Salmissra Slytherin's Spindle

Picture the scene. Your home, winter, circa 1000 c.e.

There's a nice crackly fire in the hearth, some meat and bread and perhaps berry-preserve tarts on the wooden dining table along with a jug of honey-mead, and a cat and dog curled near the flames (maybe even a large snake, if your home happens to be Slytherin's). It's cold as Baba Yaga's tits outside but luckily, besides the fire, you've got lots of woven or knitted woolly blankets, sweaters and cloaks to keep warm in. But in this era, there is no Target. No Pendleton, no Pier One, no Nordstrom's; not even a Jo-Anne's with a bulk yarn section. Where'd you get that woolly yarn?

You're sitting there making it, of course!

A thousand years ago, the spinning wheel (and following that, more advanced spinning machines) had not been introduced to Europe. In part because of this, spinning industries and guilds didn't exist, either. You might have a club of women and girls who hung out together, gossipping like mad; but a lot of spinning of yarn for knitting, and thread for weaving, was done at home . . . and this is why fairy-tales about magic spinning equipment, or daughters too lazy to spin, abound in European folklore. In order to have any clothing, in addition to tanned leather or felt, people had to spin fibers like flax or wool themselves.
All. The. Time.
And the only tool for this was the Drop-Spindle: a simple hanging bobbin that drew out and twisted carded fibers, powered by only the rotary momentum of a small weight called a whorl, gravity, and human fingers. Some time between 1000 and 500 c.e., a bright mind had the idea of attaching a separate and truly giant flywheel to the bobbin with a thin drive belt, inventing the Great-Wheel; and not long after, someone else turned this monstrosity into a safer and more efficient machine with a medium-sized wheel powered separately by a foot-treadle, giving us the kind of wheel still used today. But the humble spindle, a tool at least 8000 years old, still has one important advantage: Ever try to stuff a spinning wheel into your letter carrier's bag?

While I grew up, Mom had a drop-spindle, but I never learned to use it; and Mom, busy and frustrated, never taught me. It was only during the summer of last year (2017) that I saw it in action again and fell in love with drop-spinning. I realized how simple a spindle is to make (like, dude, it's a round weight and a stick, ok?), and soon I had made three of my own spindles from bits of scrap wood, quickly turning them into works of art. Later that year, the sinister "Maleficent" or Fate spindle --- a truly cursed-looking fairy-tale spindle --- got made in time for Hallowe'en and brought to events. Now, I spin waiting for the bus. I spin on the bus! I spin at home, in the car when I'm a passenger, and at events, to relax and be productive in spare moments.

This, my latest creation, came about from an old bracelet I'd had for years and loved, yet was too small for me to wear without breaking a knuckle to get in on (my hands are huuuge!). The bracelet came from India and seemed like a relic from an ancient tomb. This year, with spindles on my brain, I had the idea to turn the underappreciated bracelet into the whorl of a new spindle. Using a disk of turquoise, some skull beads of green howlite, and a combination of metallic bronze paint and patina chemical by the brand Sophisticated Finishes to create a verdigris texture, I matched the bracelet's style, with a spiralling shaft like a snake; I molded a cobra head on top, since how can one go wrong with a cobra as creative medicine? I attached the bracelet itself to the shaft using spokes of wire and beads to create an open whorl, like a tiny flywheel, which according to physics is actually more efficient than a disk.

The result looks like an artifact that might have been found in an ancient tomb, perhaps in Egypt or India, where cobras are revered. Fans could also play with the idea of the spindle being a relic from a burial in a certain British fen; after all, Slytherin had descendants, so there must have been a woman . . . who maybe owned her own bewitched spindle, whether or not it was as foully cursed as Maleficent's! (Muggles beware.)

What I care about is, besides looking cool, this tool works well. Here it is with a rapidly-growing body of new yarn on its shaft, which I'm spinning from some truly beautiful Merino wool and silk fiber blends I bought on my vacation in Port Townsend.

Hand-spinning: Just another weird, old old school witchy woman craft done as a hobby by this not-quite-a-crone, in addition to brewing potions.

Note: Pretty much any craft can be "magized" or enchanted. Hand-spun yarn, made with continuous intent or with herbs and oils blended into the fibers, is no exception. So a bewitched spindle isn't as far-fetched as it may sound, and fairy-tales are closer than they appear.