Why does anybody need SIX pair of scissors?!

Let me tell you why… It was a wonderful spring morning. The barn was full of soft filtered light with a group of Angora goats to greet me. On the wall covered in a full year of dust, Scissors number one, my 100-year-old shearing scissors waiting for their next use. My goats standing before me hoping to be the first to have their heavy coats of hair cut from their bodies. I set out for a day of haircuts to turn them from a bunch of mop heads into a coiffured bunch of beauties.

The sound of morning warms my heart. The Morning Doves song, the goats calling out to me, and the click click, clicking of my old familiar friend fills the air. A tarp to gather the donated hair begins. Hours later my goats happily grazing in their lightened loads basking in the warm spring sun happy to show off their new hairdos. I look at my bounty of hair on the barn floor and feel alive with the possibilities. My faithful scissors have once again given me a joy of purpose and creativity. Unceremoniously my scissors are returned to their spot on the barn wall waiting for another year to pass to bring them back to life. I stand looking at their prominent place they share with a scattering of other faithful tools. These scissors of mine truly deserve a name. They have given me so much over the years. Sally the Scissors, maybe Sadie the Shears. It is like bringing home a new puppy and you painstakingly think of what to call your newest member of the family. Unlike a puppy I have time, knowing they will be waiting patiently on the wall for years to come. Maybe it will come to me later for now hair lots of hair screaming at me to start the process. Scissors my faithful friend you will have to wait but I promise you, you will get your name.

I bring my bounty to the yard and by my old ringer washer the process begins. Scissors number two, it is not the click, click, click of the barn shears but the snip, snip, snip of my small delicate pointed Fiskars scissors. Although one of my dogs has enjoyed the chewing of the soft coating on the handles they still perform beautifully. Hair and lots of it, covered in lots of menacing things one being the dreaded thistle. Thistles that rise in the pasture like a towering velcro hair magnet. My goats never would eat them they would rather roll around in them till they are firmly embedded in their coats of hair. No wonder the day of shearing is their happy day on the farm. I would not want to lay down and have thistles poking me in my side. The soft snipping sound begins delicately removing the embedded enemies from my goat’s hair. After a few hours of painstaking removal into the ringer it goes.

The next morning as I wash my dishes looking out my window, I reflect on all my ideas for this year’s bounty and my creative juices are barely contained. I notice some birds picking through the discarded hair in the yard. Thinking to myself they are looking for bugs they begin to take flight with soft bunches of hair between their beaks. My scissors have not only given me a chance to create something wonderful but have also given to my Audubon friends. These friends of flight are taking off with their finds to create the perfect nest. Their babies will have the most wonderful soft nest to begin their little lives. Not just grass and sticks but a cushy soft snuggly warm nest. I can just hear the neighboring bird talking to her spouse. “Did you see Robin’s nest next door”? Robin’s wife is fluffing up her feathers like she is the talk of the tree. “Why can’t you build me a nest like that”? Robin’s partner just looked at his uncomfortable peeping chicks and flew off. Thank you shearing scissors down in the barn.

Washed, dried and ready, let the creating begin. So many options, my head is swirling with ideas. First separate the fine quality hair for spinning. Then the coveted curled ringlets of hair. Washed separately and saved for when my pieces are looking for just that little bit of extra. Old goat hair is not too soft but perfect for my rugs. Last, but not least the rest of the hair will be mixed with a little wool and felted.

After all is done and my fiber has found their resting places the real fun begins. I have a room upstairs in our old farmhouse dedicated for my creations. Unlike my sweet shearing scissors down in the barn it has a name. “The Loom Room” inside I find my large loom waiting to get dressed for the day. A warp thread needs to be strong it will hold together my creations for years to come. Looking out the window I can see my farm animals munching on the sweet spring grass. Contentment grows in their tummies and in my heart. I am the luckiest person alive. The counting and measuring of strings begin.

Scissors number three, This, my friends, is my mom’s old metal pair handed down to me. Throughout the years she watched over them with eagle eyes. When I was just a child and wanted to cut some cardboard, I found the scissors laying alongside mom’s sewing machine. They will work I thought to myself. Wow, boy did they, slicing through the cardboard like it was butter. My fantastic troll house was going to be built in no time. I heard a yelp from behind me like an injured animal. I turn and there stood mom with a look of horror on her face. “My Scissors”! she exclaimed sounding like a wounded cat. She had told me several times that this old pair of scissors was for her and not to touch. Practice what you preach I thought remembering the “sharing your things” talk. I decided that my Trolls house would have to wait, and I exit her sewing room pronto. Looking back at that event now, I give my mom great praise for her ability to calm herself. Mom let me know that it was alright, but she reminded me that Dad had given me a pair of old carpet scissors. Myself, I might not have been able to curb my words in the misuse of those wonderful scissors.

