If you have been spinning a while, you probably know there is more to making thread than appears on the surface of it. It is not just the technique nor skill involved, but the way your life becomes entangled in unforeseen connections. If you are new to spinning, you may already have experienced some amazing coincidences and become a new source of interest to your nonspinning friends. There seems to be no warning or rules about this. You become akin to the wisp of fiber that vanishes into your orifice at the turn of the wheel to reappear on the bobbin. From the moment of creation, the possibilities are endless. Sometimes looking back, we are astonished at the turn of events. Here are two such experiences found in recent newsletters, and my own experience.

The onset of shearing creates spring fever in spinners. We do not even have to raise sheep to be eager to see them shorn. A trip to a nearby farm during shearing season can provide a year’s worth of daydreaming—just looking at wool on-the-hoof can plant visions of the yarn, sweater, or blanket the fleece would become in our hands! Once the wool is liberated from the sheep and brought to the skirting table, the sheep (shorn of all dignity) joins the others shivering in the pasture. Meanwhile our detailed examination of the fleece has begun. Like students in anatomy lab, we tug and test, part and separate, sort and pick, remove and discard the fleece until the full beauty of the locks and luster lay revealed before us. Once home, a day of scouring removes suint and surface dirt. The wet wool is laid out on old screens set on chairs as the enclosed porch turns into a drying room. To the uninitiated, this activity must appear “shear” madness.

About the time the Winter Spin-Off issue arrives, cabin fever strikes Indiana handspinners. The symptoms we exhibit seem to appear or disappear based on the amount of snow on the ground. Commonly, if there is too much snow, we feel flat and lethargic and have no energy, much like a singles thread left on the bobbin for a year. If the snow has been here too long, we start to mentally ravel, similar to the way fiber drifts apart when the amount of twist inserted is not enough. If the snow (too much for too long) gets covered with ice before melting, we may finally snap, like locks of weak fleece breaking under tension, or (probably worse) turn into hard, compact, tightly bound pieces of felt instead of being the warm, comforting people upon whom we depend to cope with this weather!