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This is Paper Mulberry, Broussonetia payprifera. They are a weedy species here in north Texas. They rarely get the right conditions for fruiting, so you see these huge groves of them with lots of leaves, but no fruits.

This is the second time I’ve seen fruit, in the decades I’ve been looking at the trees. The other thing is, they go from green fuzz balls, to falling off the tree, very quickly. So I’ve never had one in my mouth before.

The orange tips are almost worth eating. They are mildly sweet. The pips have a slight crunch. They do not remind me of any other fruit except for blue crown passion flower, which is well known for its insipidity. If you can imagine a raspberry, with zero raspberry flavor whatsoever… like, hold your nose and eat a raspberry – it’s very slightly sweet, with almost no acid tang, and no “fruit taste.”

The yellow parts are.. technically edible. Slightly tastier than corn cobs. The whole thing looks like something that belongs in a science fiction movie.

Sorry, folks, this rambles a lot… but it’s interesting stuff.

In order to make silk by hand, I’ve had to learn how to devise some of the tools that I need that can’t be easily procured in America. These are textile eyes; I order them from a company that makes them out of technical ceramic so that they are durable and will neither chemically interact with the silk, nor snag or catch anything. They’re called “trap eyes” because the tiny little curl in the center means that you can literally push the thread toward the eye, and it pops in and stays in. They are expensive and fragile, but they’re the right tool (or tool tip – these go into a fitting on big factory machines, they’re more of a part than a tool) for the job, and they make a lot of processes much nicer, and they improve the quality of the silk. I’ve also had excellent success using a single hole of a bone button, or the guide eye from an old fly-fishing setup. I have had to make WEIRD tools, and so I’ve had to get inventive. You can’t ever use most kinds of metal. Wood is rough on the silk. Glass is actually a historical favorite, or agate. I have some of both. The inestimable and sorely missed Bill Wyatt, when he was working through the prototypes for the silk reel I still use for my primary work, one idea he had was two little stainless steel rods set at angles to make a narrowing V as a silk guide, and that literally skinned the silk fiber, and it wasn’t helpful at all. Next version was an update sent to me in the mail to attach instead, and it was cut from a piece of sheet teflon with a notch almost like a gun sight, narrowing down to a V with a rounded base. And I set it up and reeled silk, and I watched as the silk slowly sawed through the teflon, cutting itself a meandering new path. Then I researched and figured out about textile eyes, and we got that worked into the design. The ones he used in the final draft of the reel were carbide ceramic fishing-line guides.

In order to get the trap eyes to interact with my copper croissure assembly for reeling filament, I have to secure them to copper pipe caps. I use epoxy putty. There is likely some much more elegant method, but this is cheap and quick, and I know that it’s not going to interact with the silk because it’s made safe for drinking pipe fixes. And I kind of like that they have my fingerprints in them.

https://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/traveling-the-silk-road/collaborators

I did a video for the American Museum of Natural History.

I broke their link, because I’m kind of annoyed… I put a lot of work into the video, and they USE A CELL FROM IT for a button to click for more info about silk… and they don’t use the video.

You think they decided it was somehow inappropriate? I mean, they flew a producer from Manhattan down, hired a local videographer and a sound guy, and they used an amazing camera that really get right in there and catch everything in Super HD without having to over-light it. I’m really proud of the video. But the thing that I think when I see this… I’m definitely too white to be the person standing in for the “China” part of this Traveling the Silk Road exhibit. I really struggle with this some times. The Asian Festival used to put me under a banner that says CHINA, and then most of the other booths with names like that, were run by people from those countries. I’m not 100% sure that I was the only white dude running one of the named country booths… but I felt like I was. I get invited to do paid gigs for groups like Families with Children from China, and it’s all these families with beautiful little Chinese girls, and the mommies and daddies are pretty much all Caucasian. But regardless, I’m glad that I was able to show them how caterpillars aren’t gross at all, and see, you can see the caterpillar spinning, and do you want to hold the moth? And see, this is how I get the silk to unwind from the cocoons. This one kid, showed up for two different years. I think he held that caterpillar for probably ten minutes, just kind of communing with it. His mom said he always came looking for the bug one. He went home with a live cocoon the second year, because I know when somebody really needs one and will be cool and careful and reverent. Oops, that kind of went sideways. My point is, I wonder if they didn’t link to it, because there was some issue of cultural appropriation of having a white dude teaching one of the most Asian things you can find. I know Bryan Whitehead has dealt with this in Japan. Being a white guy telling Asian people about Asian traditional arts.

