Originally posted to DudleyDanes.com 08/25/2023
Do you believe in luck? Destiny? Fate? I prefer to accept them all, though doing so strains my imagination at times. Today I had the chance to experience at least one of them, maybe even all of them when I met the Straw Woman.
I must begin this with a dictum: Destiny comes in all sizes. We must dismiss any idea that miracles don’t qualify unless they are of a certain caliber.
Capiche?
I went today for a walk in an attempt to connect with the peacefulness of the outdoors. The air was immediately fresh and rejuvenating. The white sun shone proud, and it kindly encompassed me with a mild heat. It wore a cerulean gown that deepened to cobalt at the center and faded on the edges before meeting the earth. The colors above heightened the colors below, and the grass and trees appeared to have become more vibrant shades of green. It was exactly what I’d needed to see.
At one point along my walk where the sidewalk curves toward a local synagogue, the souls of my shoes crunched onto hardened shells of discarded seed pods. Startled by the noise, a group of birds mobbed the sky with quick instinct.
I took particular notice of a bluebird. It was the only bluebird in the group, and its flight path was laden with zigzags, unlike that of the other birds. I stopped a moment to watch the shades of blue that bent and twisted and kaleidoscoped as the bluebird passed under the shade of a tree and into the light.
When the bird ducked behind a wall with the others, I saw a woman loading boxes into her car. She wasn’t very close to the synagogue, but that’s the only place I could imagine her having come from. This was a passing thought, however. I hadn’t gone out to people-watch, and I just wanted to get back to my wandering. I still wasn’t certain where I was headed.
As I moseyed past the woman and her boxes and her car, I caught something of minor interest in my peripheral. I wouldn’t even have remembered this moment if not for our later interaction, but what I noticed was simply that the boxes were adorned with bold, black print. Curious to a fault, I looked back to read the labels on her bounty.
The particular box that drew my eyes read, “Agave Straws.” An undetectable smile cracked my beard, because I had recently discussed this straw material with my manager, David. I found them to be much more interesting than did he. I’d circled around to the subject several times with him, and he’d obliged me by listening with half an ear.
What interested me about those straws was that they were, on the surface, fairly ugly. They look as though someone had used an opaque plastic straw to sip molasses or Coca-Cola syrup and left it to dry before sealing it up into its paper condom.
When I first saw on, my reaction went like this: Ew.
But as I used the straw, I began to wonder why it had no taste, why it felt like plastic, and how they had become perfectly straw shaped. What is mixed into the agave to allow it to, what, crystalize? What sort of a machine dips its rod into the mixture for it to dry on, and how does the outside get so smooth? I suppose I could have asked these questions about any straw, but the site of my agave straw got my wheels spinning.
Well anyway, I must have said something as I passed the woman and her boxes, because she called to me and asked, “What about them?”
Her question seemed abrasive (it wasn’t) and it led me to believe she was offended (she wasn’t) by whatever I’d said when I recognized her straws.
I am at times as awkward as I am curious, and the words that tumbled from my stupid mouth were pure drivel. ” Da-gave straws-de. I’ve um,” long pause, “used them at um,” words escaped me. Then I grasped it, proud: “Restaurant!”
As if to make this even cringier, I tried to communicate the words that would not come via over-emphasized hand gestures that indicated either drinking from an invisible straw or offering marijuana.
This happens to me sometimes. It is what it is.
I recognized the oddness of my response as I made it, probably reddening a bit. I wondered if I had worsened the situation or given her the impression that I was a crazy person. Taking a moment to clear my head, I tried again.
I told her about my recent fascination with agave straws and that I’d been curious about how they are formed. My body was half turned, as though I intended to walk away (forward) while looking backward. I held that position for a while, in part because I’ve seen some women become visibly shaken at the unexpected approach of a strange man, and I didn’t want her to worry about me. Instead, I’m sure I just made the situation more awkward.
She clearly noticed my clumsy nature, but had decided I was indeed no threat to her.
“They use the fibers,” she said. “When the agave is used to make tequila, there are a lot of fibers left over that are usually thrown away.”
“Huh,” I said. It wasn’t a question like, Huh? It was a statement, synonymous with “I see,” or “Interesting.”
She went on. “So they use these as a way to decrease waste. They mix them with additives and some plastic to make the straws. It’s similar to how they make hemp straws.”
Then, without missing a beat she says, “I’m the Straw Woman, by the way.”
The what? What’s a straw woman? I didn’t know there was such a thing. Is it a business name? A pet name? A safe word?
There was no time to ask though, because she wasn’t done telling me about the process of how the straws are made, that yes, they’re better than plastic, but not the best option. There are sugar cane straws and bamboo straws and coffee straws (at which point we both looked at the travel mug in my hands) and seaweed straws, but the best ones are probably home compostable straws….
The conversation went on, and I had plenty of questions as well as my own experiences and musings. I also like the home compostable straws because they look and feel just like plastic (which honestly makes me wonder about them). I was especially interested in coffee straws, which I had never heard of but immediately coveted. I finally noticed that her boxes were indeed all straws, each a different type.
To make this moment even more surreal, she said she keeps samples and though she didn’t have many left, she could give me some. At this point I was fully signed on for samples and found myself to be excited at the prospect. She only had 2 left.
In another odd coincidence or fate or whatever, the two she had left to offer were agave and home compostable. Weird.
This near-miraculous moment that hinged on an uncanny interest in straws Must have been written in the stars. Every one of my straw-related questions from the day before were answered in one unlikely interaction between strangers, and I knew immediately that I would have to share the moment with you, my readers.
By the way, I’m still not sure why she had decided to pack her car full of straws at that moment or in that location. Where could the straws have come from? Once they were all packed in, maybe 5 minutes after our conversation, she walked to the synagogue to join others who were gathering there. She was greeted by some who were already there as though she had only just arrived–not as though she had just been there trying to hawk straws.
Sometimes destiny is the only explanation you need.