Rolling past my feet was a ball on the run. Picking it up, I saw that someone had taken fabric remnants a very long time ago, torn them into strips, then tied them together end to end and rolled them into a ball.
This is no ordinary ball; it is art history rolled up in one.
Turning the ball around and around, I could imagine the different vintage cotton dresses, work shirts, and aprons that had been made. The clothing that had become too small or aprons soiled beyond lemon and sunshine. I could see the time it took to rip the fabric in long, narrow strips and the nimble hands to tie such delicate knots.
Why would someone go through so much trouble? It didn't seem likely that the person created this as an art project, nor as a way to remember the clothing she had made or that her children had worn. Then, as swiftly as the ball had rolled past my feet, I knew what it was.
Like a ball of yarn, this was used for braiding or crocheting. The old bits of clothing had been recycled into a rag ball, which, woven together, would create a rag rug. Something very common during the Depression era was being creative with what you had.
Fortunately, this ball had escaped the crocheting needle and was tossed through time towards me.
Instead of calling it rag ball or seeing it as a project yet to be done, I admire it as a work of art history.
What cherished piece do you have that most would not notice but speaks to you each time you see it?
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