Queenie shifts her bobbins lovingly. Her skill of weaving handmade lace is no longer needed, as her craft is no longer needed in this late nineteenth-century hamlet. Looms now produce the lace in volume and at speeds that render the work once handcrafted by people like Queenie obsolete. 

But she persists, as any artist must. Queenie is a character in the period drama produced by BBC, Lark Rise to Candleford. Lark Rise, a humble and poor hamlet, is home to the laborers, field workers, and people like Queenie. A few miles away is Candleford, a small but growing town, serving growing markets for services and goods that carry the banner of progress. The contrast and the relationship between the people of the two worlds make for the tension, conflict, and resolution to the story originally written by Flora Thompson.  

The Lark Rise denizens know, but try to ignore, the change that is coming. They speak of it but do not act in any way that would suggest that they have a future in this unknown world on their doorstep. Machinery will soon replace their labor, fieldwork, and artistry. The audience watches with the same wistfulness as Queenie, as she weaves her lace for no one. This drama asks us to consider time passing in our own lives.

As a boy I heard the tales of storied track coaches, distance running being next to Godliness in my family. These were the coaches who put the greatest runners in the world onto the track of the Olympic Games. The inevitable conclusions to these stories were about time passing these once-great innovators by. Theses coaches, unable to “adjust to the changes in society,” could not communicate with the modern athlete, it was said.

How can that happen, I thought as a boy? The coach is the same person. Why does he suddenly lose the ability to communicate? He has the same knowledge that caused young runners to win gold medals in the past; why not now? As silly as it sounds, I envision men struck speechless, unable to utter a word. I had to conclude that the coaches had somehow become deficient. I did not know how, but I just accepted it as fact. And in fact, it set the tone for how I would view the world for most of my life, until now. 

Now I am one of the coaches, at least metaphorically. And the pattern holds. I find it difficult to communicate to a world that is changing, and not always for the better, at least in my view. And the world, it also seems, does not much try to communicate with me. Or so it would seem.

I know young people are just trying to make their way, and the speed of life is familiar and part of their journeys. And I make no complaint, here. The world has been kind to me. I will retire soon, comfortably, and I am convinced that there is a Queenie in me.

As I age, I crave the craft, the art, the creativity, and the love that sustains these things. I am excited for my future, even though the world can, at times, fly by. I will soon shift from production of goods to creation of a kind of art. And I see it in Queenie’s face when she weaves her lace. I am feel that in my bones.

Queenie’s key role in the hamlet of Lark Rise is that of wisdom teacher. She asks questions that help the other characters think about deeper meanings. She comforts and does not accuse. But she will always speak the truth. There is no political agenda in her, just her love of the art of weaving the loves and relationship of her life with as much care and artistry as she weaves her lace.

That, I suppose, is why she continues with her craft. Perhaps no one will buy her lace any longer, but people will always need Queenie whether or not they realize it.