The Intentional thrifter: not so commonplace

I took a big bagful of stuff to the thrift store, but I also picked up three books and a top.

I think this wrap top is an awesome find. It's mostly lyocell, which is a nice-feeling fabric (and biodegradable). It's one of my favourite shades of purple. It has dolman sleeves, which don't show up so well here. It's even reversible.

Frontwards, which leaves the back sort of open and looks more like you've turned it backwards.

Backwards, with the bottom knotted.  Unknotted leaves it hanging a bit open, but that would be okay over a tank top.

Books to pack and read at the new place: Wendell Berry's The Art of the Commonplace, Mortimer J. Adler's The Great Ideas, and A Novelist's Commonplace Book, which is more of a mini-dictionary of writing terms, as defined by Michael Crawley.

Wendell Berry and Us (Fashion Revolution Week, Final Post)

"Care in small matters makes us trustworthy in greater. When we come to be trusted with the property of others, whether in money or material, we are on our guard against wastefulness, carelessness, extravagance, because integrity requires that we should take care of and make the most of whatever property is put into our hands..." Charlotte Mason, Ourselves, pp. 177-178

"At present, too ignorant to know how ignorant we are, we believe that we are free to impose our will upon the land with the utmost power and speed to gain the largest profit in the shortest time...The woods is left a shambles, for nobody thought of the forest rather than the trees." ~~ Wendell Berry, "A Forest Conversation," in Our Only World 

For Christians, the idea of being entrusted with another's property is integral to our understanding of stewardship. God made it all. He gives it to us...trusts us to care for it, not (as Mason says elsewhere) to throw battery acid into the watch workings.

There's also the proverb about borrowing the earth from our grandchildren. Caring for what belongs to others also means honouring the past and thinking of the future. What do we want to hand down, and I don't mean just ecology-wise?

"Any conversation at home between grandparents and grandchildren is potentially the beginning of a local culture, even of a sustaining local culture, however it might be cut short and wasted." ~~ Wendell Berry

Do we want to pass down the values of big ideas and small things, and not just growth for its own sake? Then we have to live like that ourselves. To repeat something from a previous year's Fashion Revolution post: it's never too late to plant some pizza seeds.

"To learn to meet our needs without continuous violence against one another and our only world would require an immense intellectual and practical effort, requiring the help of every human being perhaps to the end of human time.

"This would be work worthy of the name 'human.' It would be fascinating and lovely." ~~ Wendell Berry

So what does this mean when we buy socks?

"The logger who is free of financial anxiety can stop and think." 

"We...must think of reverence, humility, affection, familiarity, neighborliness, cooperation, thrift, appropriateness, local loyalty. These terms return us to the best of our heritage. They bring us home." ~~ Wendell Berry

Christmas C.M. Countdown, Day 6

Did you ever hear that really old anecdote about the boy (sometimes it's a husband) calling downstairs to his mother (or his wife) to ask if he should put a shirt in the wash or wear it again? She, reportedly, calls back that no, he should not wear it. When he asks how she knew without looking, she says, "If it's doubtful, it's dirty." We may not agree with her laundry methods, but her caution makes a good point.

Chastity, Fortitude, and Prudence: what do they have in common, besides sounding like old ladies shaking fingers at us? They are principles that are supposed to keep a rein on temptations, and keep us out of trouble. Having an under-supply of them should send up red flags to a conscious Conscience, even before real trouble starts. When it comes to House of Body activity, like eating and drinking, relationships, shopping for stuff, even handling hard times courageously (that's Fortitude), it seems that we need to put our heads ahead of our hearts.  If we let our ears be tickled by suggestions, and don't consider consequences, we've already invited trouble. (This is why every minimalist end-of-year-decluttering list suggests unsubscribing from online advertising.)

