A Bull's Yarn about “String”

Aunt Janet Said:

"It's yarn, Ernie. I don't know why some of you guys like to belittle our fiber arts.

Do you like to have your hobby for which you are passionate put down by others? I doubt it. Please try give respect for Janis' skills, and her passion for her fiber arts. It is important!"

The anxious crowd gathers in the “Arena of Fiber Knowledge” where the bull has been released from the keeping place at the edge of the arena, a place called “Ernie’s place”. Only the most knowledgeable of the fiber arts are allowed to enter the arena, and only fools risk entering without that knowledge. The bull must prove his knowledge of the fiber craft or die by the Toreadors sword.

The bull foolishly charges forth, where his ignorance has been called to the attention of the fiber craft. He dashed at the brilliantly crimson dyed, hand-spun cape of the Queen Mother of the Fiber Clan, the famed female Toreador Janet Finch. Only the people known as her minions are allowed to call her “Aunt Janet”. In his ignorance, the foolish bull has dared to call the Sacred Yarn… “string”.

With the challenge, the bull dashes forth to prove himself worthy. The agile Toreador swings her cape around behind her, as the bull rushes by. The crowd is dazzled by her agility, but even more than that, they were in awe of her Crimson Merino cape that she had carefully crafted and dyed herself, proving her knowledge of the fiber craft beyond any doubt.

As the bull and Aunt Janet parried and thrusted, it became apparent that the bull was not knowledgeable about the fiber craft at all. The famed toreador had spun magic into her cape. Magic that is only brought about by the hand of an artist. Her cape sparkled in the brightness of the Arena of Fiber Knowledge, and dazzled the poor bull with it’s brilliant artisanship. As the foolish bull dashed at the Magic Merino Cape the crowd cried, Ole! Ole! Ole!

The Toreador thrust her verbally barbed Picadors into the bulls foolishly exposed back. Picadors gayly wrapped in colorful hand spun yarns. He realized that he was not worthy. With each charge he wondered at the magic of the cape. He wondered how long that it takes to fleece an animal, as Aunt Janet deftly jabbed him with her knowledge. He wondered how long it takes wash the fleece, card it, spin it, ply the yarn, dye it, and hand weave it. The bull wondered how that cape had cast it’s spell on him. At each pass he noticed something new about the amazing magic cape. He noticed the sunny warm smell that only an organic fiber can give. He wondered about the beautiful crimson dye, and where it came from. He notice that it was almost the same color as his blood. He came to realize the true value of the hand made magic cape.

The bull slowly became mesmerized by the cape. The people in the arena knew that the "magic" of the cape was the love and care and knowledge that the fiber people all put into their art. The bull was slowly weakened to the point that he could no longer move. He was filled with Picadors of knowledge that Aunt Janet the Toreador wielded at her easy grasp.

The bull stood still with his head held high, in his big heart he knew that he was not guilty of any intended malice, but he was only foolishly ignorant of the fiber peoples craft. As he stood there refusing to bow, Aunt Janet drew her hand crafted silver sword and pointed to the crowd. The crowd roared, the noise could be heard for miles around. It had been one of the greatest confrontations that they had ever witnessed. She had offered the fate of the bull to the crowd.

The bull looked around him and realized the Toreadors assistants, called Forcados, all wore hand made costumes of Damask or Velvet, made on their own looms. The Campinos, who hold the head of the bull by the horns, to hold the bull still for the final thrust of Toreador’s silver sword, all wore their traditional long knit caps, from yarn made on their own spinning wheels, and hand knitted by their own hands.

The bull saw that his fate was in great peril, but he stood proud, knowing that he did not intend to offend the fiber people, but only lacked the knowledge of the proper terms. He fully appreciated the value of the beautiful red cape. It’s value was beyond compare, it was one of a kind, and could not be made the same by any other hand, it was indeed unique.

As the proud bull stood before the Toredor, the crowd roared, not yet to give their thumbs up, or down. Cast your vote. Will the bull live on?