

Here is a shot of the stove in the kitchen where we were working. I have never run a workshop where we had access to an industrial gas stove, and it was quite a thrill! Six burners could run simultaneously:

I am a proponent of a long soak (overnight or more) and a delayed rinse (allowing the fiber to dry before rinsing) when using plant-based dyes. So, with the exception of the indigo-dyed skein, we transferred all the skeins and dyebaths to five gallon buckets at the end of the workshop so they could absorb more color before rinsing. The colors looked rich and promising by the end of the afternoon, and I hope the skeins turned out well. I certainly enjoyed my time there, and was grateful for the opportunity to meet this energetic and creative group of farmers!

Spinning Flax

Last week was April vacation, which meant I had more free time than usual to do fun things. Last Tuesday I was thrilled to spend about four hours with Lisa Bertoldi getting some instruction in spinning flax. You might think, with all the flaxy things I do, that I would already be good at spinning flax. Not yet. It has been a goal for me for many years, but recently it has made it to the top of my “urgent” list. Urgency plus vacation days equals actually devoting time to it! Thanks to Lisa, I am quite a bit better at spinning flax now.

Here is the strick of flax spread out on the table. I am getting the fiber ready to dress the distaff. You can see the distaff on the left:

A strick is a neat arrangement of long flax fibers known as “line”. The preparation usually comes in a neat twist, which looks like this:

When you first buy them, they are usually very neat and tidy, This one has come with me on a few flax processing demonstrations and educational programs. As a result, it has been handled quite a bit, and is not as tightly twisted as it once was.

This is not my own home-grown flax. This is some lovely dew-retted flax, which is why it has that soft greyish-silver color. I always water-ret my flax, which results in a light creamy-beige color. Sometimes it comes out quite bright, almost white. Here’s a photo of some of my own flax from 2012 and 2013:

Eventually I will spin up my own home-grown and hand-processed flax and weave it into something wearable. Meanwhile, I am using commercially bought flax to practice the techniques and hone my skills.

Here is the distaff with the flax distributed around it and tied in place. It is not expertly done, but I still think it looks very pretty:

I have always felt it was kind of odd that when you are processing the fiber, you put so much work into straightening up all the long fibers and getting them all nicely aligned. However, when you get ready to spin, you wrap the fibers around a distaff in a criss-crossing, jumbled sort of way. Conversations with flax spinners over the past several months have convinced me that it is, in fact, sensible. The reason to spread all the fibers around a distaff is that when you draw them down, you can more easily control exactly which fibers come into the drafting zone, and which fibers catch the twist and get drawn in as you spin.

Here are two views of me spinning:

You can see that with this style of distaff, we supported it by pushing it down into a belt around our waists. In the photo on the left, I am trying to figure out how to allow fewer fibers into my yarn. In the photo on the right, I have figured it out (somewhat!), and am trying to practice a rolling motion with my lower hand that allows moisture to reach across all the fibers and keeps the fibers continually grabbing onto each other. I would describe the sensation as attracting nearby fibers with a sort of twisty electricity, by briefly separating the fibers to increase the surface area of each strand of fiber so they can all wrap around one another securely with maximum contact.

The water bowl in the foreground is for wetting our fingers periodically. I was wetting my lower hand to moisten the fibers, and keeping the upper hand dry. Wet spinning allows for a smoother yarn. The towel on my lap is to catch drips.

While I managed to produce a consistent yarn after a couple hours, I also got a stiff neck using this set up. Lisa suggested tipping the distaff forward so it would be in front of me, but this felt awkward and insecure at the time. However, I think that having the fibers in the same line of sight as the orifice of the wheel would be much more comfortable and ergonomic.


Fiber Fiber Everywhere

When I’m describing the steps involved in extracting fiber from a fiber-plant such as flax, people often ask, “How on earth did anyone ever figure that out?” I have thought about this question a lot. I have many ideas about it. Some can be backed up with references and citations, and some are just hunches based on my personal experience.