Scissors number four, these special scissors were industrial shears for laying carpet. My dad installed flooring. With these big heavy scissors, my dad would replace people’s old dirty carpets with a fresh vibrant carpet. I remember the day Dad gave the scissors to me, as he had purchased a shiny new pair for himself. I was so proud and happy that these scissors of his which put food on our table had been handed down to me. That feeling past as soon as I tried to use them. Ugg, they were as long as my arm and weighed at least one hundred pounds. OK, this might be a little exaggerated. They did not cut like butter. They did not cut at all. I still have those scissors. They might not cut and create anymore but their large handles and silver blades pull me back in time. I see my dad’s hands, his long bony fingers firmly wrapped around them. As he would cut, “snap” they would sing.

My loom is set. It has been days of counting and snipping threads. I have chosen the hair and the material for my first rug. What is next you ask? Lots of cutting of material in preparation for the strips I need. Colors and texture are where my creativity start. But the strips must be prepared.

Scissors number five, My hands are getting older, and I wanted to find a pair of scissors that would spring back to action. If you are going to do hours of cutting you do not want to lift up the blades to the starting motion each time. This pair of scissors I found is a spring-loaded Fiskars scissors. It has saved my hands from becoming tired and soar. The sound it makes is more like a swish, and it lulls away the hours like the beating of a drum. The mounds of fabric grow on my floor as I listen to soft music. I have joined the band with my sound of cutting fabric. My swish is steady and rhythmic. My handy dandy spring loaded Fiskars scissors is also a musical instrument.

At last, the time has come to start my weaving. Thump goes my beater bar as I lift my heddles on my four-harness loom to create the pattern I have decided on. This is my happy place. A strand of old blue jeans I have worn to thin to be pants anymore will now be part of my denim and goat hair rug. Mocha is my brown angora goat. He gives me a smokey mocha colored fiber hence the name. His hair will blend perfectly with the denim-colored rags. Mocha is an old boy, 13 years old to be exact. He is so friendly, and his eyes beg for treats every time I am in the barn. But do not let those beautiful loving big brown eyes fool you! Mocha is an escape artist. He will spend the day in the barn tipping over anything he can looking for those elusive treats. He might be my favorite goat but not my husband’s. As I place my cut fabric onto the loom, inch by inch I watch my rug come to life. This is the time I think Wow! I am in it! Doing it! Creating! This is my happy place.

Felting is a whole other creature. One of my favorite things about felting is the tactile feeling in my hands of rubbing the blended fibers over and over to get them to adhere to each other. The colors I choose to blend magically turn into the most wonderful patterns and designs. This is where those little toughs of perfect curls come into play a spattering of those will make the felt pop with color. It is like painting with fiber. Scissors number six, I take out my zig-zag shears after I know that the felt is thick, tight, and done. I begin to cut. With the zigging and zagging the edges are not crisp lines but fun edging that keeps things a little on the wild side. Now, what to create? A purse, or a thin felted scarf, or maybe a wonderful little wall hanging. The possibilities are endless. Love, love, love to felt.

A summer has passed in my Loom-Room, here sits a stack of rugs, some scarves, and fun purses. I sit on the loom bench looking at my hard work. Reflecting on the time I have spent creating these personal expressions of color and texture fills me with happiness. We all have creativity in us, some people just do not realize it. You need to take the time to allow it to come to the surface. Busy lives should not stand between self-expression and creativity. This earth is amazing, allow it to give you its many gifts. While we are doing this, we become closer to her. Be it a painting, a sculpture, a poem, a dress, or anything, including some rugs and funky purses. Just create! That my friend is where true happiness lies.

Without my 6 pair of scissors what I create would not be possible. Starting this story, I never realized how important a pair of scissors is, they are an essential part of our creative lives. From providing an income for a family of seven to making clothing, to creating my rugs, a pair of scissors is at the heart of it all. The sounds they share and the happiness they bring, are used through generations. What will the next generation create? Time will tell.

Oh, my barn shears you ask. I am thinking I will call him Sylvester the Shears. It is a strong name that does a tough job. Sylvester seems like a loyal name never failing. With its simple design that has passed the test of time. Sylvester might not be the shiniest, thinnest or most delicate scissors of the bunch, but always dependable. So, yea Sylvester it is.