The Calming effect of Weaving

My foray into the world of fiber arts began with knitting.  Within a few years, I added weaving and spinning into my repertoire of fiber activities I enjoyed on a regular, if not daily, basis.  Throughout these initial learning periods, I had a constant companion: my Great Dane, Callie.  Great Dane Rescue I knit shawls and sweaters, wove towels and rugs, and spun my first lumpy yarns.  Callie was there for every stitch, every throw, and every whack of a finished skein. 

As Callie grew older, she suffered from crippling anxiety.  Despite her general inability to relax and simply nap her geriatric days away, her happiest and calmest moments were spent lying on her bed next to my loom as I worked on my current project.  I never knew why exactly; something about me staying put and the rhythm of my work seemed to soothe her.  Caring for her through her last year was difficult for me, and yet the process of weaving offered me peace as well—the simple and straightforward steps of winding a warp, dressing my loom, and then weaving pick by pick. 

On what was to be the final day of her life, we took a family trip to her very favorite place: Port Gamble, to take a walk around the central block and stop in to see her friends at the Artful Ewe I and II.  Along the way, I paused and thought to myself, “Look at Callie, and remember this day.  This might be the last best day she ever has.”  I lost my beloved girl that night, and I am sure that she chose her exit—to leave after a beautiful and special day that had been full only of enjoyment, without stress or anxiety or fear, and every minute spent with her family. 

After losing Callie, I found myself unable to even look at the unfinished projects on my looms.  The thought of weaving without my constant companion was too heavy on my heart.  After several months, I found the drive to finish off those warps and start afresh.  I missed my helper greatly, but just as the process of weaving helped me through her final year, it helped me cope with my grief. 

I lost Callie three and a half years ago, in March 2016, and I haven’t been very productive in my weaving since then.  I think I have a pretty good reason—Great Dane puppy Mina, brought into our family at the tender age of 7 weeks old in June 2017.  To say that Mina has consumed a great deal of my time and attention over the last 2 years is an understatement—I had no idea when we brought her home that we were bringing a 17-pound (and rapidly growing!) black hole into our lives.  I knew she would fit in well, though, because from the start she has always been a textile fiend with a particular fondness for kitchen towels, stealing whatever she could reach, merrily dancing away with her prize dangling from her mouth and me hot on her heels.  At long last, those crazy days are behind us and now I am seeing the dividends of all my time focused on raising her.  While she has been plenty of work, she has also been a source of great joy as I have watched her learn about the world around her.  She is curious, bold, fearless, and always ready for the next adventure.  With her young adult days nearly at an end and maturity on the horizon, she inspires me to jump back into weaving and re-connect with what I love most about fiber arts: exploring the “what ifs” of different fibers, pushing myself beyond my comfort zone of colors and textures, and the great sense of satisfaction when a project is complete and even better than I had dreamed it could be.  Mina is always ready for the next new thing, and finally, so am I.