Years ago there was a man who lived with his wife in a thatched cottage that had been his grandfathers’. Everyday the couple would sit from dawn til dusk embroidering beautiful textiles with needles he inherited from his father. The threads he used were spun from silk worms that his family had cultivated since that days of Marco Polo. He, like his forbearers, was hard working and humble. Although he created the most luxurious pieces ever seen, word of his talents never spread beyond his remote village. The couple lived happily for many years only hoping for a child. Over time they settled into the company of just the other and with the love they would have given to a child embraced their work. They were content, thanking God for the other and for the work at hand. One day a small scantily clad barefoot boy appeared at the couple’s door. They offered him a bowl of soup which he devoured. The couple began to softly sing and soon the boy was in a deep sleep. The next day and the following passed in the same way and soon the days were months, and the months turned to years. No one knew where the boy came from but over the passage of time he became the couple’s son and when his mother passed he was his father’s comfort and support. He learned how to tend to the silkworms and how to sew and embroider. He worked with tireless passion, eagerly developing his skills. In secret one year he created a red silk floral patterned embroidered gown. The piece was exquisite and when he gave the gift to his father he said, “This is for you Claus de Flores! Everyday I have been here has been a blessing and filled with love. Thank you.” From that day forward everyone called the man Claus de Flores. Years later at his passing, the name became his son’s and one day he too passed it on.