suburban transcendentalism: persimmon season

the beginning:

three years ago, in eugene or, with my cousin. my first time spinning.

renee tully, the woman who taught me how to knit. she was an Auschwitz survivor, a true star. i was her little pupil and i now have her wheel, which is a blessing beyond measure.

she'd hold sheep shearing parties every spring. :) picking the fleece. thankful for the exposure to more love.

pro-tip: when crashing a fiber guild christmas party, wear your finest hand-knit scarf from your beloved cousine.

"it was called five lesbians eating a quiche!"

"my tomatoes did incredible this year......"

local, homegrown food.

discussions of sign language and how everyone's gardens did

a clan of wisdom.
a coven of witches

(feeling very thankful...)

mesmerized, in my happy place with these wheels

"spinning because knitting isn't weird enough!"

the grey ones, who have been part of the guild for decades, are deferred to for wisdom.

so in awe, feeling that shift towards a handmade heartmade life

the gift exchange burns my heart... pineneedle baskets. socks. handspun yarn. no garbage. no wasted space or purchased gifts. everything is useful and thoughtful and beautiful.

finding my tribe.

finding inspiration. what calls to you.

women like this have carried me. i feel warm, like a young orphaned animal that has found shelter; someone to teach her the ways that others have forgotten. there are not few of her kind and she knows immediately when she's home. it's unlike any other feeling. a sense of bliss in self.