Weaving as a Way of Life

Written & Photographed for Fibershed

By the time Sheng Lor was old enough to go to school, she already knew how to embroider. Born into the Hmong culture of Laos, the Oakland Fiber founder grew up within a culture that sees sewing, indigo batik and dying, and the intricacy of embroidery as highly regarded arts. During her youth, all young girls were taught how to embroider at an early age, and it was their custom that every year, each person must make an entire outfit by hand. “We weave really plain cloth and then spend a year embroidering,” Sheng explains. “My four sisters and I would do the embroidery, and our mom was a dressmaker, who would sew them into outfits.” 


Both Sheng’s mother and grandmother were well-respected and sought-out dressmakers, a crucial trait among the Hmong as they make their clothing without the use of premade patterns. “Everything is made to custom fit,” she says. “And because we don’t have a history of written literature, nobody is passing down a written pattern. Either you know it or you don’t.” Because of this “secret skill” of sewing among Sheng’s family, they received visitors all the time.

“I always considered my cultural experience a blessing, to be constantly surrounded by textiles and handmade cloth,” she says. “A lot of Hmong friends hated being forced to sew, but I never hated it — I loved it. ” Sheng’s love of cloth led her to study printmaking at university. Enchanted with designing fabric, the only problem was that she couldn’t fathom being on a computer for eight hours a day. One of her first jobs after college happened to be at a weaving studio. Sheng had never woven before, but she and her supervisor, Andrea Blackmon, felt an instant connection. Blackmon, who Sheng considers her most important weaving mentor, tells people, “I just showed her the basics. Everything she learned, she did on her own. She, however, taught me a lot about attitude towards the weaving.” Textile making was in her blood, and Sheng quickly was promoted to become the supervisor at Woodmont Weavers. This program provided weaving assistance for adults with special needs, who were then paid for their weaving work. Sheng managed that job for five years, loving every minute of it: “I loved that job very much. I got to weave every day!”


Sheng’s trajectory moved her to San Jose, when a nonprofit asked her to start a weaving program from scratch, similar to Woodmont Weavers. Inspired by federal and state mandates to create more jobs for people with special needs, she attempted to replicate what she learned from the past five years. Sheng ran into roadblocks, however, discovering that the value of handmade cloth did not reflect the labor spent, when the program began to receive cuts. “In my career, weaving has been meaningful: where the people get paid for something beautiful that they’ve created. But when this program changed to recreation/arts and crafts, I couldn’t get behind that.” She grew frustrated and eventually, as the program was unable to sustain itself, it closed.

At that moment, Sheng looked around at all the looms still sitting there. Knowing they would do nothing but collect dust, she desired to rescue them, and create something of her own. She bought many of the looms off her former employer and rented a studio at Cotton Mills, and Oakland Fiber came into being. Sheng moved sixteen large new and vintage looms inside: her collection ranging from Gilmore jack looms, to Glimakra countermarch Swedish looms, to many counterbalance looms. To set up her studio, all her sisters flew out to help her dress her looms. Even though they had never woven before, they all perfectly understood tension and how to handle the yarn.


Sheng rented the studio in November, bought the looms in December, set them up in January, and started teaching classes in February. She is currently working on her business plan, and is most passionate about weaving as a form of employment. Growing up with immigrant refugee parents who didn’t speak English, and working with people with special needs has shown her that textiles can be a very empowering form of work for both of those groups. She wishes to pay people a living wage who otherwise have a difficult time finding jobs, such as immigrants and ex-convicts. Her idea is to design handwoven products with interesting patterns that are simple enough for anyone to weave. But her question remains: how to get consumers to pay a fair price for handmade, local products? “I want us to show in our communities that locally made is good; and when the labor is local – that that is worth paying extra for,” she says.


Passionate about the social impacts of textiles, Sheng is also considerate of the ecological impacts, striving for zero waste. “With a weaving background, you start to see material as very precious and you don’t want to throw any away.” Weaving with undyed cotton, Sheng creates beautiful products for the home: hand-towels and napkins, to reduce paper waste. “I have lived for a long time without any paper napkins. It saves me money and keeps my trash very small.” The Hmong style of sewing clothing also exemplifies zero waste, knowing how to create garments in such a way where there is no “extra” fabric. Sheng is working on developing a pattern of the traditional Hmong jacket, a “secret skill” in her culture that combines a set of triangles with a collar. Hmong people also traditionally weave with hemp, and though she loves cotton, she can’t wait to find a hemp supplier.