Note that this does not mean we are never to take risks or try new things, or even to put ourselves in danger for someone else's good. What we're talking about here are matters that should be brought to the Conscience; and if we're going to violate House of Body principles like Chastity and Prudence, we'd better have better than a good reason (because Reason can always come up with a reason). There are times when other principles do come ahead of things like Prudence. The woman who anointed Jesus with perfume was imprudent; but He called it a beautiful act. O. Henry's young marrieds throw caution to the Christmas winds to buy each other their hearts' desires. Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow carouses with the men of his adopted village because it's the only way to become one with them. Townsfolk of a more respectable leaning think that he's a reprobate and not worth their notice. Obviously Conscience can be a very individual matter.

Still, it seems that these are exceptions, and we err more often by ignoring the doubtful-dirty rule.There may even be situations where we have to be more chaste, more prudent, or show more fortitude than others. I know someone whose child has nut allergies, and their family can't shop from bulk bins because of cross-contamination. Most of what's there would probably be fine, but they don't want to risk it.

How do we deal with a chronic shortage of House of Body principles?  It may be as simple as saying to yourself, "No, I'm not going there" when you feel tempted to want or even look at what you don't have (and not just materially). But, says Charlotte Mason, don't forget to fill the Library of Conscience with images of those who did and didn't live out those values. Here's an example she uses in Ourselves Book II, Chapter VI, about a young woman being led astray:

"'How strange it is,' she thought that evening, 'that I should feel as if this charming afternoon's walk were somehow, not exactly wrong, but yet as if it were not right!'" (Ruth, by Mrs. Gaskell)

Had Ruth been doing something sinful? No, just walking home from church with someone she thought was kind and attentive. It seems, though, that this man was carefully manipulating their meetings, amusing himself at her expense. But since she was young and innocent, how could she be expected to resist a little gentlemanly attention? According to Mrs. Gaskell, Ruth did know that something was off. She just didn't trust the little voice that said "No." And trouble, of course, followed. (I think Ruth is a human version of Jemima Puddleduck.)

Fortitude seems to stand a little apart here from Prudence, Chastity, and their close friend Temperance. What are the little attacks we need to look out for in that area? First and most obviously, the thought in our minds that it's too much, we're tired, it's time to give up. But second, a hint that maybe we are entitled to a bit of attitude and self-pity, and extra sympathy from others. Note that promoting Fortitude is not ignoring the question of why evil and suffering exist, and why some people are given incredible burdens; and it's also not (usually) a good place for others to interfere, either to scold or to enable negative behaviour. But if we let our own Conscience search for bitterness and sulking, we may be surprised at what turns up. The point is not adding to anyone's burdens by creating guilt; it's about lightening them by losing energy-draining attitudes and excuses.

Exercising Prudence, or Chastity, or Fortitude, gives us opportunities to build up character muscle by saying "No." No, I don't need to mentally re-visit that relationship, or wish for what didn't happen. No, I don't need to spend that money on myself that's planned for saving. But we also receive a gift of "Yes." Yes, I can say thank you for what I have. Yes, I can boost someone else's spirits today, because I understand what it's like to be sick or lonely. And yes, I can do this hard thing for the ones I love, and for the One I love most of all.

Can you have a capsule reading wardrobe?

I have never been one to minimize on books. But you probably knew that already.

So recently I was thinking through that clothes problem of "if I buy one more thing, I'll have to get rid of something else, and I really don't want to, because I like what I have." I have a similar issue with books: they come home, by ones and twos; or long-awaited holds drop into my Overdrive account; and, like taking an overfilled buffet plate, I sometimes don't get more than a taste of them before the next clear-out. I do finish a lot of books too, but sometimes they go by too fast.

I made a list of what I need to and want to read and re-read in the coming months, including some bit-by-bit books. Where do I want to be, reading-wise, when 2020 rolls in? I have textbooks, they're high priority. Bible reading as well. But then what? Do I want to be here in a year and a half and say that I didn't crack the cover of Pilgrim's Progress in that time? Or that I made no steady progress through a Charlotte Mason volume? Or that I never did finish Wendell Berry's Sabbath poems, or The Invention of Clouds?

