This is the spinning wheel that belonged to my grandmother, Sarah Ann (Backus) Pearce. It was small too, just as Grandmother who was less than five feet tall was small. Her short legs comfortably reached the treadle on the wheel.
As I look back now in my eighties, II recall how mesmerized I was as I watched my grandmother treadle for hours. Her feet and legs moved ever so evenly, up down, as she guided the rough wool onto the wheel, her hands and feet moving in different rhythms, forming one long unbroken woolen thread and ball of yarn.
For grandmother, spinning was more than a skill. For her it was an art and one which began in early spring. Each year my father or my uncle took turns putting aside a fleece for Grandma. And when summer time came Grandma began the act of preparation. I can see her yet, sitting out on her lawn, fleece spread over her lap as she pulled out the oily tats one by one.
Then came the job of washing the fleece. Out came the large galvanized bucket to the lawn which she filled with warm water that she had heated on top of her stove. After several washes and rinses Grandma spread the fleece out on the lawn to bleach and dry in the days that lay ahead.
Finally she determined that the wool was ready for spinning. She gathered up the bundle and carried it into her living room where her spinning wheel was ready and waiting. I watched as she tore off large chunks of the fleece, piece by piece which she rolled into rough threads. Then she would place, one end onto the wheel, as she began to treadle. She kept this up until she had enough to form one large ball of yarn.
She loved to knit socks for her sons and woolen mitts for her grandchildren my birthday at the end of May.
Spinning
The Spinning Wheel
This spinning wheel belonged to my grandmother, Sarah Ann (Backus) Pearce. Grandma was less than five feet tall and a special spinning wheel had to be made for her. It’s well over 80 years now since I stood, as a wee child, mesmerized, watching her hands and feet working the wheel and treadle in their own rhythms.
She was a 3rd generation pioneer and the last one in the community to carry out such a task, which she performed from beginning to end.
Each spring one of her sons, Ernest or John, would give her a fleece following the shearing of the sheep. Grandma would prepare and wash it in her yard and when bleached and dry she would bring it into the house where the spinning wheel was waiting. With her balls and skeins of yarn she would knit socks for the men and mittens for her grandchildren .She purchased her packets of dye from Hockins in Dutton. In May of each year I could count on a pair of mittens for my birthday, navy one year – burgundy the following year.