Chris and I went to the opening of the exhibit at the big American Museum of Natural History in NYC. All the people that I knew – that is, TWO of them, the video producer and the live animal care specialist that I’d helped get live silkworms into the exhibit, were not at the party, and I thought they would be, and we spent half an hour trying to sort out where they were… if I had been better mentally prepared for being there without the people I knew, to be able to get them to introduce me to the kinds of people I should have been meeting there – the people who fund things, the people who might need me to come and talk live at one of their exhibits – I have to have a good run-up to switch into my socially aggressive howdy-and-handshake self, and chasing around trying to find the one familiar face put me in a frame of minds (see also: James Fadiman, “Your Symphony of Selves”) where I felt lost, stood up, awkward. I kind of stood next to the big screen where my face was a time and a half life size, hoping somebody would want to talk about silk, or at least say hi, but they were all museum development people and rich fancy-dressed VIP patrons who were cocktailing their way through the exhibit at the elegant grand opening, before they opened it up to the hoi polloi. A couple of people said, “Oh, that’s you!” and thanked me for coming. Don’t you hate it when you go to a Natural History museum and nobody wants to talk about bugs or the marvel of silk? I mean, I had COCOONS WITH ME. In the pocket of my nice wool suit. It’s like when nobody wants to know your favorite dinosaur. (For me, I love lots of them, but the four-winged bird one, the Microraptoria, really have my heart. FOUR WINGS, dude. They have FOUR WINGS.

Now, I think my reaction would be very different. Psychedelic-assisted therapy has given me what Chris and I call The New Brain, and it’s a LOT different. I just connect very differently. I have very little sense of modesty or discomfort with telling people how I feel, and I get a lot less of the physical symptoms of anxiety which used to accompany any kind of potentially challenging engagement – I used to get shaky hands, sweaty, felt like my chest was too tight… and it’s pretty much gone. I keep doing the work. And for whatever reason, it seems like it works on the connections themselves, too – people seem to engage with me much more comfortably than used to be the case.

But anyway. Long story really long… here you can see the croissure working: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFo3SxqH2-A

We had just moved into this house, the one that Chris and I bought together, and it was like a month later that the American Museum of Natural History had the appointment to come shoot the video. We were moving in boxes a few at a time – we would unpack stuff for an hour or two, then do something different… but the garage was still full of boxes. Then we were moving boxes, and found a brown recluse. My grandmother had a bite from one on her forehead when I was a kid, and had necrosis and eventually plastic surgery, and it was a thing. I know, rationally, that they wouldn’t come up under the covers, and there’s growing evidence that most “spider bites” are actually MRSA lesions… but my skin was crawling when I’d try to sleep. Then we moved a bunch of boxes one day, and we found another recluse. And then another. We found twenty that day in the garage. So in my mind, the entire house was CRAWLING with them in all the nooks and crannies. And I had the AMNH producer and the videographer coming in like a week, but the lack of sleep plus the creepy-crawlies in my mind were putting me in a pretty mentally-unwell state. So we called the exterminators, and told them that we’re pretty organic, but OMG, and what could they do. And about the moths and caterpillars. “I want for this one room upstairs with the caterpillars, to have nothing die. I want all the spiders to die. Other than the intense “DEMON WETTABLE POWDER” (OMG, y’all we had DEMON POWDER in the attic, it sounds like a Gothic horror story.) And then I packed up three cats and three dogs and a Noah’s Ark representative sample of all the life cycle parts into my car, and went and hung out at my office while they worked. I left many caterpillars at the house – partly just because I could only carry so many, but mostly because I wanted them to be coal mine canaries for me, and make sure that the studio room didn’t get too toxified. It’s important if you’re raising silkworms; they have been so thoroughly over-bred for the silk, they don’t have much resistance to toxins. And we set up all these different areas with silkworm life cycle, and still life of yarn, and things for them to shoot with the camera.

