What! No Batteries?

No batteries, no video, no neon, no dance moves, no plastic dolls, no makeup, no bling? I figured there's no way a modern, bright eleven year old girl from Central Arkansas would be interested in spinning yarn.

I was wrong.

I'm grandmother, okay great-grandmother, age despite the fact that I never had children. Some magical gene must have kicked-in precisely on my sixty second birthday consuming me with a desire to run natural fibers through my fingers. I started knitting and haven't been able to stop. If there is an organization called Fiber-aholics Anonymous, I'm not interested. After years in front of computers, twanging electric guitars and digitally manipulating images for promotional materials, making recordings . . . this singer/songwriter, road-warrior has fallen into the magical low-tech mantra of knitting and spinning yarn. Ahhh.
Two years ago, one of our friends came for a visit. I was spinning away on my Kromski Sonata. It has a special spot in the living room corner. His response was, "Ooh, cool. I bet my daughter would like to learn that." I appreciated his enthusiasm, but questioned a pre-teenster's ability to see it as a "nifty" thing.

The wheel folds up and travels easily, so I took it along on a camping weekend at our wilderness cabin-plus a bag of tawny alpaca wool and some colorful commercially produced fleece, marketed for needle felting. I knew My young friend and her family would be there.

If you haven't spent time around an eleven year old, how do you know whether you are pushing your interests on a young person, or opening a door that might leave a lasting imprint? Would it be a big ho-hum or a memory cherished?

Before I wax sentimental, let me explain. My maternal grandparents instigated many of my treasured memories. I learned to crochet, sew, play canasta and to love reading, algebra, and the fragrance of gin and cigarettes. My grandfather talked to me about India, philosophy, architecture, and art. At five years of age, I felt like a fully valid human being.
Which is the point-at any age, what is it that makes us feel authentic, connected, and valid? Ten years ago I would have said performing, today I might say spinning yarn.

Getting back to the unfolding of our wilderness weekend, I set up my Sonata spinning wheel on the deck of our cabin with a view of the valley and surrounding hills. I began to spin some luscious, straight-off-the-animal tawny Alpaca fleece from the leggings of a beauty named Cassandra. When the crimping along the hairs are numerous and the thickness fine, it spins like butter. Sitting at a spinning wheel is akin to being behind the curtain in the Wizard of OZ. It is magical to turn fuzzy stuff into yarn, like straw into gold.

My young friend liked watching and liked spinning. She (as we all do) began making clunky and bumpy yarn, but she was not dismayed. Soon she could easily coordinate the foot pedals to make the wheel go clockwise or counterclockwise. When I took a break, she asked,
"Crow, may I use the spinning wheel?"

The next two days were fun for everyone. Folks observed and cheered, took pictures, and got their noses up close to see how it worked. My young friend not only spun, she made two ply yarn and produced enough to make a hat. Adding to our adventure, we made knitting needles out of river sticks and she learned to knit. Knitting her own alpaca and sheep wool hat was a crowning triumph.
The only batteries used were in the flashlights folks held so My young friend could spin after dark. The only music-a friend playing fiddle tunes to the rhythmic tick of the spinning wheel.

©Copyright 2008 by Crow J. Evans

Crow's Biography