The Weaver of Keebler

Elizabeth Hazel © Feb 2007

            A little weaver lived in a town called Rocky Creek. Even though she was very talented, she was poor because she wasn’t a very good salesperson. So she didn’t have much money for weaving supplies, and was reduced to making napkins. Still, every night she left out milk and cookies for the elves; and every morning the milk and cookies were gone.

             Eventually there came a night when the poor little weaver didn’t have a single cookie or piece of candy in the house to leave for the elves. She was very sorry, but all she could give them was small bowl of milk.

             The elves came for their midnight snack, only to find the measly bowl of milk. The boldest of the elves, a gutsy, ginger-haired elf named Kebeler, said to the others, “How dare she leave us only milk? I want a cookie! Let’s go inside and see what we can find!” So the other elves followed Kebeler into the house with the intention of ransacking her kitchen. But when they got there, they discovered that the shelves were bare, and that there was no food in the pantry or the refrigerator. They also saw that she barely had enough thread at her loom to make so much as a tiny handkerchief.

           Chagrined by their insensitivity, greed, and obliviousness of the little weaver’s sacrifices to keep them supplied with milk and cookies, the good elves left her several skeins of magical thread for her loom. Kebeler left her a note that said, “This is magical thread for your loom. Make a cloth with it. Lay the cloth on a table and say “By warp and by shuttle make (something) appear” or “By warp and by shuttle make (something) disappear” and it will. Yours truly, The Elves.” He signed it with a flourish, and led the elves out of her house and into the night.

            The next morning when the poor little weaver woke up, she discovered the note and the skeins of thread left by the elves. She was very excited with the gift, and lost no time in threading it through the warp of her loom. Before the middle of the afternoon, she had made a napkin.

             When the napkin was bound and finished, she put it on the table. She was trembling with excitement, so she took a deep breath. Then she said, “By warp and by shuttle, make a cup and a plate appear!” When she lifted the cloth, a silver plate and a golden cup were revealed. The poor little weaver was thrilled. Before the shops closed, she took the gold cup and silver plate into town, sold them at the jewelry store, and bought plenty of milk and cookies to leave for the elves that night, as well as a big pile of thread for her loom.

             The poor little weaver’s luck changed after that day. She sold a pile of regular napkins to her neighbor, and her reputation grew. Her sales skills improved, and she got plenty of commissions for her hand-made cloth. She was busy day and night weaving things for the townsfolk. But no matter how busy she got, she never forgot to leave milk and cookies for the elves.

            One night the little weaver had a dream. When she woke up, she locked the doors, and got out the left-over elf thread she’d hidden in one of her drawers. This time, she put regular thread in the loom’s warp, and alternated regular thread with elf thread in the shuttle. People banged on her door – she ignored them. Clients yelled at the window, but her curtains were closed. If they yelled and pounded both, she hollered at the door, “I’m busy – go away!” And since she did such lovely work, everyone assumed that she was working on a big important project for some rich person.

            After several days of frenzied weaving, the little weaver had two large pieces of cloth. She rigged a pole across the archway to her pantry, and hung the cloth on it like draperies. She stood and looked at the covered archway for a moment before saying, “By warp and by shuttle, make a cat appear!” Even diluted with regular thread, the magical elf thread was potent. When the little weaver pulled the draperies apart, there sat a spotted cat licking her paw. She tried it again a few times, just to make sure they worked. “By warp and by shuttle, make a space heater appear!” And there it was. “By warp and by shuttle, make a pair of shoes appear!” A sturdy pair of shoes sat behind the draperies when she pulled them aside.

             Well, there was no way these magical draperies were going to remain secret in a small town like Rocky Creek. The little weaver’s nosy neighbor found out by snooping around and watching her through the window. And the neighbor told her friend, who told her husband, who told the butcher, who told the baker, and on and on. The point is, people found out about it.

             Eventually the gossip reached the mayor’s ears. He brought up the subject during a town council meeting. It was decided by a fair and impartial vote that he and the head councilman and the head of the Ladies Gardening Auxiliary would make an official visit to the little weaver’s house. If the draperies were truly magical, they were authorized to petition her to hang her magical draperies in an archway at the town hall. They figured that if the draperies were used on a bigger archway, she could make bigger things appear, like couches, Laz-E-Boys, and hi-def widescreen televisions.

             The next morning, the delegation walked up the pathway leading to the little weaver’s house. The little weaver wasn’t too happy to see the mayor, the head councilman, and the head of the Ladies Gardening Auxiliary at her door, but she listened to what they had to say. After a small demonstration that assured them of the efficacy of the magical draperies, the mayor made a special point of telling her how much her magical draperies would help the small town’s economy, which had been sagging in the middle like a mattress with broken springs. Everyone would profit from her generosity, and the town would become a destination instead of just a place between here and there.

