The Makings of a Studio

Once upon a time, in the town of Peabody, 

behind an old yellow house, 

sat a little studio. 


The little studio had sat behind the old yellow house, 

and served the people who lived there, 

for more than 200 years 

and she was very happy. 

 


Behind the studio flowed Strongwater Creek, 

which burbled and gurgled 

and kept the little studio company. 


The little studio was painted 

a cheery yellow on the front side, 

and a dark brown on the backside, 

and no one ever really knew why. 

 

 

 

Long ago the little studio was a glass workshop, 

the workers came in and made beautiful things 

within her four walls.

 She had felt helpful and useful 

and liked to see the sparkling glass made there. 

But now she was simply a garage, 

where cars were parked, 

and junk was piled, 

and oil stains gathered on the floor.  

 
 One day, a moving van from California 
pulled up in front of the little studio 
and began to unload boxes and boxes and boxes
 until the little studio thought it couldn't hold any more.
 
 
A new family had moved into the old yellow house -  
a brother and sisters and a mom.  
They started to move and sort
and move and sort 
until all the boxes were put in place.  
The studio felt very naked. 
She had grease stains on her floor 
and cobwebs on her walls. 
 
 

But the brother and sisters and mom weren't done yet.  

With scrub brushes and buckets 

and soap and rags, 

they scrubbed and brushed the little studio 

until her wood was clean 

and her grease stains were all gone.

 

 

 

Then the family brought in things 

the little studio had never ever seen before.  

Piles of colorful yarn 

and wooden contraptions they called looms.  

The little studio felt crowded and dizzy 

and wasn't sure where everything would go.  

 

 

And then another moving van came 

and unloaded three big, beautiful bookshelves;

bookshelves that had held a library of books 

with shelves on both sides for all the colorful cones of yarn.  

And the family organized and sorted 

until all the colors on all the shelves made a rainbow.  

And the little studio sighed.

 


And then another moving van came and brought
a great rug full of the rainbow of colors that were on the shelves.  

A great rug full of fabrics from coats and dresses and attics 

all braided together by five ladies for one year. 

 

And the rug went on top of the clean floor 

where the oil stains had been.  

And the rug and shelves smiled at each other.  

And the little studio sighed a little bit more.


 
Now the little studio was quiet and peaceful once more.
She could hear the creek rushing by 
and feel the sun streaming in through the windows.  
She heaved a bigger sigh 
and thought about how nice and quiet 
life would be again.  
 
 But she was wrong.
 
 

On a quiet summer morning,

 another moving truck came, 

this one from Pennsylvania. 

It unloaded piles and piles of 

heavy wooden pieces and ropes and weights and even computers!  So many things the little studio had never seen before. 

The people called these things looms, too 

and they made even more mess than the yarn had. 

 

 

Slowly and surely the family put the looms together 
and took away all the extra boxes 
and the studio felt pretty once again, 
though a little bit more crowded. 
Now, she thought, maybe the family will settle down 
and leave me to my quiet, 
so I can hear my creek and feel peaceful again.
  
 
 
But no sooner had the Looms got set up than 
another moving truck came, 

this one with New York license plates. 

Out of the truck rolled pallet after pallet after pallet

 of giant cones of heavy rug yarn 

right onto the little studio's floor 

and weighed her down so she felt big and heavy. 

The little studio thought that she might crack.

 

The little studio did not feel pretty anymore.  

She did not feel quiet anymore.  

She was so clogged with yarn that 

she couldn't even hear the sound of her creek anymore.

 

 

 And she was very sad.

 

 

 

But slowly and surely the brother and sisters and mom 

came and moved the yarn. 

Some of the yarn went upstairs to the little studio's attic, 

some went down to the basement of the old yellow house, 

and some went on the shelves in bright rainbows.

 

 

The little studio liked the rainbows of colors on the bookcases 

and on the rug and on all of the yarn everywhere she looked.

 

 And she grew to like the family, too. 

 Once they weren't moving stuff around, 

they were actually a quiet and peaceful bunch. 

Just like the creek. 

 Just like her.

 

 

Now the little studio sits filled with looms 

and walls and floors of color.  

The brother and sisters and mom come each day 

to work and keep her company. 

 

 

The looms gently click and clack, 

the creek burbles and gurgles 

and the little studio is 

very, 

very 

happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 10, 2017 by Joy Jenkins