Coming Home

Reprint from Have you any Wool? Reflections on the fiber life


Donna Germany

Chimneyville Weavers and Spinners Guild

In 2002, I had the opportunity to join the Chimneyville Weavers and Spinners Guild, located 95 miles north of Natchez, Miss. where I live. At that time, there were no fiber related operations or, for that matter, any fiber craft historians offering demonstrations of this art in Natchez.

This guild offered stability in a fiber arts club that Natchez could not. Fellow guild members are pro-active in training and creating an interest about fiber-related artwork that I so desperately craved. These guild members wanted to pass down their knowledge to the next generation.

My paternal grandmother tried to teach me how to knit at an early age. My mother tried to teach me to crochet. However, my interest was always in how the yarn came to be. Where did it come from? Their pat answer was “the store.” I knew better.

As a young child, I was fascinated by the story of Rumplestiltskin. My childhood friends and I would act out the scenes for anyone we could gather. Turning straw into gold with a spinning wheel was wonderment. The story of Hans Christian Anderson’s The Wild Swans, where the beautiful sister had to pick, spin, and weave the garments for her brothers, taught me how garments were created. I wanted to be ale to do such things. However, other things sidetracked the dreams of young children sometimes.

It was not until my late 30’s that I returned to my fascination of fiber arts. I began really applying my desire to learn to knit and crochet into everyday life. During my first Roc Day experience, I tried the spinning wheel at all the vendors. I touched and felt all the wonderful fiber and gadgets. This was where I purchased a used 24-inch Ashford loom.

I began my first 10-week weaving class, offered by Marci Petrini. Then I wanted another. The rhythm of the beater bar against the fabric as it came into being was food for my soul.

I was able to rent a spinning wheel from the guild and try my hand at spinning. The peaceful rhythmic movements of the spinning wheel were exactly what my overworked spirit was searching. I had come home.