When the World Spins, Get Out Your Wheel

As a little kid, I made a pilgrimage to Sigrid's spinning wheel every July during the family reunion. There it stood in the corner, bits of wool still attached. I'd seen a demonstration of spinning at our elementary school, so I had an idea of how it worked. I was itching to give it a spin, so to speak.

Sigrid was famous for being the spinner in the neighborhood. Although I can't say definitively, it seems like she was one of the few who had sheep and spun yarn. In a letter from May 1899, she asked "Will you send me a pair of wool cards? I have worn mine out."

She was also a  knitter. In 1920, she wrote, "My job is mostly knitting. I gave away ten pairs of mittens for Christmas but many of them were small."

If you work with yarn, you know its magic. After a day of dealing with the dramas of life, it gives you a space to think. You ease into the rhythm and the stitches untangle your thoughts.

Sigrid's wool carders sit in my office. They're very simple, just rough wood and rows of tiny metal teeth. Like the spinning wheel, they hold decades-old wool. When I see them, I imagine Sigrid going through the process, from shearing and cleaning the fleece to knitting the yarn. And I know that she and I are connected by more than one thread.