KNIT WISE

A Michigan transplant discovers she’s not alone in finding comfort and healing in this small town’s knitting community.

- MOLLY KORROCH

WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME WHY I moved to Michigan, I usually say, “I needed a change!” or, “Living in Washington, D.C. for two years took its toll!” or, “I want to live somewhere with snow before snow disappears!” These things are true. But, not the whole truth.

As I was graduating from grad school in D.C., I was working to get back up on my feet after my second autoimmune diagnosis. The second bout had slammed me to the ground. I was 27 years old and even getting out of bed was a struggle. Eating was a struggle. Sleeping was a struggle. I had my own life and work in D.C., but my body was exhausted from continuous battle. After graduation, in the face of my struggle, my parents suggested spending the summer at our cottage in Suttons Bay. I wanted to live and work in D.C. and stand on my own two feet, but the fact remained that, much to my chagrin, I still needed help making it to the end of each day.

The breeze off the lake was a tonic. I found myself drawn to the outdoors, wanting to play in the beautiful Michigan summer like I did when I was a kid. I wanted to go to yoga classes, and take hikes and swims, but, still, my body held me back. Slowly, with the help of my family, I re-learned how to take care of myself. They helped me find new things to occupy my hazy brain until I could build strength for more strenuous activities.