Relic

One might be put off by her gingham and ruffles. There is a primitive
awkwardness about this woman. She is out-of-style, but she is not
outdated. Her talents can be approximated, but never replicated. Her
feet are in two worlds. Her kitchen has both a wood cook stove and
a microwave oven. Radium is no more or less to her than an ingredient
in her tonic to cure angst. She is a book of old stories, whose brittle
yellowed edges are migrating inward on the pages.

A small disruption in a major power grid might one day bring things to
come. Her stories could be rewritten on clean, white, pliable pages. No
more Abercrombie and Fitch on that day. She will teach you how to
grow and harvest flax, then how to ret, dry, seed, break, scutch, heckle,
spin and weave it into sheets of linen. She and the few others of her kind
will be the wellsprings of hope in a desolate age.

SOME TECHNICAL STUFF:  This looks like a six-year-old cut it out of a magazine and put it together with glue stick. I hope I can figure out how to do better than this.