Eleven years ago, I typed a simple idea into a blog post and sent it out into the world:
Spin for fifteen minutes a day.

Nothing grand.
No finish lines.
No rules beyond showing up.

At the time, I don’t think I could have imagined how far that small suggestion would travel or how deeply it would settle into my own making life.

#spin15aday wasn’t born out of discipline or productivity. It came from a desire to stay connected to the wheel during seasons when time felt scarce. Fifteen minutes felt doable. Gentle. Kind. A way to keep the thread between my hands and the wool unbroken.

And somehow, that small daily practice grew.

Over the years, #spin15aday has lived in many forms: quiet mornings, late-night treadling, hotel rooms, kitchen tables, studio corners, fiber festivals, and seasons of deep making and seasons of simply surviving. Some days, fifteen minutes turned into an hour. Other days, it was truly just fifteen minutes, and that was enough.

What I’ve learned over these eleven years is this:
Consistency doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.

Showing up, even briefly, builds muscle memory, confidence, and trust with the fiber, with the process, and with ourselves. The wheel remembers us, even when we step away for a time. Wool is patient that way.

#spin15aday has also never been about perfection. Some yarns are uneven. Some skeins are experimental. Some never quite become what we imagined. But every minute spent spinning adds to our understanding, our skill, and our relationship with the craft.

Perhaps the most beautiful part has been the community that formed around this simple idea. Makers cheering one another on, sharing progress, setbacks, small wins, and quiet moments at the wheel. Not for comparison, but for connection.

Eleven years later, the heart of #spin15aday remains the same.
Spin when you can.
For as long as you can.
With intention, not pressure.

If you’ve been spinning along with me for years or if you’re just discovering the idea now, thank you. Your presence, your wool, and your time matter.

Here’s to eleven years of showing up.
Here’s to fifteen minutes.
And here’s to the quiet power of daily practice.

Happy New Year, Makers!

Sherrill
The 1764 Shepherdess