Snips. They may be the very
last bit of a treasured hand-dyed and hand-spun skein. A teensy
remnant of a healing shawl you donated and will never see again. A
short piece that's cut from overestimating the long-tail cast on
for your first hat. Or a wisp of softness left after seaming a
baby sweater for a grandchild. Some of my favorite snips reside in
a glass vase near my knitting chair. From time to time, I let a
stray few decorate my coffee table. Others are employed as
bookmarks or are scattered outside for the nest-building birds.
Occasionally, when they fall artfully on our hardwood floors, they
are left there for a while, to be admired. Yarn Love.
As we approach the season of warmth and gift making, new snips
seem to appear everywhere. One clings to my shoe. One miraculously
hugs the elbow of my sweater. Another finds its way into my jacket
pocket and there, making friends with a handkerchief , it travels
along with me to the grocery store. Later it falls out on the
checkout counter. An unexpected meeting with a little piece of fun
fur or cashmere can give a moment of yarn wonder to those who find
them. A short strand of angora can open surprising conversations
about treasured mittens and gloves, about the intrigues of needles
and hooks, about knitting and crocheting and about the memories of
loved ones--mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and even
grandfathers--who made things.
Random snips randomly share our Yarn Love with others. But what
would happen if we did this deliberately?
One summer, the fictional "Lupine Lady" of Barbara Cooney's
classic picture book, Miss
Rumphius, "her pockets
full of seeds, wandered over fields and headlands, sowing
lupines. She scattered seeds along the highways and country
lanes. She flung handfuls of them around the schoolhouse and the
back of the church. She tossed them into hollows and along stone
walls."" And then, to her delight, "the next spring, there were lupines
What if this winter we yarn players were like Miss Rumphius?
What if we brightened the world with our tiny treasures, sharing
their beauty and spreading our Yarn Love. What if we created a
wooly trail with choice bits and pieces of our snip stash.
Mindfully, we could slip several inside the books we return to the
library. Delicately, we could lay a lace weight strand beside our
lattes. Heartfully, we might slide a few into a letter to a friend
or along with a card bearing our best holiday wishes. Maybe we
will even include a promise for a pair of warm socks, a cuddly
afghan, or a stack of handy washcloths. We could even artfully
shower a handful about as packing around a handmade gift. There
are a million ways we could plant the seeds of Yarn Love. One snip
at a time. And who knows, come this spring, we might just sprout a
bumper crop of new yarn players.