My feet depress the treadles – left, right, left, right – with the steadiness of a metronome. They provide the bass line while the movement of my hands provides the harmony. The song my wheel sings depends on what I am spinning… the improvisation of art yarn, the orchestral movements of Navajo ply, the simple melody of a chunky singles.

Though I am a relative newcomer to spinning, it has gripped me with an intensity and singleness of mind like no other craft I have tried. And I’ve tried many: needlepoint, cross-stitch, quilting, tatting, crochet. Several years ago I taught myself to knit, after one of my sisters gifted me with a scarf. The simplicity of two little stitches, knit and purl, and the multitude of variations on those stitches resulting in amazing patterns and textures intrigued me. Eventually (or inevitably, as some might argue), knitting lead me to spinning. Not only could I make cozy sweaters and intricate lace, I could actually create the yarns used in my projects.

And thus an obsession was born.

Spinning provides an immediacy that none of my other crafting endeavors can offer. Take a handful of fiber, sit at the wheel or pick up a spindle for five minutes, and you have yarn. And the satisfaction of tangible results is instantaneous. I can sit at my office desk for a week, producing detailed documents and solving problems and generally earning my keep – but what do I really have to show for it? I press the power button on my monitor, and it all disappears in the blink of an eye.

My yarn, however, is still there.

And the things you can put in yarn, and make yarn from! There are no real rules to spinning, beyond the simple physics of introducing twist into fibers.   Start with locks, batts, roving, top, rolags, sliver. Animal fibers, plant fibers, synthetic fibers. Old torn-up shirts and silk ties, strips of newsprint and magazines, Easter grass, ribbons, shoelaces, party streamers, wire, strings of holiday lights. Fat, thin, twisty, balanced. A spinner is limited only by his or her imagination. (And in some cases, what can be crammed through an orifice.)

Spinning may be a creative outlet, but it can also be contemplative. The repetitive motions in spinning give a person time to think. And conversely, time to not think. I find spinning to be similar to meditation, when I am aware of thoughts coming and going, but finding no need to dwell on any in particular. After spinning for any length of time, I am more relaxed and centered.

And, I have something to show for it.

Spinning rewards the patient. Very few people are instantly good at it. But given a little practice, the spinner is rewarded with an ever-expanding range of skills. And with spindles, practice can be done just about anywhere – commuting, queuing, sitting, standing, walking, alone, with others. It is a wonderful ice-breaker, post-apocalyptic-skills jokes aside. Who among the watchers will be the next to join our ranks?

The spinning community, to a person, has been a welcoming, inspiring group of creative and passionate people. I am incredibly fortunate to have them as friends. The willingness to share knowledge and explain techniques is second only to the enthusiasm shown for each spinner’s creations… which is music to anyone’s ears.

Editor’s Notes:

Tracey Grzegorczyk can be found on Ravelry as RiverPoet. She spins much more yarn than she can ever knit (definitely due to lack of time, not lack of desire!) and some of her yarn can be found at her Etsy shop: http://riverpoet.etsy.com. Her next endeavor will be designing knitting patterns targeted toward using handspun yarn. All phots by Tracey Grzegorczyk with exception to the first lovely shot of her spinning which was taken by Mark Oppenheim.