Running through Traditions in Oaxaca

By Ian Ramsey

I went down to Oaxaca—a state in southern Mexico— for the month of November. During Dia de Los Muertos, I watched brass bands and twenty-foot skeletons parade through the cobblestone streets late into the night. Families gathered in the dark of cemeteries to make altars and celebrate their ancestors by candlelight, telling stories and playing music. The streets were garlanded with marigolds and painted with street art. There were protests and mariachi bands walking the old colonial streets and families celebrating together. Oaxaca is a land of artisans and mescaleros, where they celebrate tradition and ancestors.

After the celebrations ended, I settled into a quiet rhythm living a mile high, up on the edge of the valley-bound colonial city. Each morning I would run up the steep ridges, deep into the mountains, following winding trails past woodcutters with their donkeys loaded down with wood for cookfires, past street dogs, cows, and tiny hamlets. I ran in the Sierra Norte mountains between villages where Zapotec people had maintained the forest sustainably for centuries. As the most indigenous state in Mexico where nearly half the population speaks Spanish as a second language—if at all— Oaxaca is still deeply rooted in old ways.

One day, I visited the village of Teotitlán de Valle, famous for its weaving and rug traditions. As I watched Zapotec people weaving rugs at big log-framed looms that had been built locally by hand, I thought about my home in Maine, where, a century ago, many of our communities were based around the textile traditions that New England was known for. If you travel through river towns in New England, you’ll find long brick factories that were once used to make textiles, as well as shoes and other products. I grew up going to school in a milltown with multiple shoe factories and watched most of that manufacturing disappear over decades. But the story is changing. Small Maine companies like Pinebury are bringing back American manufacturing. Working with small factories to make sustainable wool garments on a human scale. Keeping manufacturing going, paying people what they’re worth and following better environmental practices. At a moment when the future of international trade is feeling very uncertain, maybe we can learn from these craftspeople in Oaxaca who never lost the thread and have maintained these deep traditions. I watched women spinning wool from their sheep and dying the wool with local plants. I watched grandparents passing on weaving skills to their grandchildren. In the mountains, I watched multigenerational members of the local community gathering to volunteer together to clean up trash and do trail work.

This is not to say that this story is all romantic craft traditions and sustainability. People in Oaxaca—and Maine— struggle to compete with the financial incentives of international fast-fashion manufacturing. Those historic mills in New England often had questionable environmental and labor practices. But maybe we can move in a direction that supports sustainability, community and ecology. Maybe it’s good to know where your clothing comes from. I take pride in adventuring locally in Pinebury clothing that was made locally. It’s good to support your community and watershed.