A Yarn for Dad

My Dad has the hands of a craftsman and the mind of an engineer. So many times growing up I would see him studying an ornate metal gate or an intricately carved wooden table and I knew that he wasn't just memorizing the design, he was analyzing it for ways to improve it, make it better, more elaborate.

It was for that reason that I couldn't wait to introduce him to the mechanics of spinning during his recent visit here. I knew he would be facinated by the simple genius of the spinning wheel and respect the skill that operating it required.

It wasn't at all because I was hoping he would become obsessed with designing the perfect spinning wheel and insist that I test out the prototypes, so shame on you for thinking that!

The thing I noticed is how he gravitated toward the worsted yarns, as if he instinctively knew they required more skill and dedication.

I'm drawn to texture. I love things that remind me of moss growing on tree bark. I love torn up, dirty petty coats peaking out from under cocktail dresses.

But this last week I felt inspired to spin a yarn for Dad. I don't own combs, so I aligned the fibers on handcards. The shorter fibers weren't removed, so technically it's only a semi-worsted. I did spin short draw and set the twist with some weight.

By the way, this is from the fleece I mentioned at the end of last weeks blog.

This yarn is available for sale here http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=15726697

One last thing...

Our best wishes go out to the Homestead sheep in their special urgent mission to find homes for some needy llamas.

Peace.

Fear, Tragedy and Fresh Fleece

Fiber artists have strange fears. My Mom got a good laugh the other day when I told her I had finally concurred my fear of cotton. Last night I told her I recently overcame my fear of lace. Cotton and lace. I guess that is pretty funny.

But I know you fiber types aren't laughing. I know you are thinking of the first time you tried spinning cotton, or knitting lace, or dying in an indigo vat. I know you are thinking about that one thing that you still don't do, that one thing that will make you skip a project that is otherwise drool worthy.

My mom sews. I told her "Its like sewing a really slippery silk." She stopped laughing. She told me a terrible story of a beautiful fabric that was almost frayed into nonexistence.

I wondered if she still had those loose fibers somewhere.

So, here is my first skein of cotton that doesn't look like a bowl of fussilli.

Last week I was finishing a pile of skeins and got a little impatient toward the end. One very pretty skein of logwood dyed Shetland yarn ended up more than a little worse for the wear. It took me a half hour to peel each strand from the next and rewind it into a proper skein. I held it in my hands like a dead pet. So sad.

Then a couple days later it occurred to me that I could still use it as practice yarn. I could swatch out a stitch pattern that I hadn't tried before. So, I pulled my stitchinairy off the shelf and started thumbing through. As I turned the page to the lace section I took a big gulp. "Well, this is as good a time as any." I thought "I couldn't possibly do anymore damage to this yarn" I don't know why but nothing scares my like lace. Not Kitchener, not cables, not anything.

Here is the lace scarf, in progress:

I actually like it, which not only surprises me under the circumstances but it makes me really glad I didn't demote the yarn to garden twine.

I don't know what has gotten into me lately, but I've been digging out all the projects from the back of my closet that I've never had the heart to toss or the stamina to try to fix. Today I was sitting out in my yard spinning some really beautiful roving that was also involved in a felting accident. My thumbs ache from the tug of war drafting. But, after the happy endings I've been having lately, I'm optimistic and determined.

Oh, I just remembered. Not all is doom and gloom here. Setting out to dry at this very minute is a gorgeous silver Romney fleece I bought from the always fabulous Homestead Wool and Gift Farm. I will definitely be having a carding party tomorrow night.

Peace.

Straw into Gold

Ok, I know "straw into gold" is just about the most overused spinning folklore reference, but wait till you see what is on my my wheel right now.



And here is the fiber I'm spinning it from (ok, not exactly straw, I admit)











That pile of lusciousness is made up of guanaco, tussah silk, and suri alpaca. I bought one precious ounce of guanaco and wanted to see how far I could strech it. I left the guard hairs in, mixed in a little silk and suri, and spun it super thin. I wish you could feel these batts. They are so feather light. And there is absolutely no color or shimmer added to the fiber. The color is totally natural.


Here is some finished yarn. I'm planning on doing some open, airy lace work with this. Not that I really have a choice, this yarn screams "turn me into lace or I will haunt your dreams!"







So, every time I pull out my fiber, out comes the cat. No matter where he is in the house or how deep of sleep he was in, he rushes to my side. No to assist, but to interfere. I don't know if he just doesn't like my attention so focused on something that isn't him, or if he smells other animal scents in the house, but he gets so jealous. He will sit right next to my wheel and flick his little tale precariously close to it because it will make me stop spinning. He'll batt at my feet as I treadle. He'll cry and pout until, eventually, I give up and replace the roving on my lap with his warm, vibrating body. There are worse things, I guess.

Peace.

Hi, my name is Sarah...and I'm a fiberaholic.

Sometimes while spinning I muse over scenarios whereby my addiction might cause some serious confusion. I see myself face down in a puddle of blood (stick with me, I am going somewhere with this) and the hot CSI guy is pulling fibers from the carpet beside my body. "You said they only had a cat didn't you?" "How odd, this is definitely not feline. I will have to take it down to the lab." Later at the lab the playboy bunny of a lab tech confirms that it is in fact rare, wild...guanaco. "Our killer must be a Chilean drug smuggler" the CSI guy surmises. And my ghost has a good ol' belly laugh.

So, in case you haven't guessed, this blog is about spinning...yarn, not wheels.

My Clark Kent daytime persona is as a mild mannered internal auditor at a community bank. I even sport some geeky glasses at times. Of course, my dream is to ditch my dingy cubical in the back corner of the basement to be a...well...spinster. Hmmm, to be honest, it seemed more glamorous until I called it that. I will have to come up with another name for it. Any ideas?