I believe that we humans come from a long line of brilliant thinkers and observers, experimenters and creators. The human use of flax fibers in Europe dates to at least 34,000 years ago. Humans and our human-like relatives and ancestors have been really smart and really creative for tens if not hundreds of thousands of years. Furthermore, primates in general are really smart, so I am happily willing to accept any kind of habitat-modifying, tool-using, culture-teaching behaviors dating back 2 or 3 million years, at least. Which is all very deep. It is admittedly hard to have a clear mental picture of what life might have felt like for a hominid so long ago.

But lately I’ve been thinking that the answer to the question, “How on earth did anyone ever figure that out?” isn’t mysterious or inaccessible at all. With regard to fiber, at least, I actually think the answer is really straightforward:

People look around and notice things.

There is fiber lying around all over the place. I catch glimpses of it whenever I go for a walk… laying on the ground, tangled in a bush, climbing up a tree, hanging out in someone’s yard, or on the side of the road. Seriously, I can hardly walk anywhere without running into a tempting fiber source. Within walking distance of my home in western Massachusetts, there is literally fiber everywhere.

Here is a springtime tour of my plant-fiber observations. The first one is a photo I took along the dyke in Hadley the other day. This is an old milkweed stalk that weathered away through the winter. The fiber is too weak for cordage at this point, but it certainly catches the eye with its glistening sheen:

Here are a few photos of fibers in a vine that I am pretty sure is bittersweet, also along the dyke.  The touch of blue in the right hand photo is the Connecticut River. Bittersweet may be hated and vilified for its vigorous growth habits, but it sure looks promising for fiber:

Here is a close-up:

Here is another example of milkweed just lying there, right in the path, over at Amethyst Brook conservation area in Amherst. I took these photos yesterday:

These are from a walk today. This is yucca on the side of Route 9 in Amherst:

And this is more milkweed at Wentworth Farm in Amherst:

Testing Japanese Indigo Seed

In 2014 I was very excited to acquire my first Japanese indigo seedlings at the Massachusetts Sheep and Woolcraft Fair in Cummington, MA. I bought them from Blue By Ewe in Temple, New Hampshire. That year I saved the whole crop for seed. You can read about my harvest in an earlier blog post here. I intended to expand the amount I grew each year and save my own seed annually.

I did manage to grow my own seedlings in 2015, which I documented in a couple posts that you can link to here and here. I even managed to use the plants for dyeing that year. However, I was not on the ball to save seed in an organized way that fall, and I did not grow any Japanese indigo in 2016.

This week I am on vacation from school, and the weather yesterday was fantastically warm and sunny. So, I decided the day had come to clean up some seed and try to get some started. I have read that Japanese indigo seeds do not stay viable for very long, so I am not sure that any will grow.

At some point in the past I had separated some seeds and dried flower stalks in an 8-oz canning jar, so I started with this pile of colorful debris:

I originally thought that the pink dried flowers were just dried flowers. I assumed I would be able to winnow this pile like I have done with flax seeds. My method for that is to blow around the edge of a wide pan (really, the lid of a big pot) and let the lighter chaff blow away.

This method did not work. Everything blew away. Plus, I couldn’t see many seeds at all. What was going on?

I decided to separate the debris using a screen. I haven’t invested in actual seed-cleaning screens, but we picked up some small window screens last summer, and I used those. It worked really well to separate the smallest particles, which included a lot of dried soil:

On top of the screen were the larger particles, including the seeds and flowers, etc.:

As I rubbed the debris against the screen, I realized that the seeds were inside a dry papery cover. Even the little pink things that I had assumed were just dried flowers actually had seeds inside.

In the photo below, the shinier seeds are the ones from which the covering has been rubbed off. The duller ones with a slighter rougher texture still have the covering on:

To be honest, I am not sure if rubbing off the covering is helpful or harmful. Maybe too much rough handling will damage the seed coat, and/or maybe they would have germinated just fine with the outer layer still attached. We will see!

