Greetings Dear Ones!

Perhaps it’s all the testosterone talk in the media these days, perhaps it is the crisp fall air that signals the breeding season for sheep, perhaps I’m just feeling extra bold and frisky after attending the Field Days workshops at the Draft Animal Power Network in Shelburne Vermont two weekends ago…But for some reason, I am tempted to say a lot of things that are bound to get me in trouble.

I am going to say them anyway.

Before I do, I want to state for the record that I say such things with the intention (ALWAYS) of Loving, of Mending, of stitching Ragged Edges together in new and stronger ways, and above all, Celebrating the Beauty and the Possibilities that surround us in this amazing and horrifying planet we all call home. I say them as a middle-aged woman whose recent life experience includes tending a greedy ox with blow-out diarrhea (um…that would be his diarrhea, not mine), sewing modifications for people who have undergone mastectomies, and accepting the fact that I can only handle a twelve-inch chain saw, no bigger. (Certain limiting beliefs are true.)

If you still want to get mad at me, that’s fine. It can’t be much worse than dealing with a steer who has gorged himself on dropped apples in the orchard, then staggered around drunk on fruit that fermented in his gut faster than his system could digest it, until the hangover arrived in the form of his back end spraying something resembling liquified eels with occasional blood clots the size of egg yolks.

Grab your pearls, if you wear any, and clutch them. I want to address the notions of Femininity and Masculinity. (Gulp!) I am personally unphased by these concepts for many reasons—being a gentle-woman “farmer” constantly face to face with inevitable biology, being a seamstress face to face with beautiful people who need my help to make things fit them better, and from a lifetime of being a gal doing things that were not considered Lady-like by the authorities on such things. I’ve learned we must obey the laws of physics, geometry, and chemistry, not the whims of fashion or societal dictators.

For those of you who believe that Masculinity and Femininity come with certain traditional uniforms and parameters, or should, let me tell you from the front line of a tailoring shop, ANYTHING can be beautiful. ANYONE can be powerful. I work with folks every day making life and clothing choices that would have distressed or confounded the conservatives who raised me. These “conservatives” also taught me to Love everyone, and I DO. (If I don’t love them, how could I possibly love me??)

I sew for amputees, people with physical anomalies, people who have lost a physical piece of themselves and grief-wonder if that specific piece was the part that contained the whole of their femininity or masculinity. I sew for people whose idea of these things is in transition. I sew for their Bodies and I love their Souls. I do not give a rip which bathroom they use. “Just as long as they don’t dribble on the seat or forget to flush things that need to be flushed,” adds Prudence primly.

People wear some wild stuff, and they ask me to make changes I don’t always want to make to their outfits. Just because I would not want to wear their choices does not make those choices wrong. I definitely get to witness the most regrettable fashion decisions on a nearly daily basis but the reason I think those choices are wrong is not because some church or political party would insist so, but because (to me) I sense they might not be aligned with a person’s values. I get asked all the time, “Is this too feminine?” “Does this make me look too mannish, too girlish, too boyish, too monkish?” What do these questions even mean? Do YOU like how you look? How do you feel in that mini-skirt? Do you feel adorable and powerful? Do you feel more like shining your little light in this world or worried that you cannot bend over without shining other things at judgmental co-workers who will gossip about you at the water cooler? If you want to wear leopard-print pants so wide and long that it looks like you have no feet and perambulate by mysterious forces, that’s all you. Go for it! I am for anything that makes you feel Vibrant, Happy, Alive, Capable, Generous—or, at the very least, less likely to litter.

I cannot stand it when customers get irritated with me for not giving them my opinions about their clothes. “You tell me. Does this look ok? You’re the expert!” I stand there, as patiently as if I am dealing with a recalcitrant ox, waiting, until the person looks in the direction they are supposed to look, which is in the mirror.

I’ve been at this a long time. I can tell when someone is wearing something that fills their spirit and makes them sparkle. I can tell by the way they stand there picking at things that they do not like not just what they see, but who they are in this get-up. The question, always, is can they see it too?

So many people (mostly women) stare glumly in the mirror and say aloud, “I’m not sure why I bought this…” I know why. Because you wanted to be the person who would wear such a thing. But you are Not. And you need to be who YOU are. You are not a rack on which to present clothing—your clothing is there to present You. No one wants to see a navy-blue dress. They want to see the Mother of the groom—the woman who successfully raised a man with enough skills, talents, and basic oral hygiene habits that another human being is willing to spend the rest of their life with him, even if he still chews with his mouth open.