And the last picture is just for funny. A yarn friend, Julie Hwang, was at a film festival in Taipei, and she saw this. One of the difficult conversations with the video producer, was about what to title me. They usually have people with PhD’s on these videos, and they have to have a title under my name to justify my opinions. “Sericulturist” is what they wanted, and technically, it’s right… but now, in most of the silk-producing countries, that’s a degreed title, like being a lawyer, or a CPA. IF you are a silkworm farmer (which I’m really not; I just have some in shoeboxes) then a Sericulturist is the smart guy who comes a few times a year to inspect your facilities and confirm that your stock is healthy, and make recommendations for improving quality, etc.

But she wouldn’t accept any modifiers like “amateur” or “hobby” – so I got a title that was only OK because it doesn’t have that specific meaning here in the US. I’m a sericulturist in the sense that I raise and work with silk; I’m not a Sericulturist with the big S. And there, underneath my name, I’m pretty sure we’re looking at, “Michael Cook, Sericulturist.” I can pick out the ideogram for silk, but I’m not sure what the others mean.

Anyway. Croissure. It’s the trick nobody told me about. And I figured out how to do it and teach it, with parts from Home Depot. Plus these tiny high-tech bits.

When F&W Corporation bought the publishing properties that Interweave Press had worked to put together over many years – SpinOff, Handwoven, and others – many of us were justifiably dubious. F&W limped along for a while, and then declared bankruptcy, stiffing many writers on book royalties.

When I heard that Long Thread Media had been formed by some of the original creative minds at Interweave – Linda Ligon, Ann Merrow, John Bolton – I was glad that they revived the key periodicals which have been such a resource for the textile community for decades.

Linda Ligon got in touch, and asked me to write a long article about different species of silk. I put together a dossier on each of six species: Bombyx, Tussah, Eri, Tasar, Tensan, and Muga. I shipped them some of my exotic cocoons, and they did a spectacular job of photographing them in simple, elegant settings. I’m not sure whether the resulting The Long Thread is a magazine (like, will there be more issues?) or if it’s a book – but it’s awesome.

I’m in excellent company. Sara Lamb and Sarah Swett are textile artists whose work I already admire, and I’m looking forward to learning more about all the others.

For any of y’all who don’t know, I work as the Assistant Director for a nonprofit, non-governmentally run performing arts center. We’re a private 501(c)(3) corporation, for my nonprofit geeks.

Basically, everything we do, is large gatherings of people – people come here to experience the arts, to sing or dance, to watch a band play, to meet and talk about art, to plan art events, to advocate for the place of art in society, and to raise funds for the arts. It’s a beautiful thing, and it’s a good life. The people are the best people – creative, open-hearted, passion-driven, and genuine. Of course, with the current concerns about Covid-19, we are having to cancel a LOT of things – rehearsals, performances, recitals, dances. If we don’t stay alive and healthy, we can’t keep singing and dancing and making art; being healthy and keeping our (often mature and occasionally at-risk) audiences healthy is key to what we do. But it means slashing all the bookings that make up a big part of our revenue stream. We are diversely funded by a variety of grants, donations, and personal gifts, but a major chunk of our budget revenues are earned income from the activities we host. And, because the arts community is made up of awesome people, they are being understanding and agreeing to work together, accepting the changes to schedules with good grace and equanimity. Our patrons, who are not getting to see shows they paid for and were looking forward to, have for the most part been gracious and kind.

I’m also on the board for a national fiber arts event. In that group, we’re in a situation faced by many small nonprofits – we have enough money to keep our events going, but we don’t have a bankroll that will allow us to basically eat an entire year’s worth of expenses. When we announced that we had to cancel our upcoming event, we got some amazing responses – one vendor even told us that it would be OK if we weren’t able to refund her vendor booth fee, and offered to donate sales of a special yarn to our event. We’re facing a mix, with some companies and attendees being angry and frustrated and demanding immediate refunds, and others being willing to work with us, helping out if possible.

What I want for y’all to think about, is if you’ve got tickets to a show, or you’ve made a reservation for an event, and that event has made the brutally painful choice to cancel – that organization is hitting a wall, hard. Many of the smaller groups may not be able to survive a catastrophe like this; even many of the bigger ones will take a serious hit, and next year’s event may be under-funded or smaller than before because of it. If you have an income situation where you’re able to let a part of your refund be a donation instead, or if you’re able to make a gift to the nonprofit of whatever amount, it can make a huge difference in whether they can go on, pay their staff, present the show in the fall, have the event next year.

