How are those old Shears still sharp?

A tale more than 2,000 years old—and a little ancient wisdom with flour on its hands.

Come craft with me. I have a story to tell you.

Let’s Talk Lavender is a storytelling podcast for knitters, stitchers and creative crafters — a place for curious stories about ordinary objects, peculiar discoveries, people, nature, memory and the small things we might otherwise pass by.

The subject changes from week to week. You might find yourself thinking about a forgotten photograph; why birds sing; an eccentric neighbor; a peculiar custom; a much-loved sweater; or some tiny mystery hidden in something completely ordinary.

Bring your knitting, stitching or whatever you’re making, and come along for the story.

Stillness. Story. Self.

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SPEAKER_00 0:07

Oh good, you're here. Let's talk lavender. I'm casting off stitches as we speak, which is oddly satisfying. Other than the fact that I'm done with this part of my project, it's just the rounded edges that emerge like a slow ribbon. Hmm. So I thought I'd share a small story with you today. One that's based on an old tale called Butcher Ding, which is one of the best known stories in the ancient Chinese Taoist text. The Zhuangzi, I'm probably mispronouncing that. But it was written more than two thousand years ago. So there was once a dressmaker who had used the same pair of shears for nearly twenty years. The handles were worn smooth and the blades carried the marks of long use. Yet they were still remarkably sharp. A young seamstress who worked beside her had already replaced her own shears twice. How have yours lasted so long? she asked. The dressmaker considered the question. Well, when I was young, I believed good cutting was a matter of precision and control. I marked my line, held the cloth firmly, and cut straight through it. I worked quickly and I was proud of that. She paused, but cloth does not always follow the line we have drawn for it. Some fabrics stretch, some slip, and some resist the blade. For years when I met resistance, I simply pressed harder. My hands tired, the cloth lost its shape, and the shears dulled. Well what changed? asked the seamstress. I began paying attention to the cloth itself. Every fabric has a grain. Every fold has a direction. There are places where the blade moves easily and places where it does not. She ran her hand across the linen before her. Now when I meet resistance, I stop. I loosen my grip. I turn the cloth and look again. Very often the easier way lies only slightly to one side of where I intended to go. The young seamstress picked up the old shears and examined them. Nearly twenty years, she said. The dressmaker nodded. We are often taught to admire those who force their way through difficult things. But sometimes wisdom lies not in greater force, but in greater attention. She took back the shears and returned to her work. Learn where things naturally open, she said, and you may travel a very long way without dulling the blade. Hmm doing something over and over again. The same stitch and purl, yarn over, pull through, double crochet, over and over. Cutting cloth a hundred times, making the same cake year after year after year, refining it so slowly that no one notices but you know You know this cake and its personality becomes a smooth full sensory symphony that tastes like love. Or baking bread week after week, and learning how your flower behaves at different times and in different weather just by doing how elastic it is, how dry your dough, how it smells, your mind making tiny calculations and assessments every time you need a fresh batch. Repetition and paying attention, even if subconsciously. No fighting the humidity, the cold, cold air, or worse the clock. Persistent, gentle observation eventually grants our hands and intuitions an inner absolute wisdom that no user manual can ever really capture. All right, love, take care of yourself and have a great day.