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We track our pure
Cashmere Sweaters to their source, the vast Grasslands and hardy Kashmir
goats of Inner Mongolia. |
| They
call it the Grasslands, but it looks more like desert to us. This vast plain
where generations of Mongol families have tended the legendary Kashmir goat
is unvarying sand and rock as far as the eye cares to see. There's grass,
all right — a stubby blade here, another over yonder. Enough to give
the middle distance a faint greenish tinge. "It has been a dry spring,"
says herdsman Ma Xi, plucking at a nearby tuft. "Everything is late a little,
and so you have come just at the start of the combing season. "That's precisely
why we're here — to see exactly where the world's finest cashmere comes
from, and what happens to it on its way to becoming a Lands' End sweater.
We've driven several hundred miles since the last noticeable town, on roads
that are often no more than faint tire tracks in the sand. Herders' houses,
like Ma Xi's three-room brick-and-adobe bungalow, provide the only variation
in the scenery. It's bleakly beautiful, and goes on forever. |
| Sweaters
on the hoof. |
Bouncing dots on the
horizon flank the setting sun; here comes Ma Xi's herd of 800 goats and
sheep.They return to the house each night, "because they like us, and for
safety." Their only predators are fox, and the mountain eagles that fly
many miles to airlift tender lambs and kids. Suddenly we're surrounded by
small, rugged-looking goats with flowing white coats that wave in the slightest
breeze. Our interpreter whispers, "These people are rich. They get big money
from cashmere, and have little to spend it on." "Rich," we determine later,
means a family income of several thousand dollars a year — a far sight
better than the reported 1997 rural per capita income of about $876. But
then, a lot has changed in Mongolia since the demise of the Cultural Revolution.
Herders now own their animals, and can sell their products on the free market.
Agricultural banors (leagues) have been established, to share modern animal
husbandry theories. As a result, cashmere yield has reportedly doubled from
1984 to 1994.
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| We're
treated to a Mongolian welcome. |
Most Grasslanders have
never seen a Westerner, or da bizi ("big nose"). So everyone who
has been able to conjure the slightest excuse has come for dinner —
relatives, party officials, banor leaders, and a sizable contingent from
the Dong-sheng cashmere factory.
 Qi
Mu, Ma Xi's energetic wife, ushers us into the small but tidy house where
we fill the spaces around a long table stacked with a colorful assortment
of cold dishes — pickled vegetables, deep-fried chickens' feet, and
several varieties of wafers and crumblies made from clabbered goat milk.
We big noses are cautious about foreign cuisine, but it all looks wonderful
and we are starving.
Cold
snacks are joined by hot dishes — soups, puffy white dumplings, stir
fries — 
along with the staple of all Mongolian wingdings, mao tai. During
our stay, we will have this sharp, potent grain alcohol offered to us repeatedly
at every meal, and between many.
Mao tai is also the cue for the musicians, dressed in bright traditional
robes, to unleash the power of their wooden flute, samisen, two-stringed
hugin, and mourin khour. After more than six hours of toasts, speeches and
singing, it's time for the main course — finger mutton. Two roast sheep
are ceremoniously presented in wooden boxes, heads placed on top facing
the guests of honor.
Everyone touches a finger to a sheep's nose and dabs the grease on their
lips. Then we all dive in, plucking out tasty bits with our fingers. It's
a magnificent climax to a stupendous meal, and the guests of honor soon
slink off to sleep. When we arise at dawn, we are stupefied to find the
party still in full swing, the celebrants apparently none the worse for
wear.
Indeed, at our reappearance, our host announces energetically that it's
time to go comb some goats.
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| The
cashmere begins its journey. |
Ma Xi and Qi Mu walk slowly among the goats, looking for those whose fine
undercoat is ready to be harvested. Wong Pili, leader of the Xingzhao Agricultural
Group (made up of about 170 families who together own 100,000 goats) offers
to answer technical questions. "I have graduated from the University
of Mongolia," he explains modestly, "so I may know things."
"What is it," we ask, "that makes the cashmere from these goats superior?"
The answer is intriguing and complex.
Top-quality cashmere fibers are long, strong and fine. Although Kashmir
goats are raised elsewhere, they are often shorn rather than combed, which
results in shorter fibers. In addition, warmer climates discourage fleece
growth. And the harsher winters north of us cause the fleece to grow too
thick and coarse. Climate-wise, we are standing in cashmere heaven.