The nonprofit that I work for as my “day job” is a medium-sized, long-term stable corporation. We’re in good health, as these things are measured; we’ve got money in the bank, we’re endowed with gifts from people who love and support what we do, and we’ve got a strong and flexible professional staff. The nonprofit that I am involved with as my “passion job” on the side, is a healthy and dynamic organization, but it’s entirely volunteer-run. A board of ten people plus six advisors organize, schedule, and run this huge event that serves hundreds of students and thousands of visitors over the course of a four-day super-weekend. We have many volunteers at event time, and there is a lot of help – but it’s in the hands of those few people. We have funds in the bank, a little, but not enough to swallow a whole event’s worth of expenses and survive. As a nonprofit board member (did y’all know this?) I bear a personal financial responsibility for the organization – if it goes under, particularly if a big corporation chooses to be inflexible with the money we contractually owe it for an event we can’t have, they can name me in the suit (see also: turnip, comma, blood from…). They can go after every one of us. If they can get a judge to approve it, they could put a lien on my house, or garnish my wages.

So if you can’t go to an event, please think a moment before you give a nonprofit VOLUNTEER person a nasty tongue-lashing about how you believe they should have handled things differently. Pause, and ask yourself if you want the event to happen next year – if you want the organization to live. If you can’t get a full refund, because the dance troupe or the orchestra just doesn’t have the funds to refund everyone’s money (advance ticket sales are often used for things like space rentals for rehearsals, paying set designers, building costumes, paying technical help), can you afford to forgive that debt, make it a donation to the event? Canceling an event last minute is complicated and horrible – with the fiber festival, we’ve already designed brochures, laid out our vendor hall, ordered name badges. People did their class homework, bought plane tickets, picked out their favorite things to wear and show off. Everyone – including every member of our volunteer board – was looking forward to seeing people we see only once a year. We’re devastated and literally crying through our days some times, and we are doing our best to make it as close to right as we can, for everyone.

A few months ago, I found this post on Wheatbelly about probiotic yogurt made using special strains of Lactobacillus reuteri. That link will sometimes lead to a paywall; here’s another post that recapitulates most of the same info in case Wheatbelly is locked. Technically, it’s not precisely yogurt, because the strains that make it aren’t registered yogurt strains – but it tastes like yogurt and handles like yogurt, so that’s what I call it. I started making it, and switched from half and half to heavy cream to get more good fat and less carbohydrate since I follow a keto diet. I’m not sure how much of the Koolaid I’m willing to swallow in terms of some of the dramatic claims – but I can definitely agree that this stuff seems to help my digestion and make me feel better. This “yogurt” is about halfway between sour cream and cream cheese in both texture and flavor, and it tastes good in both savory and sweet dishes. I regularly take it sweet with Splenda and some Lily’s chocolate chips and crushed pecans, or savory with herbs and salt on vegetables or a steak, or thinned down with ranch seasoning for dressing. I made a batch and shared it with several of my friends recently, and some of them asked for a tutorial – so here it is!

Ingredients:

Cream. I like to use Horizon or other organic types because I know they’re raised without hormones or antibiotics, but any cream will do. I’m usually making it by the quart, so two pints per batch. If you use a kind with stabilizers such as guar gum, xanthan gum, or carageenan, it will make the yogurt a little more stiff, but still perfectly fine.

Inulin. This is a fine, mildly sweet white powder made from processing starches. It’s used as a PREbiotic (not a probiotic) which means that it helps feed your intestinal flora, your “good bugs.” In this case, especially because I’m using cream which has very little milk sugar, it helps feed the Lactobacillus bacteria that make the yogurt. I can’t find any chart showing the difference between the inulin made from different sources (there are a LOT), but they do have slightly different flavors and significantly different textures. You do want to get one that’s a powder, not a bottle full of capsules. I use two tablespoons per quart. My friend Allison came over, and we did some experimentation – the Jerusalem artichoke inulin mixed up OK, but the agave inulin was easier to stir to a smooth slurry. The chicory inulin was tough to stir to a smooth slurry, and I had to strain it. I won’t get the chicory again.

