2016 me said it best:
“AAAAA man, finding any good pictorial resources for Turkish drop spindles proved one heck of a research journey (especially for drop spindles used traditionally – there’s the modern drop spindle – which has interlocking arms that can be pulled off easily anytime without wrecking the yarn ball you made, and the very rudimentary stick version but without the easy arms). Since there’s a dearth of information on traditional drop spindles – even less for specifically tribal Usak ones – I had to use the next best thing. This video here (NO LONGER EXTANT) has been immensely helpful in clarifying a lot of the stuff I’ve compiled!
I don’t think I’ve done a 100% accurate representation of traditional Usak spindling, but it’s decent based on the information I have on hand, and the basics are all there.”
It took me so long to find a proper source showing how to use the traditional Turkish drop spindle. It is built out of three sticks, which can be interlocked together and deconstructed just as easily – an important feature for carpet weaving nomads, who move around plenty.
Selim rises too. He turns to Zeynel, saying to him, “I’m sorry, my boy. But I must follow them, too. Get Ayşe if you need help.” Here he pauses, making sure Zeynel completely understands the instruction. “Good?”
Zeynel looks at Selim, as he processes the instruction plus the suddenness of the situation. He is wondering if he should tell Selim to get his mother, who is not only a wonderful physician but a greater midwife. He decides not to; his family are guests, his parents are currently out in town, and he shouldn’t disrupt the community, even if for good. The birth will turn out well whether or not his mother is there.
Zeynel offers an encouraging smile. “Erm...okay? Good luck!”
He is now alone in the parlour, with only a Quran for company.
--
Meanwhile, Ayse busies herself spinning wool into thread. Beginning with a clump of raw wool, she pulls and loosely wraps one end around the body of a drop spindle, until it is long enough to secure at the bottom end. Once the other side of the wool is secured in a half-hitch, she lets the spindle go towards the ground, spinning and teasing out string from a cloud, many times over.
When she ends with a loose ball of fresh thread on her palm, she looks up, furrowing her brows. Something is amiss. She mumbles to herself, “What is taking him so long?”