 It's a pretty serious-looking list, but it's not impossible. Here's the thing, though: if I start throwing in more books, even good ones, something good I wanted to read is going to get edged out. See the parallel?

Of course plans can change. Books turn out to be boring, and pants ride up. Replacements are sometimes necessary. But in the meantime, I'm looking at books that didn't make the list, and thinking, "Do you really deserve shelf real estate if I have no plan to even look at you until 2020?"

Some of them do, because I know I will pull them out when I know just where that quote is, or because I suddenly want to re-read that Elizabeth Goudge forest scene. Some of them are just treasures.

Others...they're falling into the "so many books, so little time" category. Like thriftworthy clothes,  great titles pop up all the time in our sorting space, between the romance novels, the diet books, and the multiple copies of Eat Pray Love.  But I'm just one reader with just so much time. Knowing which books I'm looking forward to reading (textbooks included) makes it easier to thin out the rest.

Quote for the day: What trees really want

"They wait.
They have no fear. Their fate
Is faith. Birdsong
Is all they've wanted, all along."  

~~ from 1991 #8 in This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems, by Wendell Berry

Four book finds

Recent thrift store book finds:

Sounding the Seasons: 70 Sonnets for the Christian Year, by Malcolm Guite

That Distant Land: The Collected Stories, by Wendell Berry

Deep Writing, by Eric Maisel

An Other Kingdom: Departing the Consumer Culture, by Peter Block, Walter Brueggemann, and John McKnight

Minimalism: sometimes it's hard to count on

I've said before that my "second Bible" during our early married life was the 1990's Tightwad Gazette. Amy Dacyczyn wrote about her life as a dedicated yard-saler, stuff-stretcher, dupe-it-yourself-er, and occasional do-without-er. She described her wardrobe at the time as consisting of three pairs of jeans (this year's, last year's, and the year before's), and three pairs of sneakers (ditto).Like Amy, I have a mostly-casual lifestyle, so for a long time, I was pretty happy to follow suit. Or rather, jeans. If it came along, fit more or less, and was cheap enough, I would probably wear it. (I drew the line at mustard and orange.)

A couple of years ago, after a period of too much black stuff, I dumped almost everything and started from scratch. I also noticed the growing trend towards minimalism of all kinds. Japanese. Ecological. Inner-peaceful. What that meant for me was zeroing in on a few clothes I really liked and that fit, rather than trying to deal with my previous thrifted and freebie mishmash.

The funny part was that, once I started looking a little harder at my favourite thrift stores, I kept finding stuff I liked. (Was it all there before? I don't know.) Following the Project 333 tiny-wardrobe plan, plus our move to a smaller space, helped to keep a limit on what was hanging in the closet. But I wasn't sure if I could or should aspire to Courtney Carver's level of non-self-consciousness about clothes. (Been there, done that.) It's possible to say that time spent shopping and figuring out what to wear is, essentially, time wasted, because (Courtney asserts) nobody really notices or cares what you wear. But for me, that negative side of minimalism feels like the equivalent of "nobody notices what you cook" (well, sometimes that's true), or "nobody cares what you say." Why bother?

I find it to be the other way around. I think about and enjoy what I'm wearing, the texture of a corduroy skirt, the shade of a scarf, the way my boots fit. I like the furniture and art that we've arranged in our apartment, the flowered teapot we found on an antiquing trip, my grandfather's little chair, the doily a friend crocheted, Mr. Fixit's electronic works-in-progress spread on the table. I like the poetry books, including Wendell Berry's Sabbath poems that I found for sale along with beeswax candles and essential oils in the "hemp cafe." (I bought the book and a vegan brownie, left the rest.) I like the unexpectedness of late corn on the cob from the farm stand, and the bowl of red grapes that's waiting for dessert tonight.

My conclusion is that sometimes I just like to bother. I am happier bothering. The mistake would be if I counted on clothes, food, or other stuff to fill the empty places. Or if I started keeping score of compliments, or worrying about negative remarks.

