I remember the first time I sat down at a loom. I was eight and my mom had taken me to an outdoor fair at our local history museum. There were many exhibits and demonstrations, but I most vividly remember a lady sitting in front of a small wooden box-looking thing on a table. I was still trying to figure out what the box was and what she was doing when the lady asked me, "Do you want to try?" With the unstoppable courage of a young child I accepted and clumsily followed the instructions given to me. Oh, that first overwhelming feeling, a feeling like coming home and knowing you are where you are suppose to be. I remember not wanting to stop as the fabric formed in front of me.

It was over ten years before I sat in front of a loom again. I remember some hesitation mixed with my excitement this time. But from the first opening of the shed and throwing of the shuttle, I knew, I was home again. That same overwhelming feeling of falling into my place and never wanting to leave came rushing over me again as I watched the yarns build up into fabric.