Fiber crafts provide a myriad of opportunities for connecting with others who share the same passion. This was revealed to me on our recent Christmas visit to Vancouver.

Aside from my immediate family and a few close friends, I can take or leave most people. I enjoy my own company and can pass many happy hours with my hobbies, my family and my pets.

I’ve noticed recently, however, that a shift is occurring in this, the second half of my life. Gradually, and with a gentle clarity, I’m finding satisfaction in choosing to connect more often with the world around me.

While in Vancouver, we visited Birkeland Brothers Wool Shop; a cozy, history rich, family owned business. For more information check out http://www.birkelandwool.net/. My husband soon announced that although he “found it all very fascinating” (he’s the master of sarcasm) he was off to explore Main Street on his own while we fondled wool. This trip to Birkeland Brothers was a much anticipated one for me. I’ve been saving the soft downy coat of my Wheaten Terriers to combine with wool and spin into yarn for the Dog’s Paw Shawl featured in the Fall 2001 issue of Spin Off magazine. I was on a mission when I entered the shop; to procure the fleece to take back to Edmonton to begin spinning.

Unbeknownst to me, Cornelius was also on a mission that day. 70-odd years old, with a vast repertoire of stories, he sat on a stool in the corner of the shop regaling the clerk with tales as she worked. He appeared to be somewhat of a fixture in the old shop and I imagined he spent many hours on that stool.

When I approached the cash register to pay for the fleece, babbling excitedly about my project, the store clerk, and Cornelius, made their move. The clerk ( I wish I’d noticed her name) quietly informed me that “this gentleman” was looking for a spinner for dog hair. At which point Cornelius sprang into action with a story about his 30 year old son who, after some years, still wasn’t over the loss of the beloved family dog, an Australian Shepherd. Cornelius had saved some of the dog’s coat and was looking for a spinner to turn it into yarn. His wish was to present his son with a garment made from the coat of the much missed pet. He had a knitter he assured me; he needed a spinner.

What are the chances that I would walk into that little store, 1200 km. from home, at the precise time Cornelius was sitting on that stool, telling stories to pass a rainy day? Or, had he been frequenting the store for awhile hoping someone like me would walk in one day?

Whatever the case may be, I chose not to follow my customary pattern of ‘retreat rather than engage’, and exchanged dog tales with him, writing down his phone number and promising to contact him once I knew if my dog hair spinning venture would be successful.

Who knows where this small, but significant for me, interaction may lead? After 20 years as a schoolteacher, perhaps I’ll be able to indulge my passion for all things fiber with a little spinning work on the side. And Cornelius, hopefully, will have the opportunity to present his son with a very thoughtful gift from Dad, in the not too distant future.

When we seek for connection, we restore the world to wholeness. Our seemingly separate lives become meaningful as we discover how truly necessary we are to each other.

Margaret Wheatley

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