And for that reason, I decided two things. First, I pulled out my few extra non-capsule clothes, and added them to the closet where they can be responsible for any bouts of wardrobe indecision I may incur as a result. (I'm not too worried.) Second, I won't be posting a new clothes page for the winter. I feel like I've barely gotten started wearing the fall clothes, and anyway I don't own any others to rotate them with. Snow boots, maybe, but that's it.

So: fewer numbers, less planning, at least for the next few months. Less guilt if I add in a thrifted sweater or two (I could actually use one), or wear a top I thought I wouldn't see for awhile. A little more freedom to bother...so I won't have to bother.

From the archives: Wendell Berry on the complexity of simplifying

First posted October, 2009. From this interview with Jeff Fearnside in The Sun Magazine. 

Berry: They didn’t have electricity. All their technology was nineteenth century. But they were satisfied, and they lived a great life — they made a great life. It was a work of art.

Fearnside: So their answer was to simplify their lives so that they required less income and could do the things they were passionate about.

Berry: They reduced costs, but when you do that, you make your life more complex. It’s much simpler to live by shopping.

Quote for the day: In the company of the tree

"When we call a tree a tree, we are not isolated among words and facts but are at once in the company of the tree itself and surrounded by ancestral voices calling out to us all that trees have been and meant. This is simply the condition of being human in this world, and there is nothing that art and science can do about it, except get used to it." ~~ Wendell Berry, "The Loss of the University," in Home Economics

Oh yes, please do read this today

More than once, I've gone back to Wendell Berry's novel Hannah Coulter; even posted about it here in relation to the way the children in the Branch family grew up, learning what they needed to learn and doing what they needed to do. One of the latest Circe Institute blog posts looks at the theme of education throughout the book, discussing what happened to Hannah's own children (who became successful in the modern sense, but lost too much personally). As the article asks, does schooling (and then work outside the home) have to mean the loss of one's roots?

Quote for the day: on perspective and place

"...this is the work of an old kind of mind, of long attention and familiarity...The shapes of these old fields were not laid down by an eye sighting above the surface of the land but by many eyes looking up from and out of an ancient usage and familiarity; they were not imposed on the land but grew out of it." ~~ Wendell Berry, "Irish Journal" in Home Economics

Teacher training this week

Reading:
Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night (done that; lots of discussion about women's education)
Re-reading the last half of Charlotte Mason, School Education (got through that in one morning)
Making Sense of Adult Learning, by Dorothy MacKeracher (taking me longer)
Wendell Berry's poems
A surprisingly relevant newspaper column today about the science of relations (maybe I'll write a post about that)

Listening to:
Dr. Gwendolyn Starks, "Creative Writing with the Inklings and Friends"

Using all that to:
re-edit some of our Grade Eight plans.

Epiphany, liturgy, lasagna (and Charlotte Mason)

Epiphany, January 6th, celebrates Christ made manifest--shown in His glory to the Gentiles, who are represented by the Magi.  A manifestation is when you see something, right?  And "having an epiphany" is often used, these days, to describe suddenly seeing (and understanding) something clearly.

And what is "liturgy?"  A generic definition might be "a fixed set of ceremonies."  A spiritual habit or discipline, maybe.  If you attend a liturgical church, it means that the worship time is laid out ahead of time, word for word: prescribed, observed, repeated.  As opposed to figuring it out fresh every time, or letting everything happen spontaneously.

In the Mitford books, Father Tim, an Episcopalian priest, often goes off by himself to "repeat the office."  He is not going to his office; he is saying his prayers, those that are laid out in the prayer book for different days and different times of day. An office is a service you do for someone, in the same way that we call worship time a service. That's where we get our word "officer."