Alongside her business plan and product design, Sheng is most honored to serve as a weaving teacher and mentor. “I am not qualified to do anything else except weave. I don’t have a choice,” she says, laughing. Sheng teaches group classes every weekend, with a few private lessons on the side. “I had no idea this many people were this interested in weaving. I’ve been very happy knowing there’s a tribe.” Now, she feels as if she’s doing the same thing as her family did during her childhood. “It’s my home and I’m doing what I love. I love having visitors over. And I get to talk about textiles every day. It’s what give me comfort.”


Head over to the Oakland Fiber website to see her collection or enroll in a workshop, and follow along on Instagram @oaklandfiber to stay up to date on product offerings, workshops, and studio news.

The Way is in the Heart

the way is not the sky
the way is in the heart
- gautama buddha

In my recent craniosacral meditations I had a visionary experience where I found myself dwelling in the Field of my Heart. I traveled “inward-downward” to this place and, as if underwater, opened my eyes to see. From this place I scanned to find who also met me there, to discover who else is tending to / sensing from / abiding within the Great Heart, in Service to the Whole.

It is not always easy, or pretty in this world to abide in the Heart. There is a fire that burns and a pain that shreds. There is the unhealed brokenness and the grief of generations. There is no where to hide. And yet, there is so much wisdom - - - it is scientifically our most powerful resonance system. So - to those few I saw there, looking back at me, I recognize you, and I say thank you. For the most trusted and true Allies for me in this time are you.

#heartfield #theregenerativefield

Herdshare & Healthy Soil

Written & Photographed for Fibershed

As far as the eye can see, soft and verdant grasslands roll out like a thick green carpet dotted with healthy, ancient oaks. A trodden path of tall grass leads the way past a few small creeks to the open pasture where the animals graze. In the foothills of the Sierras, just outside the town of Placerville, Melissa and Spencer Tregilgas lease a stunning 95-acre ranch. There they farm full time, with the help of their sprightly daughters Molly (9), Adele (7), and Maxine (4). Together, the family makes up Free Hand Farm.


Raising sheep for lamb and wool, their flock is comprised of purebred Jacob sheep, which according to Melissa are on the smaller side of sheep and easier to handle. The rest of the flock are cross breeds: Blue-Faced Leicester crossed with Cheviot, and Shropshire/Jacob crosses, also known as mules. They sell their beautiful roving by the ounce and yarn by the skein, which can be purchased at their farm, and at local yarn shops Knits and Knots in South Lake Tahoe, and Rumpelstiltskin in Sacramento.


Sheep aside, the main part of their farm is dairy cows. “We run a very small scale dairy operation called a herdshare,” explains Melissa. “In a herdshare, everyone co-owns the cows. They pay a boarding fee once a month and receive an allotment of milk each week.” Their cows are jerseys, milking shorthorns, and one guernsey. They are joined in the work by the helping hands of the girls and by one part-time milker. With so much grassland, the animals are kept content by grazing as much as they want.


Melissa, a Sacramento native, and Spencer, originally from Indiana and Michigan, have been farming together for six and a half years. Both, however, started off with careers in the arts, including painting, sculpture, and modern dance. But once they had children, they decided to shift gears. “It wasn’t super exciting to do [professional] arts with kids because you have to hustle pretty hard in the art world, and it doesn’t involve kid’s stuff,” says Melissa. “We both really like being outside and wanted something they could do with us to some degree, rather than us going away to a day job.”


To get started in farming, Melissa and Spencer interned on a pastured livestock farm in Maryland. They were planning on staying there on the East Coast but decided to move back to California for the young girls to be closer to the support of their extended family and Melissa’s hometown.  They moved from an interest in beef cattle to dairy cattle, as their passion for raw milk developed and they realized health benefits for their family. “Our girls used to get super bad eczema from dairy products. We tried raw milk and it completely went away,” says Melissa.

Three years ago they found the land they are leasing now, land with a particularly interesting history. Originally, the land was tended by the Nisenan tribe, a people indigenous to the American River watershed. During the Gold Rush, a man named Charles Graner obtained the land, then sold it in 1868 to a group of Samurai fleeing the Boshin War in Japan. They came to start a new Japanese agricultural community, bringing tea and silkworms with mulberry saplings. After a couple of years, they lost their funding from the Japanese overlord, and the bank took the farm. The Veerkamp family bought the land and farmed it from 1870-2010, eventually selling it to American River Conservancy (ARC). Melissa and Spencer lease from the ARC now with the agreement that the land is to be maintained as a working farm. Melissa is excited about soil testing, so they can show the Conservancy how soil health, viewed through carbon content and soil organic matter, can improve over time with proper livestock management.


