My Write to Weave

 Below is an essay I just completed for my Sarah Lawrence memoir writing class.

The prompt was to write about a learning experience. Mine is present day and it became quite therapeutic as I wrote my frustrations and came to a surprising conclusion.

                                                           My Write to Weave

It is therapy for these arthritic fingers. To string fibers vertically on the lap loom 

up around a peg 

down around a peg

up around a peg 

down around a peg 

creating the warp. Already I feel accomplished. I have completed thirty-two vertical warps evenly spaced on the slotted loom. I struggle with the double half hitch knot, rewinding the video again and again.

It will get easier. Some days I have doubts yet remain persistent. My investment in several small looms, multiple types of yarns, many books and subscriptions to online classes are inspiring. Assistance is available for questions with these lifetime classes as long as the instructor remains in business.

Ten years ago

The dawn of this hobby began as I was camping.  Across the blacktop winding road in one of many idyllic Idaho State Parks was a woman perched on a stool with a small loom, the shuttle in rhythmic cadence to the fluttering tree leaves’ murmurs above. It was tempting to my senses and created within me a strong desire to recreate her song. I wanted to weave with the trees, my loom on the forest floor, threading nature’s colors as the breeze gently whispered in my ear, “in-out-in-out-in-out.”

I purchased my first loom, a rigid heddle loom, at a large shop in Spokane, Washington with walls of brilliant-colored yarns and a second floor filled with large looms. I was shown this small table loom that had an unfinished weaving on it. The young man was nonplussed about me purchasing his project. I brought the loom home and now, ten years later, his project is still on the loom. It is a length of woven plaid fabric, lovely turquoise blocks blended with smaller purple, rectangles and slimmer lines of black and yellow.

Six months ago

I signed up for a two-hour class at the local annual fiber festival, $75 with lap loom and all materials included. There were two of us in her class and my small wall hanging was completed in two hours. It was a “create as you weave” project, using a variety of yarns with no specific pattern. I enjoyed the process and was proud of my finished project. I wove horizontal rows with bulky white yarn, raggedy green yarn, various textured gray yarns and gold ribbon yarn. The other participant recognized various yarns, calling them by names all foreign to me. The completed project hangs from a large cinnamon stick on my bedroom wall. Yes, I can do this!

With this one class piece completed I became more confident and immediately tackled a second small project using yarns the teacher shared plus some I had purchased at a thrift store. This weaving is approximately six inches square, and I call it my sampler. Again, I created as I wove horizontal rows but taught myself how to change yarns in the middle of the sampler. I like the light orange ribbon yarn infused with the sparkly black/gray yarn plus white and gray textured fibers. It is not hanging on any wall yet. I am not sure how to neatly tuck the yarn ends into the weaving on the reverse side.  

I then started a third weaving project online where the teacher gave incremental steps over a four-week period. This class included a Facebook page where progress was shared. I couldn’t keep up. It is unfinished, tabled on the table beside me.  I quit weaving!

Three months ago

My tapestry of time management began unraveling. Threads of other lcommitments became untucked and demanded attention. Life’s fabric became a daily commitment here, a weekly foray into various meetings, a flip of the calendar as months passed with no weaving intertwined.

I became annoyed at myself. 

I began feeling guilty.

I began to list activities as hurdles, not joys.

I prioritized.

I began designing each day with less ragged edges, less untucked ends.

Today and coming

I signed up for a beginning weaving class at the marvelous John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, N.C. In years past I attended this wonderful venue, camped in their RV park, learned the Native American flute, tinkered with the hammered dulcimer. Among the Carolina woodlands I will reinvent my weaving.

The class is on the rigid heddle loom, bring your own and for five days I will be instructed by a professional. I peruse my rigid heddle loom nestled in its cardboard box, plaid project still intact. I wonder. Is it possible to teach myself how to remove this attractive weaving while maintaining its composition? 

I shall resurrect my lap loom weavings. I am breathing new life into my desirable Harris Highland yarns. I will contact teachers and let them know my weaving is coming alive. Surely dormancy has advantages.

What about writing? Do I just put the accumulated files away? Do I pay no attention to prompts coming monthly from my favorite online writing groups?  How can I collate these two interests? 

writing and weaving

weaving and writing

pen and yarns

yarn and pens,

looms and journaling

journals and looms

I have a possible solution! 

I will proceed with both strong interests.

I will set up a blog about arthritic fingers plying yarn, writing posts after each weaving wonder. 

I will encourage octogenarians to begin anew. 

Refresh, rejuvenate, realize one’s creative muse. 

Give breath to the Innovative Being within each of us.

There is an occasion for everything,

and a time for every activity under heaven.  Ecclesiastes 3:1

Joanconnor 05/07/24