            Eventually the little weaver agreed, since people were starting to gather in her front yard and trample her flower beds. But she set some rules for the mayor and the town, and they agreed to her terms. The little weaver would only give drapery performances for one hour on Friday nights, and the mayor and his cronies would have to manage crowd control, and keep people off her lawn. They agreed to her conditions with satisfying speed.

            So the magical draperies were hung across a big archway in the town hall, and her Friday night performances were advertised. People flocked to see the curious spectacle. The mayor started collecting a cover charge at the door, and he hired the local weatherman to be the master of ceremonies and announce the little weaver before she appeared. To keep the crowds enthusiastic and swarming at the door, each person who entered wrote their name on a skip of paper. Then the little weaver drew names from a glass jar. When the person came to the archway, she asked what he or she wanted. She turned her back so nobody could hear her or see her mouth, and said the magic words. When the draperies were drawn aside, there sat whatever that person had wished for.

            It only took a few weeks for word to spread far and wide, and the little weaver’s performances turned into huge productions. People started lining up to buy tickets to her shows days in advance. Vendors and musicians set up booths on the pathways around the town hall and sold food and trinkets to people waiting to get in to see the show. Somebody printed “Magic Draperies” t-shirts and they sold like hot cakes. Even hot cakes sold like hot cakes. CNN and camera crews and paparazzi clogged the streets.

            And the townspeople profited mightily.

            After a few months, the little weaver was dismayed. Her magical draperies had turned the little town into a three-ring circus. She was assaulted by greedy demands on all sides. She asked the mayor if she could take down her draperies, but of course, he refused. People pushed and tugged at her when she went to the post office and the grocery store. They kept demanding more and more outrageous things from the draperies, too.

            This started to affect the little weaver’s weekly performances. Exhausted and frustrated, when she was asked for a rare iris, much to her dismay, an IRS auditor appeared when she pulled back the draperies. The next person asked her for two nights on the Hilton. When she pulled back the draperies, there was Paris Hilton. Many people screamed in horror and one woman fainted. The little weaver immediately made the auditor and Paris disappear, and heaved a sigh of relief.

             But the townspeople were alarmed.

             The little weaver told everybody she was tired, and called it quits for the night. She went back to her little house and locked the doors and sat in a chair with her spotted cat. She thought and thought. And before she went to bed, she left milk and cookies for the elves.

            The next day was Saturday, so nobody expected her to be anywhere. The little weaver got up very early, before her neighbor woke up to spy on her through her kitchen window. She got out a tiny spool of magical thread that was all that remained from the napkin and the draperies. One by one, she tied knots around every door handle in her house. At the last twist of the last knot, the little weaver, her cat, and her house disappeared - bell, book, and candle!

            That night when the elves came to get their milk and cookies, not only didn’t they find their expected treat, they didn’t find the little weaver’s house! They were thoroughly disgruntled, but of course, they weren’t aware of the deteriorating situation with the magical draperies.

            Luckily, the elves had learned something from the incident. After all, if elves do good deeds for humans, eventually they become angels. But it seemed like this particular good deed had backfired, and the elves were pretty desperate to get their milk and cookies every night. It was like a monkey on their backs.

             Kebeler, the lion-hearted elf, said to the others, “This is very bad. We need to have milk and cookies. And now the little weaver is gone.” The other elves looked very sad, but nobody offered a suggestion. Then an old elf named Tobler shyly raised his hand. Kebeler nodded, and Tobler asked, “Why don’t we make our own cookies?”

             Tobler’s question caused a collective gasp from the other elves. His suggestion was a truly revolutionary thought for an elf. Elves had always been dependent on humans for their treats; making their own would upset the order of the universe. Still, Tobler’s suggestion had merit.

            The elves huddled up and discussed the idea all night. The next day, they found a spot at the edge of the forest near the rocky little creek the town was named for, and started building a factory. Day and night they worked, driven by their longing for milk and cookies to work faster and faster.

             Finally the cookie factory was finished, and the elves started experimenting with recipes. You see, the elves had no experience with baking. After a goodly amount of pastry catastrophes, causing the death of several test elves, they launched into full scale cookie production. The cookies were delicious, and sold like wild fire. Well, who wouldn’t buy a cookie made by elves?

            Back in town, things hadn’t been going very well. The business boom dried up after the little weaver disappeared and nobody else could figure out how to make the magical draperies work. The old mayor was implicated in her disappearance and impeached. A new mayor was elected. He was a real butt kisser, and was smart enough to get in good with the elves when it became obvious that their cookie factory was going to be a profitable enterprise. In order to keep the elves happy, and to prevent them from shipping jobs to the elves in Mexico, the mayor offered to rename the town after the elves’ cookie factory, since it had become the town’s new source of wealth and a surprisingly popular tourist attraction.

            After weeks of discussion and debate, it was decided to name the town after the head elf, Kebeler. But the mayor was better at butt kissing than he was at spelling, and the sign that was posted at the edge of town read, “Welcome to Keebler.”

            And now you know why the elves started a cookie factory, and why the little weaver was called the Weaver of Keebler.