It’s only been about a year since I started knitting seriously again. As a naturally warm person living in the warmth of the Sonoran Desert, it was difficult for me to find any need for warm woolen goods in the winter. I did, however, see myself knitting a light and airy shawl to keep the wind coming off Babad Do’ag (also known as the Catalina Mountains) from cooling me down too much on brisk mornings. I started with that and eventually cast on a fingering-weight sweater that still languishes in my work-in-progress pile.

         My partner’s job offer in Wisconsin left a lot of uncertainties, but one of the things that I was certain of was that I’d once again be able to enjoy the rhythm of seasons. Before moving to Tucson, I had lived for years along the Mississippi River in Minnesota. It was there that I made my first, unevenly tensioned hat. I gave my knitted goods away when I moved, thinking I would not be back.

         Since moving back to the Upper Midwest, I’ve regretted the loss of those goods, but have embraced the challenge of making the things I need for myself again. Progress has been slow, and I have some storebought goods to bridge the gap, but I’ve added a hat, mitts, cowl, and several pairs of warm socks to my wardrobe by way of my own hands. Now the promise of Spring lingers in the air in Milwaukee, and I’m simultaneously ready for the change and already missing the comfort and coziness of knitting in a pile of blankets on my bed.

         In Mexico, where my ancestors are from, the Spring Equinox marks the coming of tonalko, the dry season. Years are counted along the Spring Equinox, and the new year begins the day after the Equinox is observed. Just a few days ago, the year Chiknawi Kalli (9 House) ended and the year Maktlaktli Tochtli (10 Rabbit) began.

         I find that I agree with Hannah Thiessen, author of Seasonal Slow Knitting, in that the Equinox is a much better fit for the beginning of the year. We live in a time where our work and responsibilities often have little to do with the rhythm of the year. At the solstice, I leave for work in the dark and return home in the dark. My body riots every morning at being asked to wake up hours before the sun.

         We haven’t yet reached the first properly warm day of the year. The sky coughs up flurries and sometimes several inches of wet and heavy snow. The morning sun sputters up over the horizon, struggling through cloud cover and trying to make it through. There are bits to see, though; brief moments of patchy light make sunbeams that stream through the south windows, comfy places for my cat to bask. Spring is coming if one knows where to look.

         I attend open knitting most every Sunday at my local yarn shop. One of the staff there recently mused about how a store client asked her what she was working on and whether those things were bringing her joy. My kneejerk reaction was to think that “all my projects were bringing me joy”, but on reflection, this wasn’t very accurate. I think to that languishing work-in-progress and compare it to the gentle greens and pinks of an enormous shawl that I can’t wait to wear. I also think of the sweaters that I could get started now to be ready for Fall, and I think of the yarns that I’ve added to my stash and can’t wait to knit.

         The concept of slow knitting bucks the siren call of productivity. I fight between wanting to keep a Kanban board of all my projects and rejecting that for a gentler approach to mindfulness of what is on my needles: two sweaters, two “blankets”, and a pair of socks that I’m not in love with. I plan on letting those poorly-fitting socks go, though the memories attached to the stitches makes the task of unravelling difficult. I balance the desire to plant a garden to make natural dyes with the fact that I desperately need a summer break after a long and difficult school year.

         At the Equinox, the hours and daylight and the hours of night are in exact balance. What better way has Nature given us as a reminder to keep our heads on straight even in our excitement?