Looking out my Backdoor: The value of darning socks

Late in the day, I read a profound passage in a Swedish mystery novel. The daughter asked her father why life seems so much harder in these modern times. His answer was that we no longer darn socks.

This makes perfect sense, of course, food for thought for times to come.

My grandmother put needle and thread in my hands before I started school. Two things I learned quite young. I embroidered pillowcases with floral borders and I darned my own stockings. Grandma did not have an extra darning egg to give me, so I used a light bulb. I remember being quite proud when finally allowed to darn my dad’s socks.

The father character in my Henning Mankell novel explained to his daughter that the changes in society began small. Instead of darning a sock when our big toenail worries a hole, we throw the pair away and buy new. In a bundle of six or 12.

I’m taking the father’s idea and running with it, expanding upon it a bit. Because what he says contains a truckload of truth. Who in our day replaces buttons on shirts? Mends bicycle tires? Repairs a broken shovel handle?

First we throw away the small, inconsequential everyday things. A simple pair of stockings. What a concept. One might have new socks several times a year, not just at the beginning of the school year—or at Christmas. Socks are relatively cheap, right?

At one time that footwear you just discarded had a real use value. Value and cost are not necessarily synonymous. Somewhere along the years, socks lost value. “It’s just socks. Buy new.”

We took giant steps with that concept and not overnight either. A radio used to have pride of place in the living room, an actual piece of furniture. Friends and neighbors gathered round on Friday night to listen to symphonies, to comedy, to news of the world. Then along came transistors.

In a nutshell, that’s my take on the way of our world. We make things flimsier. We make things stronger, more versatile. We make them miniature. We make them with built-in obsolescence. Change is beneficial. I’ve no argument. Change is also detrimental. A paradox.

I like living in a small farm village in Mexico where it seems I’ve reverted back in time 60 or 70 years. But any of the modern conveniences I wish to have are available. When something breaks, we still fix it. Most everything has value.

In most cities, probably most cities in the world, one can pick through the back alley on garbage pickup day and find items unbroken, unblemished, still usable. One wonders, why was this perfectly good whichy-wonker thrown away? Last year’s model? Different color preferred? A small blemish on the corner? Why?

Reasonable or unreasonable, the trash in the alley, good or broken, no longer has perceived value.

Alley trash is one thing. But when we cease to value people, when we throw away those we don’t want to see, (same list as above), then we are in dire straits; we are in real trouble.

When I don’t value you, I don’t value me. A sense of despair guides decisions. The world shrugs.

That was cheerful, wasn’t it? I’m not saying if we all get out the darning needles and patch those holey socks the world will get better. But it might.

Think about what we throw away. Think about who we throw away.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].