I learned something really big this summer. Huge, in fact. Yet another thing that will make me indispensable when the zombie apocalypse comes. I learned how to spin yarn.
Lorri has a fiber artist, Teresa, come to the farm every week to work on the wool from her sheep, and now during the wwoofing season, that work also included teaching us clueless city kids to work with textiles. We set up in the loom room next to the cookhouse, and there we were taught all kinds of things. Weave, knit, spin yarn.
I focused on spinning. The feeling of the wool running through my fingers, giving the spindle a proper spin and then just letting it run, run, run. I felt that my hands, and therefore also I, were graceful. Handicraft, such a meditative thing.
Let me tell you, though. It takes a long time. And it is hard. I got one ball of yarn in the end, maybe possibly enough to make something small out of, and the yarn is in no way even. It is so obvious that it was hand-spun, and I will treasure it for all the hours it took to make.
The wool sheep walked around freely on the property. We fed them every morning with alfalfa. Most of them were quite shy and would only approach the hay once we’d dropped it and walked away, but some of the older ones didn’t care. They were too excited about the food, so while they were eating I stuck around a bit to pet their soft, slightly greasy fur. Imagining that maybe this was the one whose wool I’ve turned into fine yarn. It felt beautiful, in such a basic way. I will make wrist warmers of the yarn, and they will protect my hands from the cold morning air when I bike to work all autumn.
Katja Malmborg 