My grandfather, my Noni, picked grapes in Tuscany and made his own wine. My grandmother, my Nona, told stories of stomping on the grapes with her friends in her youth. They lived in a stone house that was built around the year 900 that still stands high on a mountain top. Their wine cellar was a tiny space under this ancient family home. Old casks were used to store each year's wine production. My mother was born in this house and the family stories of the fall wine production are a part of my heritage.
We recently visited a winery, and what a contrast. The two story high gleaming stainless steel vats, and the miles of high tech piping all connected to some sort of computerized control system certainly produced great wine, but for me lacked the romance.
I recently visited a mom and pop farm in PEI Canada, where a small family was making felting equipment , spinning yarns and combing roving. The wool came from the animals on their farm, just outside the door of their small shop. Intrigued by their needle felting supplies, I had to give it a go. So with a book, and some of their hand made roving I returned to Atlanta. The contrast between the city of Atlanta and the pastoral Prince Edward Island caused me to think about how differently so many things are made.
Somehow these contrasts resulted in my making my first needle felted piece. combined with of course some thread painting!