I’m headed for a weaving conference this weekend. Which undoubtedly shocks my friends, because as an introvert, I’d typically rather be home than anywhere else – especially large gatherings.

So why am I going to a three-day nonstop party with hundreds of fellow weavers?

No, it’s not the disco ball, the pounding music, or the drug-fueled raves. (Whew.)

The truth is, I love going to weaving conferences. Even when the classes don’t excite me – maybe especially when the classes don’t excite me. Because from the moment I step into the conference center, it’s a nonstop weaving party.

For several days, I know that every time I turn around I’ll meet someone who shares my enthusiasm for weaving. Whether I’m chatting with a vendor, a teacher, or a fellow participant, everyone has the same passion for making. I return to my hotel room every night buzzing with new ideas, new possibilities – I never get enough sleep during a conference because there’s just too much fun to be had.

But of course the conference isn’t the thing I really love. It’s simply the thing I love made visible, concentrated into fizzy, caffeinated delight over three days. The rest of the year, it might appear differently: a personal note tucked into my yarn order, a guildmate coming over to help me fix my loom, a woodworker who lovingly explains all the craftsmanship that goes into that perfectly smooth and balanced shuttle.

What I love is the community that happens whenever weavers get together – a community built on our shared delight in making.

Weavers are the first part of our community. I can sit down next to nearly any weaver and be deep in conversation in ninety seconds – even if we’ve never met before. We share a language that is obscure to others – sett, draft, float, selvedge – and many common travails. (What weaver hasn’t had a threading mistake, or forgotten to bring the warp over the back beam at least once?)

Weavers are generous. You ask, “How did you do that?” and they’re delighted to show you. Nobody hoards their knowledge. Beginners are encouraged and helped when they falter.

But it’s not just weavers who are generous. It’s also the makers who supply us. Whether they’re building a floor loom, dyeing yarn, or making shuttles, they lavish skill and care to create something perfect for us. They give us love, in material form, helping our craft thrive.

And, finally, the teachers. Not the names everyone knows, but the weaver who sits down next to a beginner and shows them how to throw a shuttle, or repair a broken thread, or read a draft. The weaving friend who invites you over to learn warp painting. The Zoom presenter who teaches you about double weave from halfway around the world. Knowledge passed hand to hand, part of a lineage that goes back thousands of years.

We all come together because we love making. Making something by hand, whether it be a handwoven tea towel, a handspun sweater, or a wooden tri-loom, is a slow process. It invites questions and rewards those who seek answers. It produces objects that have histories and stories. It dances with joy, and that joy creates a community of generosity. In a world that often values winning over everything else, making – and especially weaving – creates a world that is slower paced, more open, and glad to see you.

I’m going to enjoy my nonstop weaving party this weekend, but the joy happens all year round.

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From the Course Catalog: