Narrator: Each of these cocoons holds
almost 1,000 feet of silk.
And these wiggly little guys are responsible
for spinning them.
Here in Nam Cao, Vietnam,
craftspeople weave silk that's so valuable,
it can sell for $150 a dress.
That's because this is really delicate work.
Each cocoon has to be hand-pulled,
and the worms themselves are really hard to raise.
For one, they're always hungry.
And they need the perfect environment,
or else they'll die.
Today, Vietnam is the second-biggest producer
of raw silk in the world.
Nearly everyone in this village works in the industry,
and they're using many of the same techniques
passed down for generations.
But about a decade ago,
the industry in this town almost dried up.
Narrator: Fake silk from China had flooded the market,
and warmer temperatures were threatening the worms' lives.
But this area revived itself thanks to Hạnh
She got farmers to weave more profitable goods
and helped them reinvest in new technologies
that boosted production.
Narrator: We head to Vietnam to see how one village
saved its big business of silk.
Silk villages dot Vietnam.
And they produce silk in a tedious 30-step process.
It all starts in fields like this one.
There aren't any worms out here.
This is just their food, and they need this much of it.
Narrator: These leaves contain vitamins, amino acids,
and enough moisture that the worms
never need to drink water.
Farmers bring loads of harvested leaves
to the silkworm houses.
Narrator: Trần Văn Thịnh is a 35-year veteran farmer.
He buys tens of thousands of worms
from breeders each year,
and he raises them on big bamboo mats
on the first floor of his home.
When it's feeding time, he lays a net on the worms.
Then, he heaps 3 pounds of food on top.
The healthy worms crawl through the holes
and get to munching.
Narrator: And they eat over 600 pounds of leaves a day.
Narrator: Meaning Thịnh can't rest,
because the worms eat every four hours.
Narrator: They also need a sterile environment
and a perfect temperature of around 22 degrees Celsius.
Narrator: After nearly a month of eating and sleeping,
their bodies will plump up.
Narrator: Thịnh delivers the worms
to another family in Hong Phong.
They hang them on racks stuffed with straw.
The worms spit the silk out of this organ,
called a spinneret.
During this vulnerable time,
workers fight off bees that attack the silkworms.
Narrator: The worms need sunny weather
to produce colorful cocoons,
because if it's rainy and gray outside,
the cocoons could lose their color and look damaged.
Within two days, the cocoons are ready.
Workers remove each one by hand.
Once they've got a big enough pile,
they boil the cocoons in water.
That way, they can kill the pupae insides
and either eat them or use them in traditional medicine.
Narrator: Then they soak the cocoons
for another five to seven hours before pulling the threads.
Narrator: Families here pass down
the delicate technique of hand-pulling thread.
Narrator: Phạm Thị Buông has worked in silk
for nearly 60 years.
She'll unravel about 70 grams of thread a day.
Narrator: This machine reels the silk.
Workers then hang the threads to dry.
Narrator: Next, the threads head to the cooperative
to be woven.
Narrator: And finally, the silk gets dunked
a hundred times in all-natural dyes.
They use gac fruit for red,
almond leaves or turmeric for yellow,
tallow leaves for black,
and Indigofera for, well, indigo.
It's the same technique they've used for generations.
Silk weaving dates back 4,000 years in Vietnam,
all the way to the Bronze Age.
For millennia, it was the fabric of choice for nobility.
And in its heyday in the 16th to 18th century,
traders came from all over the world
to buy Vietnam's silk.
Beginning in the 2000s, Vietnam's temperatures heated up,
and storms came more frequently.
Narrator: There was also an influx
of counterfeit silk from China.
Narrator: Real silk will burn slowly
and smell like burnt hair,
while the fake stuff will burn quickly
and smell like plastic.
Prices for Vietnam's silk fluctuated,
dropping as low as $3 per kilo.
With less profit, young people took jobs
in textile factories in the cities to earn more.
Narrator: Hạnh heard the story
of the diminishing craft village
when she visited in the early 2010s,
and she wanted to help.
She quit her job in interior design
and decided to band families together.
Narrator: She got farmers to purchase
air-conditioning units so they could raise worms
in any weather.
Narrator: They went from being able to produce
440 to 600 pounds of cocoons per year
to over 2,200 pounds.
Hạnh introduced benefits for the farmers,
like holidays off and helping stabilize
the price for silk.
Narrator: Today, over 200 families in Nam Cao
are part of her cooperative,
pumping out 220 pounds of silk a month.
And each family can make up to $12,000 a year,
a high wage for this area.
They weave a silk that is great
at moisture and temperature control,
making it breathable in the summer
and insulating in the winter.
Because of these properties,
silk from Hạnh's collective can be used
in everything from sofa covers, curtains, and suits
to pillowcases and sheets.
Narrator: Hạnh hopes the success
of the Nam Cao cooperative will attract young talent
back into the industry
so farmers can reinvest in the town.
Narrator: Until then, they'll keep spinning away.