On a site called The Daily Office West, I found this thought (in their FAQs: "The Office provides a framework for your thoughts, needs, concerns, thanksgivings, confessions and resolutions, so your praying becomes extremely personal. You wouldn't build a house without a foundation; once that’s down, you follow a written plan, and after it’s done, you decorate it so it suits your personality. Ideally, the Office provides a discipline; that’s why it’s best used Daily. If you wait until you’re inspired to pray spontaneously, God may be waiting a very long time to hear from you."

Framework, written plan, discipline. What does this have to do with Epiphany, or Charlotte Mason? It's coming, hold on.

Several years ago I posted "Lasagna Without Recipes," meaning that you could add a variety of ingredients, mix and match, leave out the tomato sauce or the cheese or the meat, and still have something that's recognizably lasagna.  But you still have to give it structure with noodles or something else to keep it separated in layers, or what you end up with is not lasagna.  It might be a good casserole, but it's not lasagna, because it's the structure that gives it its shape and identity.

Like lasagna, we need a framework in our worship, our life and our learning. Or at least we can say that a framework gives it more meaning.

In her preface to The Living Page, Laurie Bestvater quotes a passage from Wendell Berry's novel Jayber Crow, about seminary students who "could tell you" but "didn't see."  They could not see the beauty of the world around them, and so did not connect it with the Creator.  She also refers to Charlotte-Mason-style notebooks as things that "teach us to see" AND that are "the liturgy of the attentive life."  A framework, a discipline, a structure...and yet a place to add our individuality, our own taste.  ("Us" and "our" also meaning the students, of course.)

A big epiphany, a star in the heavens, might be experienced once in a lifetime, but we can watch for small epiphanies, glimpses of glory. And if we make use of the disciplines of learning, they may help us to keep our eyes open.

Linked from Hot Homeschool Hop: January 2014, at the HSBA Post.

The Living Page, by Laurie Bestvater (Book Review)

Have you noticed that Charlotte Mason seems to be keeping unusual company these days?

Over the last few years, Miss Mason's philosophy has taken on what she herself might have called a new small-c catholicity, and it's not unusual to hear her quoted along with Wendell Berry, St. Benedict, and scientists researching brain function. Like Anne of Green Gables with her hair up and her skirts down, CM has taken on a possibly unexpected but not unbecoming seriousness.  At a recent gathering in Ontario, we heard the word "homeschooling" from the speakers much less than we heard both literary language (myth, metaphor) and spiritual vocabulary (transformation, meditation, sacrament, Glory).  As a community, we seem less determined now to "use" Charlotte Mason for our own purposes, and more interested in discovering and discussing the truths of her philosophy.  (The fact that we can even identify a "CM community" is a milestone in itself.)   Even if you haven't attended CM conferences or retreats, you might still have noticed that the general image of Charlotte Mason education is maturing, partly because there is more previously-unavailable information available, and partly because there are some tenacious individuals digging through those resources and sharing their finds.

Laurie Bestvater's recent book The Living Page, published by Underpinnings Press, reflects that different, more contemplative view of CM, and at the same time manages to be a practical resource not only for homeschooling parents, but for classroom teachers and anyone with an interest in lifetime education.  It does not attempt to cover the how-to's of every school subject, and omits the already-well-known history of Charlotte Mason, her college and correspondence school.  Instead, The Living Page puts the focus on the role of Mason's "paper graces," or student-kept notebooks.  Using many quotations from Mason's own writings, as well as archived examples such as the nature notebooks of student teachers, Laurie Bestvater defends the idea that these notebooks are not optional or peripheral, but absolutely central to a Mason-style, living-ideas, relationship-based education. She shows how and at what ages certain activities were begun in Charlotte Mason's schools, and discusses not only specifics of the various books, but the balance and connections between them.  Taken together, they form a large and vital part of a child's self-education.

