an obsession

I am obsessed with wool. I cannot touch it enough, smell it enough, or have enough of it wrapped around my body at any given time. After taking a spinning class almost two years ago, I haven't had the time or energy to do much spinning. But in the past few weeks, I've abandoned most other tasks (not that I need another excuse to avoid the constantly recurring pile of dishes) in order to spin wool.

Spinning is a rhythmic act that soothes my body and relaxes my otherwise busy mind. I love to feel my feet gently treadle away and my fingers stimulated by the hearty, lanolin-kissed fibers that pass slowly through them, I pause periodically to bury my face in the fleece and breathe in the sweet sheep aroma. I am a beginner, and I fumble frequently along the way. But this doesn't put the slightest damper on the pleasure of the process. I'm a born pro in that department. When I sit at the wheel, everything fades into the background, and I am simply happy and balanced.

I plied (twisted a couple of yarn strands together) my first yarn the other day and discovered that I only needed one hand for that. Next thing I knew, I was holding a snuggly baby in my lap, soothing the both of us into rest with the rhythm of my treadling feet. She sucked her fingers, stared at the beautiful wheel and yarn in motion, and sunk deeper into my arms. It was glorious. I live for moments like these.

I'm definitely still a beginner spinner and just playing with different woolly fibers so I can learn what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. Eventually, I will spin Rowena's gorgeous fleece. I dream longingly for that day. But I have a lot more practicing to do before I'll be ready for that. Until then, I'm going to ride this new, spinning high as long as I can. I'm going to sit by the fire, drink tea, hold the baby, and feel the rhythm of my spinning wheel.

Three skeins of freshly handspun yarn, washed and drying by the fire.