Retired art teacher Betty Pezalla owns six spinning wheels: one with a skinny, elongated wooden frame, like a grasshopper; a fragile-looking antique Norwegian one, not for actual use; and a compact portable one (because spinners like to hang out together).
But why would anyone bother spinning, what with all the fancy yarns you can buy these days? "It's just the nicest thing to do - the warm, soft wool passing through your hands," says the Moorhead woman. "And it's about preserving an old tradition."
So is the outlet for most of Pezalla's homespun yarn. She makes hats, some to give away to friends and relatives, some for sale at the Plains Art Museum and elsewhere. Her passion makes her an endangered breed in this age of mass-produced everything.
The longtime knitter got into hats some seven or eight years ago. Soon after, she saw Meryl Streep sporting a stocking caps that looked like one of her own vibrant creations. It was a sign Pezalla was on the right track.
Pezalla uses store-bought materials and her own yarn, made out of wool she gets from area sheep herders and dyed with Kool-Aid.
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She dreams up the hats in her basement studio, complete with looms, baskets full of yarn rolls and her collection of foreign handcrafted objects.
"They are really works of art," says Ann Braaten, apparel studies professor at North Dakota State University and former member of Pezalla's spinning circle.
Since the 1960s, women have been more eager to show off their hair than an accessory, and the hairstylist has crowded out the milliner, Braaten says. The falling appreciation of vintage-flavored crafts hasn't helped, either. "We tend to buy the stuff instead of make the stuff," she says. "If we don't like it, we ditch it."
But the knitting craze of recent years and the emergence of high-profile hat wearers, especially hip-hop stars such as Andre 3000 and Usher, have drawn young, innovative blood to the craft. "What is driving the revival?" asks Laurie Kennard of the Chicago-based milliner's guild Chapeau. "Perhaps we need something new. Maybe mass production has become too boring."
"I try to put some kind of touch on my hats so they don't look ordinary," Pezalla says. But she cringes at flashy attention grabbers, "with these things sticking out, like jester hats." So she sticks to simple, casual designs with a twist: an unexpected cable knit, a needle belted embellishment or a dainty appliquéd flower.
The most whimsy she's allowed herself set off a fruit-and-vegetable-themed hat-making spree, which yielded berry-like hats with small bulges and a pumpkin hat, orange with green leaves sticking out the top, for a granddaughter.
Her definition of a great hat: "It'll stay on in the wind. It'll keep you warm. It's attractive."
Pezalla believes a hat is a window into its wearers' soul, and she immediately thinks of a fellow spinner, an exuberant lady fond of brimmed hats garnished with turkey feathers.
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The women wearing her hats? Somewhat artsy, decidedly sophisticated.
At a Fine Arts Club show in Fargo, a woman and her 10-year-old daughter stopped by Pezalla's stall. The hat maker sized up the girl and picked out a purple hat sprouting a pink petal. But no matter how much the girl begged for it, the mom wouldn't budge. Pezalla thought it was a perfect match and gave the hat away. "I later received a letter from the girl saying she wore it every day," the knitter says with a knowing smile.
Readers can reach Forum reporter Mila Koumpilova at (701) 241-5529
