Where do clothes come from? This simple question has a simple answer on its face. The main four natural fibers are wool, silk, linen, and cotton. How those fibers become fabric is far more complicated than I previously realized. I have little experience with wool, silk, or cotton. However, I am learning how to work with flax. Flax is a strong, fibrous plant that, when harvested and processed, becomes linen thread.
My goal is to follow the pattern of eighteenth-century American farmers who processed flax with hand tools. Flax was an important plant in the American colonies. Benjamin Franklin encouraged flax production for individual families and invested financially in a flax manufactory.[1] George Washington acknowledged the growing popularity of flax in the British colonies and even “sowed a little flax” at Mount Vernon.[2] The Boston Gazette ran an article in 1766 that applauded “eighteen daughters of liberty, young ladies of good reputation,” for encouraging domestic production by spinning flax and wool “from sunrise until dark.” Many families grew their own flax and made their own linens for the benefit of their households.
The more I work with flax, the more I appreciate pre-industrial work and the more I learn to piece together how families used their land to make clothing and shelter and grow their own food. Growing flax was a primary concern for daily living in most pre-industrial homes and societies. The question of where your clothes come from affected every member of the household because clothing was entirely handmade—from harvesting to spinning, weaving, and sewing. In addition, understanding the process of producing clothing in this manner helps us to cultivate a deeper commitment to focus, patience, and diligence.
Growing Flax and Making Linen
After the last frost, the farmer scatters flax seeds over an acre of plowed land. He fashions a wattle fence, thin sticks bound and woven horizontally onto a vertical wooden frame (much like a woven basket), to protect the flax as it matures. The bright sunlight of the spring months transforms those young plants into sturdy stalks, which grow a few feet high by mid-summer. The fibrous plant blossoms delicate blue flowers before slowly withering from root to bud.
Deep green stalks turn yellowish-brown near the season’s end, and the flower pods dry, giving the farmer next year’s seeds. When the colors fade to brown, the farmer begins his harvest. He pulls the flax’s shallow roots out from the ground, being careful not to break the long fibers that extend from the top of the plant down to the root. The farmer separates the straight stalks from the bent and stacks them to dry. Nothing is discarded or wasted.
The farmer rotates the bundles daily to prevent mold during drying time. When the flax completely dries, the retting begins (the word ret means “to rot”). The farmer soaks the flax in contained water and weighs down the flax with heavy stones. As the flax rots in the water, bacteria grows and the wood-like casing that binds the fibers soften.[3] Again, the plant dries, and the farmer rotates the bundles. If the flax retains any moisture, it will over-ret, ruining the hard-won fibers.
With hands full of dried flax, the farmer chops the hardened plant against a wooden flax break. This tool has two main parts: a base and a hinged arm. Both have thick wooden blades that when opened and closed break up the chaff. The long pale fibers become visible progressively as the chaff falls away. The farmer scrapes the larger chaff from the flax fibers with a scutching knife (a dull wooden blade). He then brushes the hair-like linen strands through iron flax combs. Combing the flax rips the matted strands and tears out the remaining chaff, separating the strong flax from the brittle.
Spinning the linen takes time and patience. The spinner takes the brushed flax strick, a half-pound bundle of braided flax, and loads it onto the distaff. The spinner then guides the flax on the bobbin with wax-dipped fingers while pushing and lifting the pedals with her feet. The spinning wheel twists the fibers into linen thread. Finally, after the linen is spun into thread, it is hand-woven into fabric or clothing. The farmer and spinner, from seed to sewing, invest at least a year into making a garment from the produce of the field.
On average, an acre of flax will produce enough linen to make only one person one set of clothes. For the eighteenth-century man, one set of clothes was a shirt, vest, knee-britches, stockings, and an overcoat. For the woman, one set of clothes was a shift (chemise), skirt, stockings, and jacket. Only one-tenth of the flax plant will survive breaking, scutching, and combing. Even so, the broken and matted flax still has use.
The flax that is unsuitable for clothing is saved up and repurposed. The broken chaff becomes fire-starter. The bent, imperfect flax makes tow rope (coarse flax twisted into rope) and burlap. The broken and matted tow has multiple uses from cleaning to making twine. The farmer and the spinner use every part of the plant. By the skillful work of their hands, the artisans make clothing.[4] The farmer and the spinner exemplify what it means to make culture.
Learning from the Trade
In Charles H. Spurgeon’s Talks to Farmers, he preached that believers “may find instruction everywhere.”[5] That adage rings true. Every facet of life—all cultural work—points toward our Creator. Spurgeon taught complex spiritual disciplines through the language of agriculture. His teachings are extremely practical while also rich with theological truth. Talks to Farmers begins by asking the reader to open his eyes and see God’s revealed truth in the world around him.