On the left hand side, below, is a close up of a damp paper towel with seeds sprinkled on, so I can see how many will germinate (if any) before I plant them. On the right are both of the paper towels I set up:

Here is the germination experiment bagged up (to retain moisture) and labeled:

Now that I had a pretty good method figured out for cleaning up the seed, I decided to separate all the flowering seed stalks from the dried leaves. I have never read anywhere, nor heard from anyone, that dried leaves are useful for dyeing. Alas. I kind of want to try them anyway because the color is incredible. So, I put the leaves into a separate bag, and wound up with a large paper grocery bag of leaves and stalks, and a smaller one with flower stalks. At the bottom of the original bag was a jumble of broken-off leaves, flowers, and seeds. For the final sifting job, I used a regular colander to separate the larger leaves from the rest:


Last Session on Saturday Afternoon

Once the morning sessions at the Flax and Linen Symposium were over, and had obviously been successful, I moved into the afternoon mode. I have already posted photos of the demo session in the afternoon. I didn’t post this photo at first because it seemed too frivolous. However, I decided to include it because you can obviously see that I am happy. Goofy and happy. As nervous as I was and as much as my legs were shaking, it was fun. So, here’s a photo of me having fun amidst the anxiety:

MP happy

The bemused person standing next to me is the lovely Jill Horton Lyons of Winterberry Farm in Colrain, MA. I continued to be nervous all the way until Saturday evening, however.

I was in charge of organizing and facilitating the last panel on Saturday afternoon, called “Flax Today”. After the demonstration session down at the History Workshop, everyone headed back to the Deerfield Community Center (where the majority of the symposium was held). We were all quite happy that they had installed air conditioning earlier in the summer, since it turned out to be a very hot day. Here’s a view of the room as we were gathering:

the roomful of people

Here are some of the presenters sitting in the front row right before we got started:

right before my panel

My goal with this session was to highlight a range of contemporary, small-scale flax-growing projects and to explore some of the challenges facing a revitalized flax-to-linen industry in North America. Here are the presenters on the Flax Today panel, and a quick summary of what they talked about:

Jeff Silberman is chair of the Textile Development and Marketing department in the Jay and Patty Baker School of Business and Technology at FIT. In this session, he was speaking about the current realities of natural fibers in the global textile market, and flax in particular. Linen is currently a teeny niche which is facing a formidable competitor in hemp, which he illustrated graphically as an almost-invisible sliver on a large textile pie-chart.

Jeff at podium

Patricia Bishop is an owner and farmer at TapRoot Farms and TapRoot FibreLab in Nova Scotia. TapRoot Fibre Lab is designing and producing a line of small-scale flax processing equipment. They are also acquiring spinning equipment to process both flax and locally grown wool into yarns with the goal of creating local cloth. Check out their blog here. Each piece of flax processing equipment can function separately, or can be installed as a system that’s appropriate and affordable for local fiber/local economy initiatives. Patricia presented about the history and development of their flax growing project. She also screened video explaining the line of equipment they are creating. Engineer Mike Pickett was originally scheduled to come to the symposium and present this portion himself. However, as their production deadline loomed, he needed to stay in Nova Scotia and finish up the construction of the last machine. So, the video included never-before-seen footage of their newest equipment in operation! I was so excited and felt so lucky to be in attendance for the North America debut of this video (which you can watch on You Tube here).

Patricia Bishop TapRoot Fibre Lab

Sandy Fisher is a professional weaver and a founder of the Chico Cloth project in California. They are growing flax in arid conditions (including small patches in the shade in the winter-time) and processing it by hand with the goal of creating a uniquely local cloth. Retting under such arid conditions is a challenge! You can view some news articles about their project here and here.

