My
Opa was a constant presence in my life. My sister and I grew up with him and my
Oma right next door to us. We shared a five acre lot where Jill and I were
introduced to the world of gardening, canning, preserving, and the joys of
fresh vegetables on a hot summer day. For most of my childhood my Oma and Opa
were just a short ways away, up the small hill that separated our two houses.
Even when they moved to be closer to my dad, we saw them regularly. And I know
that they were overjoyed when first my sister and then I decided to go to
college just forty-five minutes away. When I would go to their house for
dinners, my Opa would always say, whether or not it was true, that I was
looking too skinny and it was a good thing I had come to eat some real food.
Like any doting grandfather he was worried, but more than anything I know he
was proud of not only my, but all his grandchildren’s accomplishments. I
graduated from college in May, just three months after he passed, and though he’s
not in the pictures with me and my family, I know he was there in spirit
because he wouldn’t have wanted to miss this milestone. I still feel his presence
because I know he loved me very much.
Opa was born in Bulgaria and came to the
United States when he was in his twenties. In his home country, he and his family
were farmers producing many things including tobacco and silk, and raising
sheep. I think this is where I get my fascination with sheep and fiber. It runs
in my blood! My great-grandmother and aunts would weave beautiful rugs and mats
out of the wool they gathered from their flock. As many of you know, I recently
took the next step in textile production and started spinning my own yarn. The
first time I put my feet on those treadles and held that wool in my fingers,
something clicked and I knew I was right where I belonged. I caught on quickly
and immediately fell in love with the process. When I received a spinning wheel
as a Christmas present I was overjoyed at the prospect of continuing to learn
this new craft. When my Oma heard about it she couldn’t wait to take pictures
of my spinning to send to my Opa’s family back in Bulgaria; she was proud
enough for the both of them. When I sit at my wheel, slowly and rhythmically
creating yarn, I feel a strong connection to my Bulgarian heritage. The tools
they used in the past were much different from my small Loute wheel sitting in
my living room, but the basic process is the same. I’m proud that I can carry
on this tradition and that I have something in common with the family of my
wonderful Opa.
So
today, on the one year mark of his passing, I’m going to sit at my spinning
wheel and let its comforting and therapeutic whirr help ease the sadness. I’m
going to remember him not the way he was on those last few days, but the way he
looked pushing a wheel barrow across the yard, how he would cut up a plate full
of tomatoes, the sound of him laughing at his own stories, and the feel of his
work-roughened hand holding mine. The pain of losing him will ebb, and these
will be the things that come back in color whenever I think of him. And this connection I feel to my heritage and to him will only get stronger.
