A Lost Art: How to Weave a Proper Wild Child

How to Weave a Proper Wild Child is one of the writing pieces I played with in my February Writing for Pleasure class. We looked at different forms of writing. I created a fun "how to" Ted Talk. It is best read aloud. :)

Weaving, as you may already know, involves alternating two sets of yarns—the warp and the weft. If done correctly, a strong mesh is formed. This could be the fabric for a hand towel, an exotic rug, or what I am proposing here, a wild child. For the past several decades, our DNA mesh has been created in haste and with chemicals we cannot spell—our fabric is loose, weak, and thin—an unrecognizable material. Before we become completely synthetic, we must change what we are weaving into our DNA.

You look confused—or is that skepticism?

You question my credentials?

How am I an expert in this subject?

I have been practicing this craft for decades—I am a wild child. When I was weaved in my mother’s womb, the warp was my parent’s DNA, and the weft was the moss, twigs, and leaves growing in my mother’s favourite part of the Canadian Shield. She braided, laced, knit, plaited, twisted, entwined the wild into her DNA. She stepped into the water, and the layers felted together, no separation remaining between the warp and the weft. As she sunned on the shield that dipped deeply into the water, the breeze inflated my tiny lungs with its life, and the sunlight penetrated into my fibres, creating a fiery soul.

Where were you woven, my dear, Sister? I do not ask this to judge but to guide you to a healthier future. We all have a choice of which fibres we weave, and no fabric is irreparable. All you need is the right material—the right thread. Are you unravelling, fragile, fatigued, moth-eaten, tied in knots? Have you been misused, mistreated, abused, forgotten? If so, you need to repair and strengthen your wild child.

Here is how it is done:

• Step one: pack lightly—do not bring anything you do not need—no extra baggage.

• Step two: pace, skip, march, or dance along the path that leads to your favourite outdoor destination. If dancing is far from your current mood, then slunk, skulk, drag your feet—roll if you have to. Whatever propels you forward is fine. There is no right way. And if you do not know where to go, just hop or drop into the wild.

• Step three: do not rush. It takes time to find the one-hundred-percent organic materials needed to create a strong wild child. There is no hurry for you to return—it takes hard work to succeed.

• Step four: when you begin the weave, do not cut any corners. It is time-consuming at first, but as you gain practice, it becomes an easy and enjoyable task. Feel free to bring a friend if you are not able to do it alone.

Once you settle into your weaving space, do not focus on the imperfections or holes in your fabric. Instead, find the wildness needed to complete, beautify, or repair what has been damaged.

When I am threadbare, sagging, or dull, I hike into my wild place—a blueberry patch high above a tiny, quiet lake. I plant myself where the blueberries never turn blue—they are always an ombré of pinks. First, I gather branches of sharp juniper and bead them with the berries. Then I stretch back like the frame of a loom and weave the wildness with my DNA. Once complete, I lay back in the damp moss to felt the fibres together and then dry myself on the warm, sloped bedrock.

No one can tell you where your wild child can be found, but if you take the time to do this for yourself, you will find her, and each time, it will get easier and easier.

Disclaimer: Once your wild child has returned, the world you came from will appear different—you will not completely fit there anymore. This should not be concerning. It is a call to action. You must show others how to weave a proper wild child.

If you need any support or guidance, please consult www.weavingwildness.com. Someone will be able to help you on your path to weave wilding.