Sandy Fisher Chico Cloth

Destiny Kinal of the Reinhabitory Institute, presenting on her research into small-scale technologies, growing, and processing models that could be adapted for a bioregional approach to local cloth. She is especially interested in sources of energy that are not dependent on fossil fuels, is enthusiastic about the possibilities of solar, water, and wind-powered mills.

Destiny Kinal Reinhabitory InstituteDestiny’s observations about the labor and equipment used in pre-industrial times, and her speculations regarding the necessity of communal labor, made a great segue to the final talk on Saturday night.

For the keynote talk on Saturday evening, Christian and Johannes Zinzendorf presented their research about communal flax processing in the early Moravian community of Bethlehem, PA.

Here is Johannes explaining about the fate of religious non-conformist and reformer Jan Hus, who was burned at the stake in 1415 in Europe. The followers of Hus subsequently established the Unity of the Brethren, which become the Moravian church.

Johannes explaining

Early Moravian leader Nicolaus Zinzendorf believed that God entered directly into his heart, which you can catch a glimpse of in the illustration on the screen at the left of the photo:

straight to the heart

The Moravians were avid missionaries who established outposts all over the world, which is how they wound up in Pennsylvania. Nicolaus Zinzendorf was one of the founding members of the Moravian community of bethlehem, PA in the 1740s. In addition to explaining the history of Bethlehem, and the role of flax growing and processing in the town, the Zinzendorfs shared about their own personal journey and efforts to re-create an 18th century life-style. One major take-away for me was that two men, no matter how hard-working, creative, well-educated, and dedicated, cannot do the work of an entire community. They were inspiring nonetheless.


Later on Saturday Morning at the Flax and Linen Symposium

The rest of the morning was about retting and flax processing. Again, it’s hard to take photos in the dark, and it’s hard to summarize. The first speaker about retting was Cassie Dickson (John C. Campbell Folk School) with her amazing examples of the different colors that different retting conditions can produce.

The take-aways from Cassie’s talk were: Only experience with retting can help you figure out when enough is enough. Repeated observation of your specific climate and locale will help you determine when your ret is complete. Each ret, whether water-retted or dew-retted, is unique and will yield a specific color. Label your retting batches so you can keep track. Thicker stalks will ret more quickly. Thinner stalks will ret more slowly. In a deep tank, put the coarser stalks at the top and the finer ones below, so you can pull off the coarse bundles sooner. Retting makes the water acidic, which can cause problems in metal tanks. To do a “stem check”, you have to pull it out of the tank or off the field and dry it. Then test it to see if the fibers pull free. For water-retting, keep the bundles loose. For ground-retting, flip as frequently as you can given the limitations of your scale: Daily is fine for small batches, but weekly or every two weeks is reasonable for larger acreage. Cassie also related some specific recommendations compiled from Linda Heinrich, Mavis Atton, and other sources.

First, leach the dried straw for about 4 hours to get rid of the air in the stalks and other impurities.

Second, if you are using fresh soft water, aerobic bacteria start working at this point and will work for about 8 hours.

Third, after about 8 hours, anaerobic bacteria become active, and outweigh the aerobic (think about your unturned compost).

Fourth, beginning around the eight hour mark, change 10% of the water every 8 hours or so to neutralize the acidity (and presumably to change the oxygen ratio). If your water temperature is below 70 degrees, retting will take 2-3 weeks. If it’s between 75-80 degrees, retting will take 4-7 days. If the water temperature is between 80-90 degrees, retting will take 3-5 days.