Giving students choice in what to write and draw, allowing them time to contemplate and observe, may have been unusual in Mason's day; but it is no less rare and threatened in our own time, in these days of easily- reproduced fill-in pages and visual examples at our fingertips.  How does this style of notebook-keeping reflect Mason's consistent rationale, her overall vision that culminates in what she called The Way of the Will?  Laurie Bestvater's detailed descriptions, along with photographs of new and vintage examples, give shape to ideas that may have previously seemed too abstract or not important enough to work into an already-full curriculum. But the book goes well beyond a simple description of how to keep the Book of Centuries, the commonplace book, and the nature notebook as Charlotte Mason knew them, and becomes a plea for a more human heartbeat in children's education.  If a child keeps a notebook that gives her a "sense of possession and delight," and the delight is not so much because the end product is beautiful but because it reflects her own learning," the connections she has noticed, the relationships she is creating, is that not more valuable than many worksheets that will be filed away somewhere and then discarded?

The Living Page is, especially in its final section, a manifesto for what, throughout the book, is variously referred to as being "Keepers," living fully, and knowing Glory.  It echoes what Susan Schaeffer Macaulay wrote in For the Children's Sake: that Charlotte Mason, with her emphasis on the value of the person, had insights that went beyond teaching children to read and do math, that there are important truths in her work that cross the lines of sacred/secular, school/homeschool, child/adult, then/now.

Laurie Bestvater's ability to combine literary examples with personal insights, while staying true to Charlotte Mason's philosophy and practice, makes The Living Page a unique and significant contribution to CM literature. Well recommended.


Disclaimer:  I was provided with a copy of The Living Page to review, but did not receive any other compensation.  The opinions expressed are my own.

Found: similes!

Our last lesson in Matt Whitling's Grammar of Poetry was about similes.  Similes are sometimes harder to find than you'd think. I keep seeing personification, metaphor, but not so many similes.

But here are some I just came across.

Oh! I have just had such a lovely dream!
And then I woke,
And all the dream went out like kettle-steam,
Or chimney-smoke.

My dream was all about--how funny, though!
I've only just
Dreamed it, and now it has begun to blow
Away like dust.

~~ Eleanor Farjeon, from "Waking Up," in The Kingfisher book of Children's Poetry

In a single motion the river comes and goes.
At times, living beside it, we hardly notice it
as it noses calmly along within its bounds
like the family pig.  But a day comes
when it swiftens, darkens, rises, flowers over
its banks, spreading its mirrors out upon the flat fields of the valley floor, and then
it is like God's love or sorrow, including
at last all that had been left out.

~~ Wendell Berry, from "Sabbaths 1998" in Given: poems

Countdown to School: Handicrafts bring General Joy in Well-Being*

"Section III: The Knowledge of the Universe:  Science and Geography; Mathematics; Physical Development and Handicrafts"   ~~ Charlotte Mason, Toward a Philosophy of Education

The question for today:  what are "handicrafts" doing in Charlotte Mason's "Knowledge of the Universe" section?  Shouldn't they be listed with the humanities subjects, "Knowledge of Man?"  There's little explanation given in that part of Volume 6; it comes later on, when she's discussing adult education.

"Again we know that the human hand is a wonderful and exquisite instrument to be used in a hundred movements exacting delicacy, direction and force; every such movement is a cause of joy as it leads to the pleasure of execution and the triumph of success. We begin to understand this and make some efforts to train the young in the deft handling of tools and the practice of handicrafts. Some day perhaps, we shall see apprenticeship to trades revived and good and beautiful work enforced. In so far, we are laying ourselves out to secure that each shall "live his life"; and that, not at his neighbor's expense; because, so wonderful is the economy of the world that when a man really lives his life he benefits his neighbor as well as himself; we all thrive in the well being of each."  ~~ Charlotte Mason, Philosophy of Education (page 328)

Those of us of the feminine persuasion live in a post-Millennial crafty age.  (I'm not saying we all participate in it, it's just one of our "zeitgeists.") Some men too, but you have to admit that the Etsy decorating-crafting-vintage world is, by and large, an aqua-coloured, ball-fringe-trimmed feminine preserve.  With a juvenile subsection made up of coloured foam and plastic google eyes.

