Recycled Himalayan Silk

Knitting is, for the most part, a meditative act. When you begin a project and when you are learning the rhythms of a particular stitch or pattern, you have to pay attention but unless you are doing something with complex, ever-changing threads or stitches there is a lot of time to just relax and be at peace with your work. There are times when I get bored which I why I tend to have three or four projects going at a time. But, for the most part, I enjoy those long stretches of quiet, undemanding knitting.

Recently I picked up a bag of recycled Himalayan silk yarn. I had seen the yarn advertised in Patternworks catalog for $16 a skein which is a bit more than I can afford but I got a good deal on the stuff I bought. I knew a little about this yarn and I love the story that goes with it.

In the Himalayas, particularly in Tibet and Nepal, there are factories where silk saris are made. Women are employed in these factories — many of them poor and refugees. At the end of the work day, when the beautiful silk saris were packed up to be shipped to India and Pakistan, the women would gather up the scraps of brightly colored silk on the floor, carry it home, and spin it into colorful, rugged yarn that they used to knit warm hats and jackets. At some point some clever person noticed these beautiful things and thought that knitters worldwide would appreciate this stuff. They began marketing it to America and knitters loved it. The yarn became so popular that the concept of spinning silk scraps grew into recycling old saris by cleaning them, shredding them and then spinning the shredded fabric.

Silk is a wonderful fiber. I use it a lot and never regret the extra money involved in buying it. Not just because it is beautiful but it is durable, comfortable, washes beautifully if you prepare it right in the first place, and it lasts. It is a joy to work with.

When my bag of recycled silk yarn came I was a little intimidated by it. Everything I read said it is a challenge in the beginning and this is true. It comes in skeins and winding it into balls seemed the first challenge because the fibers tangle and stick together and it took me a while to become convinced that pulling the strands apart would not ruin the yarn. It is also thick and thin with occasional clumps of fiber or fabric forming brilliant, jewel-like little knobs. Some of the thin spots are little more than a few threads but, try as I might to break them, I couldn’t.

As I was winding the balls I became fascinated by the colors. The overall impression of the skeins are of a deep, predominantly red, heathery fiber. However, as you wind you see the way the thin, scraps of fabric are each a unique and brilliant color all their own. I am particularly partial to the brilliant, saffron-gold silk — a color I always associate with India. There is also bright, candy pink and shimmering emerald green, and brilliant blue. As I was winding it made me think of Mira Nair’s delicious movie Monsoon Wedding, one of my very favorite films.

I started several projects and ripped them out until I finally settled on a shawl (naturally). It is growing steadily and I just love it. As I sit and work on it I dream of places I have never been — Tibet, Nepal, India. Places I know only through my appreciation for their art. And I think of the women of those countries sitting on the floors of their little houses amid heaps of shredded silk saris, spinning them into yarn. Sometimes I find bits of straw or twigs. Even an occasional feather. I pluck them out and put them in a dish. Tiny little gifts from the Himalayas.

And, as the silk moves through my hands and wraps around the needles it grows soft and pliable. I love this shawl and am in no hurry to finish it. This is truly an instance of the process being completely pleasurable. When my shawl is finished I’ll post pictures but for now I am happy to just be sitting with it savoring the jeweled colors and dreaming of snow-capped mountains.

Thanks for reading.