Next up after Cassie, Gina Gerhard (fellow study group member and historical interpreter extraordinaire of the mid 1700s) talked about pond retting. She showed some historical slides explaining why and when certain types of retting pits, ponds, or tanks were used. Below a certain depth (3-4 feet), you can’t maintain a consistent temperature, so pits, tanks, or ponds were limited to this depth until there was some way to control the temperature in modern times. Gina also talked about the restored retting pond in Gilmanton, New Hampshire. I posted about my visit to Gilmanton here if you’d like to see photos. She also gave some specific pointers (from Fred Bradbury’s 1921 book, I believe) about how the best retting tanks were built. Soft water is preferred, and if that isn’t available, then fill the tanks 2-3 weeks ahead of time. Surface run-off was discouraged (perhaps this depends on what’s around your tank). Clay soils were preferred for an in-ground tank or pool because they were more stable and less prone to collapsing. Different colors of clay would stain the flax accordingly. Farmers would know their local climate, and would ret in the season with the most stable weather conditions. Maintaining a water temperature between 60-70 degrees for the necessary length of time wasn’t possible at certain times of the year in certain locales.

For an acre of flax, a retting tank or pond 36 feet by 10 feet by 4 feet was sufficient. A single ret (all your crop retted at one time) yielded consistency of color and therefore demanded a higher price. In sum, consider this: Imagine that you grow one crop of flax a year, from which your annual supply of textiles has to be produced. And you and all your neighbors have to combine your flax harvests and submerge it all in one big dammed-up stream to ret the flax. And it really, really has to be well-retted in order for anyone to get a new shirt that year. And you have to rely on the weather in New Hampshire to be favorable over a few weeks’ time in order to accomplish this. Not a 21st century problem, but one worth taking a moment to appreciate. How did anyone ever manage to actually have any clothes?!

The last speakers about retting were Christian and Johannes Zinzendorf (The Hermitage and The Big Book of Flax) talking about their experiences with retting in Pennsylvania. Their experience taught them that ground or dew retting may only be possible in certain locales. They found that it worked just fine around Bethlehem, PA, and they became expert at this method while they lived there. However, it didn’t work at all once they moved to the higher elevations in PA. Soil chemistry and soil microbiology are key. They switched to pond retting, and can ret in their pond in four days!! They use old doors to keep the flax submerged, and let the flax float loosely rather than tie it in bundles.

After that, Ron Walter (author of Stay at Home and Use Me Well) gave an overview of flax processing, using the diaries of 18th century farmers to guide us through the steps. Ron specifically referenced the Diary of Oliver Harris (1780-1845) from New Market Township, Ohio (who had moved to Ohio from New Jersey). The steps in processing flax are rippling (pulling off the the seed heads, usually done before retting to save the seed), threshing (opening up the seed pods to get the seeds out), braking (crushing the retted stems), swingling (scraping off the remaining woody material from the fiber), and heckling (separating the long from the short fibers, and aligning all the fibers for spinning). Ron estimates that families planted a quarter of an acre of flax for each family member, and they had to process their whole crop before the next year’s crop was ready to process. According to the diary of Oliver Harris, on one day in 1802 he crushed six and a half bushels of seed. The winnowing took several days. In 1830 he got 40 cents a bushel for cleaned flax seed. Oliver Harris was dew or ground retting between October and January. To dry the flax sufficiently to process it, he used a “kiln” or oven to warm it up and dry it out. His diary entry from March 22nd, 1803 indicates that he dressed 35 pounds of flax! Quantities that he processed on other days ranged from 13-19 pounds, and as high as 25 pounds a day when his sons and neighbors helped with the work. He often dressed flax for the neighbors, also.

Take away: Processing flax is, and was, a lot of work. Oliver’s family used their flax brake so heavily that he needed to build a new one every 4-8 years. Though it might sound a bit monotonous on paper, it was even more monotonous (and physically demanding) in reality. Plus, reality contained the added stress of literally having to make the very shirt on your back. Well, Oliver sold a lot of his dressed flax, which indicates that he wasn’t using it all himself. Also, one can imagine that you really had to get along with your family members and neighbors or you’d be working for hours in close quarters in awkward silence. Luckily some folk kept diaries so we’d know just exactly how hard life was in the 1700s.

That brings us up to lunchtime. Phew!