As I mentioned in my last entry: I learned to spin.
I know, I said it myself when the notion first struck me--"Seriously, Monika, like you need to add one more thing to your To Do list. You're baking friggin' pies, growing a huge garden, making pesto, keeping bees, canning jams, scrubbing up all types of animal crap, you knit, you sew, you're renovating the house and trying to help two kids grow into compassionate, intelligent adults while holding down a full-time job. Why don't you just set the bar a little higher?"
But surprise--I love it.
Call me a spinster, I don't care. I'll never be able to complain, "I can't seem to spin a thread."
After lessons Elizabeth gave us each a drop spindle and five balls of roving. Roving is a long snake of wool fluff that comes from carding fleece. One ball, grey w/ pastel bits of pink, blue and yellow, looked like a good prospect for my beginning efforts; it was ugly, homely, no great loss if I made knots.
Oh, I was wrong.
Lovely, it was so lovely as it spun and then was wound onto the spindle, like following a road
I know, I said it myself when the notion first struck me--"Seriously, Monika, like you need to add one more thing to your To Do list. You're baking friggin' pies, growing a huge garden, making pesto, keeping bees, canning jams, scrubbing up all types of animal crap, you knit, you sew, you're renovating the house and trying to help two kids grow into compassionate, intelligent adults while holding down a full-time job. Why don't you just set the bar a little higher?"
But surprise--I love it.
Call me a spinster, I don't care. I'll never be able to complain, "I can't seem to spin a thread."
After lessons Elizabeth gave us each a drop spindle and five balls of roving. Roving is a long snake of wool fluff that comes from carding fleece. One ball, grey w/ pastel bits of pink, blue and yellow, looked like a good prospect for my beginning efforts; it was ugly, homely, no great loss if I made knots.
Oh, I was wrong.
Lovely, it was so lovely as it spun and then was wound onto the spindle, like following a road
discovering as one goes, pleasure in the unexpected: a patch of violets beneath a thatc
h of rough grass, a pale yellow leaf on the surface of a darkened pool, a mossy log, a toadstool.
It was almost a living thing, responsive to tension, the varying rhythms of attention and distraction, conversational pauses creating lazy slubs, contradiction, tight, fine, overtwisted threads, altering its shape but not its nature. I spun enough for a hat.
The yarn, irregularities, texture and surprise knitted became a landscape, soft colors grouped themselves suggesting images emerging from grey morning mist.
It is not, as you may think, hyperbole.
For those who have eyes, let them see. Its beauty was its own thing, independent of metaphor, though I rely on it to explain.
I gave my love my hat, my Joe.
h of rough grass, a pale yellow leaf on the surface of a darkened pool, a mossy log, a toadstool.It was almost a living thing, responsive to tension, the varying rhythms of attention and distraction, conversational pauses creating lazy slubs, contradiction, tight, fine, overtwisted threads, altering its shape but not its nature. I spun enough for a hat.
The yarn, irregularities, texture and surprise knitted became a landscape, soft colors grouped themselves suggesting images emerging from grey morning mist.
It is not, as you may think, hyperbole.
For those who have eyes, let them see. Its beauty was its own thing, independent of metaphor, though I rely on it to explain.
I gave my love my hat, my Joe.
2 comments:
It's a lovely hat. And your farm sounds wonderful.
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