The first time I got interested in making yarn was in my tween years. I was already doing some crocheting and knitting when my family adopted a Samoyed puppy from the local shelter. Some months after, I saw a newspaper article about a woman who was spinning her Samoyed’s fluffy undercoat into very warm yarn. This may sound strange if you are a fiber arts muggle, but many animals adapted to harsh climates have very warm fiber undercoats that can be combed out or gathered in some way. Think of those musk ox I am so enamored with, but also bison, yak, and a dog breed from Siberia. The article promised the Samoyed fiber would not have that “doggy” smell even when wet. I made a very basic spindle and consulted a spinning book. I had exactly zero luck teaching myself to spin our dog’s hair, probably to the relief of everyone around me who thought it was just a bit too weird. I put the book and spindle away, and that was that.
Until the late 1990’s anyway. I don’t recall what, if anything, in particular made me suddenly interested in spinning. I had my job, home life, and some engrossing hobbies (horseback riding, cooking, knitting) so it wasn’t like I needed something to do. Maybe it was my enjoyment of knitting with wool. One day I found myself at a local shop buying a spinning magazine. I did some reading, played around with a homemade spindle again, and eventually got myself a “learn to spin” kit with two colors of wool fiber and a hand spindle.
After more trial and error, I made a lumpy but continuous strand of yarn, and I felt like I could do magic. I went to a workshop on using hand spindles, and that helped so much! More spindles, a wheel, lots of spinning books, and a few wheel spinning workshops followed over the next years. I’ve never had a lot of time to devote to it but treasured it all the same.
Spinning takes my mind to a peaceful and quiet place. I won’t say that it’s meditative because I’m not trying to clear my mind. Maybe stilling or freeing are better words. It’s handwork that lets the mind go, allows effortless reflection, and sometimes leads to surprising understanding. For me, that’s as great as making yarn from scratch. It’s probably why years later, I have yet to follow yarn recipes and instead dabble in different techniques and mostly make come-as-you-are yarn.
Almost seven years ago, we lost a close family member. Shortly after learning illness would take our special person, I remember having the fleeting thought as I walked past my spinning wheel that I would really need inner stillness in the months to come. But instead my spinning left me.
I would see my wheel in the corner of my bedroom and think that I could get up in the night and soothe myself enough to sleep. But in 8 months or so of terrible sleeping, I never once did. Maybe I had no energy to move from my bed, so very tired in every way.
Mostly though, I think I was afraid to be too still, to open myself to whatever feelings would be waiting in that inner quiet. If I didn’t go there, maybe the messiness of adjusting to my new day-to-day would shield me from some of my pain. I kept knitting and discovered my bereaved brain couldn’t grasp complex patterns. When I commented on this perceived failing to friend and knitter/dyer Jaala, she gently pointed out that I didn’t need to be challenged in all areas of my life at the same time.
Good point. I rediscovered the simple pleasure of knitting square and rectangular things like scarves and dishcloths. When I felt like I couldn’t do anything else, I looked at pictures in fiber arts books and magazines over and over. I read a lot more than I had for years: cookbooks, garden books, Jane Austen, Harry Potter, science, science fiction, historical fiction.
I tried to spark my interest by selling my wheel and buying a different type. It still mostly gathered dust. I sold that wheel and tried to just stick with spindles; that might have worked if I’d understood then why my spinning had left. Eventually I bought another wheel that I love. By that point, I had figured out that I wasn’t having an equipment problem.
My dear friend Alene, who knows me very well, never seemed to lose the faith: she kept me supplied with a steady stream of spinning fiber at birthdays and Christmas, usually mixed in with things related to food, Doctor Who, or both. After a very long time, I found myself spinning occasionally. I moved my wheel and kate back upstairs, unearthed my spindles, and bought some fiber. Healing comes so very slowly and with the help of so many, but I let it come. With it, to my very great surprise, came my spinning.