And, most importantly: the bacteria. This supplement, BioGaia’s GASTRUS, is the one that was listed in the Wheatbelly post, and it’s made from two strains that have been used in a lot of laboratory tests. The tablets are designed to be chewable, and they’ve got a slight mint/citrus flavor which doesn’t come through at all in the yogurt, but you might want to be aware of if you’re allergic to mint or citrus. Other probiotics will work, with varying degrees of success, I’m sure – I haven’t tried a bunch, and I don’t have a huge amount of yogurt experience. Unfortunately, this means I also can’t answer “but what if I substitute this different thing for that thing” questions.

I do this “cold start,” which means I don’t heat the cream to pasteurize it before inoculating it with the bacteria. I also don’t heat sterilize my equipment. I’ve read some sources that give all kinds of dire warnings about contaminated batches which go sour or fail to set. It hasn’t happened to me. If you want to heat sterilize your jars and tools and pasteurize your cream, by all means go ahead. I’ve done plenty of sterilizing with canning and jelly making, I’m just not that bothered about the likelihood of pre-pasteurized cream going bad.

Start: make the slurry. If you try to just stir the inulin into the cream, it clumps up into little nodules, and they are very, very hard to stir out. I like to pour a tablespoon of water into a small dish, and sprinkle the two tablespoons of inulin on top of it, let it sink, and then stir. If you don’t let the inulin sink, its hard to stir. If you get lumps, you can press them through a tea strainer with the back of a spoon to break them up.

Add the probiotics. There are two ways to do this; if you’re starting from scratch, use ten of the BioGaia Gastrus tablets, crushed to a powder. I crush them on a dinner plate using the bottom of a small jar, but any kind of mortar-and-pestle arrangement will work. If you’ve made one batch already, then you can use two tablespoons of the last batch of yogurt instead. Whichever of the two you use, stir the mixture until smooth.

Put the slurry-plus-probiotics into the jars you’ll make the yogurt in. I like wide-mouth quart jars for my own use; I use wide-mouth pints or even little jelly jars if I’m making it to share.

Add the cream. Because this won’t be steam sterilized, you don’t need to worry about head space; it will set without increasing in volume or making any kind of froth. I use a long spoon to stir the mixture. Be careful not to hit the side of the jar hard with the spoon, or it can break a hole, and make a mess. Ask me about how much trouble it is to clean up a quart of cream that spills down the front of the cabinets! Put the lids on the jars.

Put the jars in the Instant Pot, add a few inches of warm water, and set it for YOGURT. My IP has options on the YOGURT button for “more” and “less” – I set it for “less.” I have read some sources that say the IP gets too hot, but again – my results have been just right, with that setting. If you have a yogurt maker, you can use that, or you can do the trick with the oven that the Wheatbelly blog recommends. I set mine for 36 hours on the timer (press the little + sign until the time goes up). It will be yogurt-y after about 6 or 8 hours, but it grows more of the good bacteria as it goes longer, and gets a tangier flavor that I like. Refrigerate it to let it set before you use it.

That’s it! Once it’s yogurt, you scoop it out, add whatever you like (or nothing at all) and eat it. If you’re going to mix it with something, it helps to stir it by itself some first in the bowl, and then add whatever you’re doctoring it with. I like to add C8 MCT oil to mine to get more ketones, and a tablespoon or more will easily stir into a half cup of yogurt with no major impact on flavor or texture. This stuff isn’t light – it’s about five hundred calories per cup – but it fits perfectly in a ketogenic diet, with almost all of the already minimal lactose in the cream being eaten up by the bacteria+. If you’re not doing keto, and you’re eating it for breakfast, just be aware that it’s dense!

This also makes an AWESOME cultured butter – just put the cream in a stand mixer with the usual paddle blade and let it do its thing on LOW. If you try to do it too fast, there’s a lot of splashing. Once it starts to clump, turn it all the way down, and let it run until it’s one big clump. Pour off the buttermilk (which is VERY sour, and awesome for use in recipes or to drink with some sweetening) and then wash the butter in cold water, pressing through it with a spatula until the water is clear and there’s no more buttermilk in it. Salt it if you like your butter salted.