That wasn't really what Charlotte Mason meant by handicrafts, at least not as they should be included in a child's education.  At the least, she was decidedly in favour of natural materials:  pottery, baskets, needlework, rugs, and work in wood and leather (topics from a crafting book recommended for the oldest PUS girls).  A little more towards the "green" end, or, for homeschoolers, maybe saluting the Waldorfers' love of beeswax and wool felt.

But "crafting" and "having a craft" is traditionally about even more than having fun or making something pretty, as the quote from Philosophy of Education shows.  I just finished reading Charles Kingsley's 1850 novel Alton Locke, which is about tailors, sweatshops, and bad political and economic systems.  Near the end of the book, after he's failed miserably at trying to save the world through political agitation, Alton hears about a Christian woman who, when she was widowed at a young age, set up a house for some of her "fallen sisters" and helped them sell their own work for fair prices instead of the tiny amounts they had earned by doing piecework.  A crafts co-operative, in other words.  Fair trade on a small scale.  Everybody benefits.

Which has a lot to do with the kind of community-based, small-is-beautiful economy that Wendell Berry eulogizes in his novels (Jayber Crow, Hannah Coulter) and his essays.

""When the children got old enough to quit school, if they wanted to quit, they were allowed to do as their father had done....Every one of them seemed to have a perfect faith in the education they got ouside of school, which they didn't even call 'education.' Out of school, they learned what they evidently thought they needed most to know: to keep house, to raise a garden or a crop, to care for livestock, to break a mule or shoe one, to fix a motor and almost anything else, to hunt, fish, trap, preserve a hide, hive a swarm, cook or preserve anything edible, and to take pleasure in such things. To learn things they didn't know, they asked somebody or they read books....When they need to, they do a little custom work on the side, they trade and contrive and make do, getting by and prospering both at once. It doesn't seem to bother them that while they are making crops and meat and timber, other people are making only money...."  ~~ Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter

"[Danny] would follow Burley for hours, hunting or rambling in the woods, Burley saying almost nothing, Danny nothing at all. Danny grew up with the knowledge of the old economy of the natural world that, for nothing and for pleasure, yielded in its seasons game and fish and nuts and berries and herbs and marketable pelts....you might say that Danny....gathered the woods and waters into his homelife as a robin gathers mud and straw into her nest." ~~ Hannah Coulter

Mud and straw bring us back to pottery and basket weaving.  Back to The Hidden Art of Homemaking.  Making your small world more beautiful, by using what's in your world.  Encouraging others to do the same. Politics and economics as seen in a walnut shell...or a spinning wheel.

And that's why handicrafts are part of our Knowledge of the Universe.

Related posts:

Where in the World? and an old man who made bowls
What's a Japanese curtain?
The PUS Smyrna rugs were just latch hooking
Links to old PUS handicraft books (scroll down)
Parent's Review discusses Clay Modelling
Scrapbooking, expensive hobbies, and doing it for less

*Philosophy of Education, page 329

Thoughts for Sunday: the 2012 Circe Conference

Something to read and maybe post up somewhere:  "Why Contemplate Creation?", from the 2012 Circe Institute Conference that wound up yesterday.

It starts like this:

--Because education is a fundamentally creative act
--Because we are made in the image of a Creator
--Because creation as object is our stewardship
--Because creation as activity is our joy.

More here.

Also:  Cindy's after-thoughts about the conference.

If you don't understand Cindy's references to the roof blowing off, that was literal.  A tornado made the conference a bit more exciting than planned--we are very thankful to hear about God's protection on all who were there.

Wendell Berry on the cost of simplifying

From this interview with Jeff Fearnside in The Sun Magazine. Thanks to Holy Experience for the link.

Berry: They didn’t have electricity. All their technology was nineteenth century. But they were satisfied, and they lived a great life — they made a great life. It was a work of art.

Fearnside: So their answer was to simplify their lives so that they required less income and could do the things they were passionate about.

Berry: They reduced costs, but when you do that, you make your life more complex. It’s much simpler to live by shopping.