Walking the land, you can feel the imprints that many different groups of people have made over the centuries. Melissa points out the one old Japanese tree that still stands near the milking barn. As the sun sets and the girls come rushing in for dinner, it’s clear that many people have been nourished from this life-giving land, and that Melissa and Spencer are carrying on the tradition.


south africa


i am the daughter of immigrants .
my greatgrandparents fled from Lithuania during the Bolshevik revolution from persecution for being Jewish
(Lithuania : “Lyti” / the Land of Rain)
leaving with nothing somehow landing in Capetown, South Africa
(“Camissa” / Place of Sweet Waters)
they were taken in and took refuge there
and in the following generation, my grandparents studied medicine. when my grandfather couldn’t afford to continue his education, neighboring farmers and friends pooled money so he could complete medical school. he became a doctor; my grandmother a nurse and they worked intimately with the Zulu tribe
my grandfather befriending the local ‘witch doctor’, learning from his traditional clapping and chanting healing ceremonies, 
integrating medicine of the western mind and indigenous village wisdom
building bridges between black and white, creating alliances in service to the health of the people. 
when apartheid was instated in 1948 my grandparents were banned from their life’s work and the health center was closed down. they were exiled and received death threats for continuing
so with 3 young children (one my mother) and another on the way
they boarded a boat and
landed in north carolina, united states of america
where it was the 1950s and the work in racial justice & health continued
and my grandfather founded the school of Epidemiology at UNC
i just recently learned of these stories, these trials of successive generations 
and now i make my way with my family to that place of sweet waters
to meet our foreign family
to let the land speak, uncovering hidden histories living in my dna
to assimilate and desimilate my identities 
to let my ancestors see their home again through my eyes
to behold mama africa,
that grief-stricken jubilant powerful cradle of humankind 
to see what is to be seen
to be in awe
to be an ally
to learn and to remember
roots, culture, history, humility, humanity
to go like water and return like water.

Sacrums, temporal sutures, jaw bones; ankles.

I reflect on how in the last two days I met and laid hands on 6 people from the ages of 10 to 64, from the heights of 3 feet to 6.5 feet tall, with men, women, elders and children. 

It seems that these gifts for restoring our nervous systems and connecting with our bodies in the seas of stillness couldn't come at a better time, for all of us. The winter mists and rains assist our deepening. In the midst of a chaotic cultural landscape we come together to remember. And to b r e a t h e .

I want to say thank you to all who came to meet me in the well of listening, braving their own steady presence, and to those who've yet to come.

diamonds in the dark night

diamonds in the dark night : a wave of prayers emerging and assembling for ancestors, all relations, the new moon, samhaim, the rain, the waters, standing rock, yesterday, tomorrow, today, all of it

flying through my fingers they take their shape, make their form each from humble and beautiful origins— taos navajo churro, bolinas black ram' and my grandmother's handspun wool. I am a steady witness and servant to their meeting

water prayers

may my prayers be my tears that fall to the earth and sprout wings to become birds who fly to the waters and to their protectors. may these prayers lift to meet my relatives- human, nonhuman, seen and unseen. may these prayers, may these spirits soar.



Art by Frank Howell.


Magic is not anything you have to do.
Or even be.
Magic is an ancient tree
bearing perfect persimmons
hanging from her branches;
leaves turning pink
in the setting sun of autumn.
Magic is the way
this tree has been cultivated
by careful custodians
for hundreds
and hundreds of years.
Magic is how
the origins of this tree
have traveled from deep Asia,
to the Powhatan people of Virginia,
to my mothers garden.
Magic is collecting
eleven pounds of persimmons
on a Thursday
and the vibrant lovethumps
that travel
from my heart
to this Diospyros kaki
for what she provides me
and all of history
every October
when she fruits into being.

unlikely harvest

if i could play your notes
in black and white keys
what songs would you sing?

if i could weave your most precious jewels
into my cloaks
or affix each one of your pearly teeth
into my smile
how then would i shine?

besides these fantasies
there lies a promise
and that promise is to plant you
over and over
like our teacher taught us to do,
with the hopeful intention of a heart's longing
to see the face of an old friend return again.

for it was under unlikely odds
and through dust that you grew --
an all too-closely planted mixture of two sacred strains and maybe a thousand more emerging
from the tiny corner of a tiny garden
so longing to be beautiful
you came
bewildering me your novice
and from a few gifted seeds now woven
and multiplied into a mosaic
that uplifts my face of joy.

this has been a true teaching, one not found in books or schools or conversations
my first rising with your long dawn time,
my first dance with your speckled seeds,
dark and luminous
my first encounter with a People's culture
so ancient, so loving,
my first taste of harvesting and hearing
and continuing on in the fierce seedsong
stories of food, of beauty, of resilience.