A sign in the window of the former Fiber Loft answers the question many in the community have been asking—“Hooray! We are openish.”
In a conversation at the store, the new owner at 15 Mass. Ave., Robin Hu, explained the “ish.” It means the door is open, she is there and selling things, but not all her supplies have arrived nor are all the spaces ready for business. And there will be no grand opening for at least a month. But it is still a fiber arts store, still a place for knitting groups to gather and spinners to spin, a place for community.
It’s hard not to notice the strip of crocheted squares fastened to the top of the porch railing in front of the store. “That’s yarn bombing,” said Hu—a kind of graffiti in fiber. Her sixth-grade daughter helped her make granny squares using acrylic yarn in pinks and yellow and put them together in two long scarves—presumably one for each of them. Her daughter spotted them walking by one day and ran home, two doors south, to get her mother and ask her why their scarves were at the Fiber Loft. In response, Hu took out her key and opened the door to the store.
Robin Hu. (Courtesy photo)
Hu said she has always worked with textiles. She could sew when she was 4 years old, crochet at 7, and she learned to knit from a book she bought at a house sale. As an adult, living in Jamaica Plain, she made samples for a nearby yarn store. About 12 years ago, the owner of the store asked if she wanted to buy it, but Hu was on the brink of a move to Harvard. Settling in, close to the Fiber Loft, she learned Reba Maisel, founder of the store in 1974, had just sold it to a former client and part-time employee. A second missed opportunity.
Third time’s a charm
She went to the Thursday night knitting group at the store and over the years became friendly with Maisel and the new Fiber Loft owner. Then last spring there was talk that the store was going to be sold. It was all hush-hush, but some of the longtime knitters knew, and they told Hu that here was a new opportunity. This time she was ready. The sale process was complicated and took a long time. “Opening a business is overwhelming,” said Hu, and she appreciates the support and advice that Maisel and the store’s former managers have given her.
Because of the way the agreement went, Hu cannot keep the Fiber Loft name. But, she said, “Knitters don’t care what it’s called.” She chose the name The Tangled Thread and said it represents the community of fiber arts people who are closely intertwined, bound by a common interest, and who were so devastated when the store closed. She has creative ideas for a sign and will apply to the Historical Commission for approval.
Now, with the “ish” opening, “fiber people,” as Hu called them, come from all over the area; there is a knitting group every day of the week. Upstairs, weavers meet once a week for a study group. Spinners bring their wheels and meet in another upstairs room. She explained that these are not the spinning wheels of fairy tale or colonial times. She showed her own small, portable wheel, with removable parts that can be folded up and carried in a bag.
Hu has a degree in interior architecture, and she had a certain look she wanted for the store. She bought two large wire spools to serve as tables for knitters. She washed, sanded, and stained the tops of them, then rolled them down the street from her nearby house to the store. She had to take the door off its hinges to get them in. She bought an old library card catalogue with all its drawers, which now hold knitting needles. “It was so heavy, it took four of us to lift. We had to take all the drawers out and then put them all back in.” But it was worth it, she said.
Rainbow of yarn
The needle cabinet is in the middle of the far wall. To the right of it are shelves with cubbies filled with brightly colored yarns. Hu’s son, a first-grader, arranged the yarn according to the colors of the rainbow. “He thinks he works here,” Hu said with a smile. “He wants a vest and a name tag.” He sometimes sits with a group of knitters and winds and unwinds a ball of yarn as they knit. On the top shelf of the cupboard, is a row of Woobles—bags that contain materials to crochet a cute animal in 32 steps. Her daughter made the pink pig sitting on the shelf. At the base of the cupboard are a teddy bear and a fluffy llama that, Hu has been instructed, “stay with the store.”
There’s a sock cupboard, to the left of the needle cabinet, with an old-fashioned wooden sock stretcher propped on the top shelf. Finer gauge and less vivid yarns are here. A customer came into the store during the conversation and said she is from Maine, visiting a resident here. She was looking for striping yarn for socks—the yarn that makes a pattern automatically. “It’s on order,” Hu told her. “It’s the best yarn to take on a subway,” said Hu,” because people look with amazement at what you’re creating without any instructions.
“Gorgeous,” the visitor commented as she picked up a hand-dyed, multicolored Malabrigo yarn from a cupboard by the door. Hanging above are hanks of yarn in rich, muted colors of fall. In shelving at the back of the room are a variety of yarns in different gauges, fibers, and prices. Hu pulled out a yarn in deep purple to show a heavier yarn that knits up quickly.
Hanging on a wall near the checkout counter are what Hu called “notions,” small tools and accessories for knitting and crochet projects. Stickers—recommended by Hu’s daughter—have humorous images relating to fiber arts. And totally unrelated to knitting, are small ceramic houses that are bud vases.
Among other things, future plans include clearing out the back of the store for usable space and setting up teachers and classes to start in January. Hu is at the store during the day Monday to Saturday, with hours still not totally firm. People can call 978-456-0099 and follow progress on Instagram @talesofthetangledthread.