"Also, too much grass is no good," says Wong. "If there is too much
for the goats to keep cropped, it grows long and bitter. Then they won't
eat it at all." On the Grasslands, man, beast and nature maintain a
delicate balance.
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| Gentle
harvest. |
Ma Xi begins clipping
a goat's graceful guard hairs. Then, with a rake-like instrument tipped
with crochet hooks, he combs the goat's coat. The soft underhair comes out
easily, building up on the long tines.
Combing takes about 20 minutes, after which he slowly works the blanket
of fleece off the tines and stacks it atop a dozen similar bundles. At the
end of the season, these will be baled and trucked to the factory in Dongsheng.
We
spend nearly a week on the Grasslands, enjoying the abundant hospitality
of several herder families. Just as we begin to feel the pace and rhythm
of their rich lives in this austere setting, it's time to return to the
relative civilization of Dongsheng — to track the cashmere on the rest
of its journey.
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| From
fleece to finish. |
"It's well known," says production manager Jimmy Gao, "that the
best cashmere comes from Inner Mongolia, and the best cashmere factory in
Inner Mongolia is in Dongsheng. In fact," he pauses for effect, "we
are standing in it."
Until 10 years ago, Dongsheng was a tiny, hardscrabble frontier town. Then
came the cashmere factory, a joint venture involving agricultural communes
and the government. Today the factory employs 5,000 people, and young Grasslands
adults vie for the opportunity to come to town and make sweaters. Many go
abroad for training, and are considered skilled technicians.
Ma Xi's goat fleece is part of the 715,000 pounds, from over 1-1/2 million
goats, that comes through the gates each year. Lands' End sweaters leave
from the dock — bagged, tagged and ready for shipment. What happens
in between would be impressive anywhere on earth — and more so when
you consider this remote location.
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| High-tech
meets handwork. |
Cacophonous machinery stretching for 1100 feet blows freshly laundered goat
fleece through pin-studded rollers designed to remove the last coarse guard
hairs from 420 kilos of fleece per day. Exactly how it works is a highly
guarded secret, an incentive for industrial espionage.
Rolags of snow-white fleece drift off the final rollers into a metal bin,
a snowbank that billows with the tiniest puff of air. At this point, goat
fleece officially becomes cashmere. From the bins, the cashmere is taken
to be dyed, dried, mixed for color consistency and spun into yarn. Special
machinery has been installed to double the single-ply yarn, since all Lands'
End cashmere is made from the heavier two-ply. This added heft is obvious
when we handle several of the finished sweaters. Gao points out that Lands'
End sweaters are also knit more tightly than many on the market. This adds
to their weight (and their value) and reduces pilling.
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| Careful
crafting is crucial. |
Automatic knitting machines whir away, but most Lands' End sweaters are
produced on hand-operated units, for greater control. The sweaters are all
"fullyfashioned" — each panel knit exactly to its finished size. This
helps the sweaters hold their shape and eliminates raveling. Once the panels
are knit, the real handiwork begins — highly detailed operations that
define a top-quality sweater.
Workers bend over machines that look like car wheels, their rims studded
with tiny hooks. Sweater panels are linked to the hooks, stitch by stitch.
At an adjacent table, women hand-graft sleeve cuffs. Every stitch is accounted
for, and the result looks virtually seamless.
The sweaters are washed ("No chemicals," Gao assures us) to restore
the cashmere's natural softness. The dried sweaters are steam-pressed and
blocked on a wire frame, shaped and measured until they're exactly right.
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| Inspection
for perfection. |
Each garment is thoroughly
examined three times, by three separate crews. The sweaters are stretched
over illuminated forms to check for tiny flaws in the material. Operators
check every hand-sewn seam to make sure each stitch is perfect. After a
garment has passed this triple threat, the Lands' End label is sewn on —
by hand, naturally.
Then
the sweaters are readied for their journey to Dodgeville — and beyond.
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| Our
kind of folks. |
It's time for us to
journey to Dodgeville, too — and we're reluctant to leave. The people
of the Grasslands have made us feel part of their family. They've shared
with us the beauty and simplicity of their lives. And they've helped make
us aware of how their Kashmir goats — and our cashmere sweaters —
play a role in the pace of their seasons, and the shape of their future.
© 1999 Lands'
End
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