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© Karl Merton Ferron, Baltimore Sun
In 2009, Lynn Zwerling asked a crowd of 600 prisoners at the Pre-Release Unit in Jessup, Maryland, if any of them would like to knit.

The response was predictable:

"They looked at her like she was crazy," GOOD reports.

Despite that initial baffled reaction, over 100 prisoners have learned to knit since then - and there's a waiting list of dozens.

"I have guys that have never missed one time in two years," Zwerling, 67, said of the students at her Thursday evening class. "Some reported to us that they miss dinner to come to class."

Zwerling brought knitting to the men's prison after she successfully started a 500-member knitting group in Columbia, Maryland.

"I looked around the room one day and I saw a zen quality about it," Zwerling said. "Here were people who didn't know each other, had nothing in common, sitting together peacefully like little lambs knitting. I thought, 'It makes me and these people feel so good. What would happen if I took knitting to a population that never experienced this before?'"

After five years of repeated refusals from prisons - wardens weren't keen to let violent criminals have access to knitting needles - Zwerling launched Knitting Behind Bars. While the inmates were hesitant at first, they quickly picked up the skill, knitting comfort dolls and hats that were donated to local children in need.

Now, the men can't wait to knit, with some members attributing the new skill to helping them navigate life on parole.

"Prison is just a dormant wait. You shut your life off and wait," said Ricky Horton, a former Knitting Behind Bars member who's been out of prison for a year. "But them giving you that chance to interact and kind of blend back into the world, it's a big deal."

As for Zwerling, her world-peace-through-knitting goal is on its way to being accomplished.

"You have to see it," she told the Baltimore Sun. "These big, tough, tattooed guys, knitting, with a look on their face of tranquility and peace. It's magic."