Forget Lipstick and lace; Nothing has ever made me feel more feminine than driving a team of oxen. Years of trying to understand men and their wily ways was just preparation for being able to say, “HAW boys,” with authority. There is something so profoundly feminine about standing next to three thousand pounds of muscle and saying “This way, boys! Step up!” And they do.

I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to be “independent.” Let me tell you, independence is nothing to honest-to-God Teamwork and getting two oxen to turn left in unison because they trust me. At my age, femininity is less about appearing delicate and more about having the upper body strength to move a wide-span yoke made of solid Ash; more about mud-crusty boots, denim, and understanding which direction everyone is supposed to be going. Middle age took all the energy I used to spend wondering if others found me attractive and redirected it to getting livestock who outweigh me by thousands of pounds to back up. Turns out, worrying about being Young and Hot is not nearly as fun as being Old and Cool! (Badass Crones for the win!)

Oxen don’t care what you look like. They only care if you know what you are doing. They need to trust you completely to obey you. It’s like motherhood all over again: I give what I think are clear instructions, repeat myself occasionally, and accept that not everyone is going to do what I say the first time. I can get mad, or I can get firm. These are not the same things. Getting mad is useless; being calmly repetitive and insistent works way better. Oxen cannot be emotionally manipulated any more than a teenager you are trying to guilt-trip into vacuuming. I spent years learning how to be sweet and pleasing and polite with my words. Now, “Whoa” means WHOA. Immediately. I don’t even have to say it. My guys don’t take their eyes off me. I silently stop my feet, put my stick on the ground, and my team instantly halts and waits. It’s every girl’s dream!

When we talk about femininity and masculinity, there is a hidden conversation going on about “sexuality” that is different from a conversation about power. We don’t get less feminine or masculine as we age. We don’t become less sexy. We just change our relationship with what it means to be powerful. Underneath any visual performance of femininity there needs to be authenticity: strength, sensuality, competence, dirt, tenderness, authority—and the ability to say “good job” to 2,500 pounds of muscle and mean it.

Both men and women taught classes last weekend. The men talked about how you need to sense the “energy” a.k.a. “mood” of your team. Some days are good days. Some days are not going to be good because the oxen are stubborn or resentful or ornery. Emotions need to be respected. Women talked about the sequence of “Speak, Show, Make.” Give your team the lightest command but follow it up with increasingly stronger cues. Stay with it until they understand the command and comply. Then reward.

Our words MUST mean something. That is the essence of all power: What do your words mean when you use them? Do they stop what needs to be stopped? Do they start what needs to be started? Are you capable of changing directions when needed? It has nothing to do with how many push-ups you can do or how magnificent your bum looks in chiffon.

Are you Kind? Are you Patient? Can you sense the energy around you and let it flow without reacting negatively? Can you accept or change that energy while remaining calmly focused on achieving your objective?

Strength is not about who we can beat down but those we lift up, those we teach, encourage, and work with together. Teamwork. It takes the very best of all that masculinity and femininity and weather-proof clothing can unite in one unit.

At the DAP-NET field days, I witnessed dear, patient people of all ages in practical, androgenous farm clothing slogging around in wet grass with cherished animals they work with daily. These people are willing to live very deliberately, to work repetitively, to live gently with spirited creatures, to work the land together in ways that bring as little damage to the land and beings as possible. They are “conservative” in their reverence for “Old Ways” of doing things but very welcoming of new people, new ideas, in the non-gendered sharing of their wisdom and Joy.

My lasting image is of a young woman silhouetted against the sky, astride a gentle giant of a draft horse harnessed for pulling. They both had long manes of unkempt hair ruffled by the breeze. The woman had a chainsaw slung across her back. She was heading into the nearby woods to share a class on logging and responsible forestry. Gazing at everything that scene represents made every sinew in my heart burst into silent song.

Let’s stop bickering about who we are “supposed to be” or how we are supposed to dress according to whether or not we can pee standing up and get down to doing Good Work. Together.

There. I said it.

Keep Mending Dear Ones!

With Sew Much Love,

Yours aye,

Nancy