August invariably brings a cool, rainy spell among the dry and windy days. August rain jogs my memory and I relive an annual childhood event: a trip to the Appleton Woolen Mill which was situated on the Fox River, about a 45 minute drive from our summer cottage on Wisconsin’s Lake Winnebago.
Since my mother and sister were knitters, it was a happy given that I would be a knitter as well. I learned to knit on khaki yarn, supplied to patriotic knitters during World War II by the U. S. Government. From this yarn, we made afghan squares for the U. S. Army. My first squares contained numerous gaps created by dropped stitches, and holes where I had put the work down and picked it up again to knit in the wrong direction.
Gaps and holes notwithstanding, I learned to knit and cannot imagine life without yarn—especially wool yarn. My love for wool is anchored in our annual trip to the historic Appleton Woolen Mill where we stocked up on a year’s supply of yarn for sweaters, scarves, socks, and mittens—plus yardage of beautiful plaid wool for skirts. (My mother was an accomplished seamstress as well as a knitter!)
I will never forget the scent and sounds of the mill. What is more wonderful than the fragrance of wool—be it in a skein of yarn, a bolt of fabric, fresh fleece in one’s hand, or in its most original state: on the body of a sheep? And the music of the mill echoes in my mind: the blonking and jerking of spinning machinery, the clunking and banging of huge industrial looms. To use a metaphor appropriate to the textile industry, I loved “the whole nine yards”!
I can still see those big cones of yarn. I can still visualize the magnificent bolts of fabric lined up on a high shelf. And I recall those rainy days on our cottage porch—following the trip to the woolen mill—when my mother, sister, and I sat contentedly clicking our needles and savoring the colors and textures of our newly purchased yarns.
Margaret L. Been, ©2010
What a wonderful picture you’ve painted in my mind’s eye (and nose!), Margaret. I would have loved to see that in person. I’ve only seen carding mills.
There is NOTHING like wool……in any of it’s stages.
Hi, Linda. I’m grateful we live in a climate where we can wear wool—but not this summer! 🙂
It looks like we won’t be back up north for awhile—due to our pastime of going to clinics! At least here they are no more than 10 minutes away—except for St. Luke’s which is about 45 minutes.
I think of you all, and smile!
Love,
Margaret
Aunt Margaret,
Your blogs reveal a different “Ardis” to us- a woman who
loved to create and relax-I remember my mother knitting and
sewing for us when we were young-as she grew older her “painful osteoporosis” took over, and she suffered
so much…I hope
your back will be fixed with diligence and not much pain…
You tell stories about Nonny and my Mother that I never knew!
Hi, Nancy. One thing your mom never seemed to lose was her magnificent sense of humor.
I have been thinking of Ardis a lot this summer, because we are having an old fashioned HIGH HEAT AND HUMIDITY SUMMER!
As you know, Ardis loved the dry and fresh Colorado air. When she came back to visit in Wisconsin one summer she commented, “Living in Colorado, I’d forgotten what it was like to stick to a toilet seat!”
We’ve been doing a lot of sticking this summer! 🙂
Margaret, I remember walking over those bridges when working at this mill. The cold winter months and steam coming off the river. Oh, those where the hard days, but good memories of working hard and getting a small paycheck for work well done!!