Drawing from Proverbs 24, Spurgeon considered how we might learn from the abundant field as well as the thorns and thistles: “Whatever you see, take care to consider it well, and you will not see it in vain. You shall find books and sermons everywhere, in the land and in the sea, in the earth and in the skies, and you shall learn from every living beast, and bird, and fish, and insect and from every useful or useless plant that springs out of the ground.”[6]
Growing, harvesting, and processing flax does not seem like an inherently spiritual act. Even so, learning how to grow and care for this plant gave me a newfound appreciation for God’s creation and reminded me of my responsibility to care for what I have been given. The flax plant has been teaching me numerous lessons. To produce a healthy crop, the farmer must be attentive and faithful. The farmer learns from experience to be mindful of what he consumes, to be patient, and to do his work with excellence.
The eighteenth-century farmer and his family had a very practical motivation. Whatever was planted fed or clothed the family. Every member of the household had an active role in this process. The father, mother, and children all had distinct roles to play in textile production. The father led the work in the fields and the mother led the work on the spinning wheel and loom. The children divided their time between the field and the spinning wheel.
The time and effort that hand-spun clothes require is so unfamiliar to today’s culture. Department stores carry a wide variety of mass-produced clothing that fits every individual’s budget and taste. Many of us—myself included—donate bags full of clothing at the change of each season. Crocheting, cross-stitching, embroidery, knitting, quilting, sewing, and weaving are hobbies. Spinning is something our ancestors did. We have the luxury to throw away clothes. We can pick up and put down these hobbies depending on passing interest.
The eighteenth-century farmer did not have such luxuries. He had very few articles of clothing. When clothing wore thin or ripped, it had to be patched or repaired. Clothes were handed down from parents to children, from older siblings to younger, until those fabrics were completely worn. This practice encouraged mindful consumption. When we repair clothes, we take stock of what we own and learn how to care for those items. In doing so, we also learn the difference between what clothes we need and what clothes we want. Rather than buying the new and latest fashions, we may lean toward more timeless styles made with quality fabric that will last through the years.
Working with fibers also challenges one to practice patience. Any gardener knows that when he plants a seed, he must wait for it to sprout. Growing flax is no quick task. The farmer waits until the plant is ready for harvest. He waits for the plant to dry. He waits for the plant to ret. He waits for the plant to dry again. For my part, I can attest that I harvested flax in early July. After harvesting, I rotated the flax daily for several weeks before it was ready for retting. The flax was not fully retted and dried until October. Still, I am roughly two months away from spinning thread.
Spinning linen is also slow and meticulous work. Should the spinner not do her due diligence, the threads will be uneven and perhaps brittle. The quality of the thread depends on the skill of the spinner and the quality of the flax produced. When the spinner sits down to the spinning wheel, she has a project in mind. With her hands, the spinner controls the thickness of the thread or yarn being spun. The weaver, too, works carefully because that hard-earned thread cannot be wasted. Woven linen is the intended product that the family labors together to make.
Conclusion
Turning flax into linen is culture making. The farmer and the spinner use raw materials to fashion something new. They use every part of the plant. The seeds, the chaff, and the fibers all have a distinct purpose. The farmer, who processes the flax plant, uses materials like wood and iron to make tools: the flax break, the scutching knife, the flax comb, the spindle, the spinning wheel, and the loom. With those tools, the artisans turn a summer’s harvest into clothing.
The farmer and his family work diligently to produce something useful. Growing flax teaches many valuable lessons like mindfulness, patience, and diligence. God’s truth is woven into the largest tree and the smallest seed. To echo Spurgeon’s instruction, if we take care to truly see the wonder and beauty of Creation, we can glean spiritual lesson everywhere, including from the flaxseed.
[1] Samuel Preston Moore, “Philadelphia Linen Manufactory: Stock Certificate for Charles Tomson” (August 1764): https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Franklin/01-11-02-0085.
[2] George Washington, “To Robert Cary & Company” (September 20, 1765): https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/02-07-02-0252-0001.
[3] The flax fibers are held together by pectin. Pectin is a glue-like colloidal substance that holds the stalk together, allowing the plant to grow three or four feet in height. That pectin serves a purpose during growing time, but it hinders linen production. The purpose of retting is to moisten and dissolve the pectin that encases the fibers. Some farmers ret in rushing water (stream, creek, or river) or with dew. These methods are not preferred. The preferred method is standing water. Standing water creates a bacteria-filled pool that eats the pectin.
Retting the flax is the hardest step to master. The temperature, the humidity, the ratio of water to flax, the size of the flax bundles—these variables affect the quality of the future thread. Retting the flax too long will weaken the fibers, which means the flax will not produce strong thread. Retting the flax too little will soften the chaff but not sufficiently dissolve the pectin. This step determines if the flax is useable.
[4] Clarabel Gilman, “Flax,” The Journal of Education 44, no. 9 (1896): 159. https://www.jstor.org/stable/44050601.
[5] Charles H. Spurgeon, Talks to Farmers: Inspiring, Uplifting, Faith-building Meditations (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2022), 2.
[6] Spurgeon, Talks to Farmers, 2.
December 16, 2025
A helpful treatment of something we take so much for granted. God keeps providing for our needs, and we’ve come a long way since fig leaves! I often wonder about who figured out such things in the first place. Was it just one curious and inventive individual? A group effort? All at one time, or more spread out in history? Thank you for publishing this.