My recent trip to Chicago (Rosemont, specifically) at the start of May for h+h americas feels both like yesterday and several weeks ago at once. The yarn and notions I ordered have arrived. I’ve spent quiet time with my notebook sketching, and my needles are beginning to swatch.

But I’m still thinking about all the other parts.

I’m still thinking about the logistics of being away for a few days, something I personally hadn’t done in years, and what I needed to pack, both in my suitcase and mentally, to be ready.

I’m still thinking about the moment I was standing in the Sample It queue (the show’s beloved way to sample new products without buying a wholesale quantity first) and noticed a woman looking to find the end of a line that had snaked and morphed well past the obvious. We both looked up at the same moment and realized we knew each other. I hadn’t seen Tove since 2019. Catching up allowed the time to pass, and no one begrudged her joining me in line when we were obviously delighted to see each other.

I’m still thinking about all the other reunions I watched happen around me: the hugs of recognition, of joy, and some of sorrow; the conversations that started because of something seen at a booth, or said in passing, all of it opening into something more.

I’m also still thinking about the hard work behind every trade stand: the long nights, the budget questions, the stress of an uncertain future, and how every person there, vendor and attendee alike, just stood in the present and moved forward with some nerves and hope for tomorrow.

And I’m still thinking about technology. About how much of what I do and need can now happen from anywhere, at any time. It was helpful to me these past few years when I was cautious about travel while caring for an immunocompromised family member. This kind of accessibility is remarkable and genuinely important; so is the consideration shown at the show to those who masked, needed a seat, or needed a moment in a quieter space. The show matters in a way that a screen cannot completely replicate, but I’m thankful for the options.

We humans, with some pretty nifty tools, make things by hand. We always have, and I believe we always will. And sometimes, the most important thing we make is the time and space to be together.

Showing up is not just logistics.