Friend invited her to learn an ancient art

I think I have been secretly adopted, either that or I am a project my friend has taken on. She recently took me to a class on basket weaving at her church.

This is not the first time she has kidnapped me. I go along with it because I always learn something. I enjoy her company. She is such an upbeat person that no matter what is going on in my life she makes me happy.

Back to the baskets. A woman named Connie was the instructor. She arrived at the tiny church in the  middle of nowhere laden with boxes of supplies. In no time one of the tables was covered with a tote half full of water and piles and piles of coiled material I learned was called reed. Premade handles, scissors, tiny screwdrivers and awls were arranged in front of the chairs. Lemonade and cookies were set out in case we needed sustenance.

People started trickling in. Many, if not most, of them were related to my friend. One was a lady from my Master Gardening group. Another was from the woodcarving group. I suspect she may have been a fellow kidnap victim or adoptee. The tiniest member of the bunch was a mere six weeks old. My friend cuddled him when he wasn’t lying peacefully on the table or in his carrier.

Once everyone had arrived, Connie introduced herself and had us lay out the pieces to begin our baskets. She explained that the reed was much easier to weave when it was wet, which was the purpose of the tote of water. We all began our projects under her watchful supervision. Soon, we each had woven a miniature placemat.

She taught us how to begin the process of turning our placemats into bowl-shaped pieces. This is easier than it sounds. Time passed quickly as our baskets grew row by row. We were encouraged to add colorful strips to enhance the design.

I began to fall behind as my hand refused to work as quickly as I thought it should. Somebody’s granddaughter, Jaylynn, was the first to finish. Her basket looked professionally made. We oohed and aahed over her talent. I wish my granddaughters lived close enough to give the child some competition.

One by one people finished their tasks. The lady from woodcarving and I were the last ones left. Connie graciously added the finishing touches for us. We all posed for pictures and called the evening a success.

On the way home my friend showed me where she had grown up. Even though I grew up in Ohio, and she in Indiana, the farms looked remarkably similar.

Basket weaving may not be something I do well or will ever do again, but it is an ancient art. The oldest known baskets have been carbon dated at 10,000 to 12,000 years old. I think that is amazing as baskets are commonly made from perishable materials such as reeds, grasses or whatever is handy.

In addition to using baskets as containers, they can be traded for other items or used in religious ceremonies. At one time thousands of baskets were used to transport messenger pigeons, essential to the war effort. Hot air balloons use baskets to carry people gently over the country side. Let’s not forget their most important use of all: Easter baskets. How else is the bunny supposed to carry all those colored eggs, jelly beans, Peeps, and assorted chocolates?

We could all do with a friend who kidnaps us and introduces us to new things. It is invigorating to learn something new in the company of talented people, even if the most gifted one is the age of my granddaughter.