I can pinpoint the time when I first succumbed to the irresistible allure of needlework. I think I realized when I was about four or five years old that making
potholders on looms and doll dresses on knitting spools was creative and empowering: I could select the yarn (soft), the color (pink, please), the style (simple—I had no patience), and I could create them myself (or so I believed).
I still revel for a moment in the pride that comes when I finish making something, although that pride is usually quickly supplanted by the excitement of envisioning a new project. Those early childhood masterpieces were just the beginning of a lifetime of stitching pleasure. When did you first realize that needlecrafting was integral to your well-being?
In this issue, we…
