Finally, I Just Threw Up My Hands and Said "Flax It All!" - Adventures in Growing Flax

Finally, I Just Threw Up My Hands and Said "Flax It All!" - Adventures in Growing Flax

By: a.d. elliott | Take the Back Roads - Art and Other Odd Adventures

A Rite of Fancy Book Recommendation and Review

Earlier this year, while filling a flower bed, I scattered a couple of packets of a seed mix called Southern Favorites. I loved the pictures on the packet and assumed, reasonably, I thought, that what grew would resemble those cheerful blooms. Instead, those seeds launched an unexpected gardening adventure.

None of the flowers that appeared matched the picture. And none of the flowers pictured on the packet appeared. That might sound disappointing, but it wasn’t. It simply meant that every morning brought a small surprise.

One of the best surprises was scarlet flax. I fell a little bit in love with it, its delicate petals, its improbable color, the way it seemed both wild and intentional. And realizing I was growing flax reawakened a long-dormant dream of mine.

I have always harbored a quiet ambition to learn the fiber arts. Somewhere in the back of my mind lives an idyllic little farm with sheep for wool, fields of cotton and flax and bamboo, and a workroom where I spin my own yarn and weave, knit, embroider, and crochet beautiful, lacy things. I imagine making every sweater in my closet from fibers I harvested myself.

This dream is wildly impractical. I live in the South. It is far too hot for sheep. But when I found myself staring at a bed full of flax, the dream stirred just enough to make me wonder if I could turn it into linen thread.

My plan—briefly embraced with enthusiasm—was to harvest flax throughout the season, process it, spin it into thread, and crochet a lace tablecloth. I researched the process. It’s ancient, over 3,000 years old, and not especially difficult in theory. You harvest the stalks, “ret” them by soaking them in water until the woody part softens, dry them, comb them, and separate the fibers. Then you spin.

I even found clever plans online for making retting tubes out of PVC pipe. I planned to use a drop spindle instead of a spinning wheel, because even then, I suspected this wouldn’t become a full-time hobby.

And then… nothing happened.

As the summer wore on and the flax bloomed and faded in the flower bed, it became clear that learning the fiber arts was not, in fact, a priority. I never harvested a single plant. I didn’t build the retting tubes. I didn’t order a drop spindle. I did exactly one thing: I photographed the flowers.

My yarn-farm dreams have now been shelved alongside my miniature-cow-and-goat dairy operation, my small-scale cheese factory, my apple orchard, and my hard-cider craft brewery.

And that’s okay.

I don’t think we admit that often enough. Most dreams don’t die because we can’t accomplish them, but because we choose to spend our time elsewhere. Priorities shift. Interests deepen in different directions. Especially over the last few years, I’ve devoted my time to photography, cyanotype work, and writing—and I find myself reluctant to step away from those pursuits, even for projects that sound wonderful.

Processing flax into linen for a handcrafted lace tablecloth would take more time than I’m willing to give right now, even though the idea still charms me.

I don’t plan on harvesting flax.

But I will grow it again.

The flowers are beautiful, and they make excellent subjects for photography.

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About the Author
a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller traveling through life

She shares her journeys at Take the Back Roads, explores new reads at Rite of Fancy, and highlights U.S. military biographies at Everyday Patriot.

You can also browse her online photography gallery at shop.takethebackroads.com.

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