For my 21st I received a spinning wheel. My mother had a mahogany one and the rhythm of watching that wheel spin around was hypnotic. When my wheel arrived I was surprised how easy it was to turn the raw fleece into wool. I had watched it often enough it was imprinted on my mind. From spinning, plying to skeining involved many hours of work. My Dad was always roped in to help with the winding of the wool. It was a good time for chats.
When my mother passed away in 2004 their house had skeins and skeins of beautiful fine handspun wool. Some white some black some grey and even balls of wool dyed with lichen, onion skins and walnut husks. How she loved to experiment.
I'm planning something special for this fine fleece.