...And They're Off!

Summer vacation is finally, finally, FINALLY here! Far too short for my taste, but at least I have 9 beautiful, blessed weeks of doing n-o-t-h-i-n-g connected with school or education. Time to do all those things I normally like to do in my full and busy life: spin, weave, do needlework, read, sleeping in, and staying up late.

I'm celebrating the first day of summer vacation by finishing up some spinning, and leisurely cleaning up the house. I'm trying to get more focused about cleaning, as I would love to have the house really clean (housekeeping is a "hit or miss" situation during the school year), but I'm too lazy to day to really worry about it.

I did manage to get quite a bit of spinning done. I finished dyeing the batts and got them spun, and started spinning the rest of the Merino on my Wendy wheel, Emily. I wanted to get used to using it, as I'm taking it with me to Black Sheep, and I haven't spun on it for about 10 years. I took the Wendy to the guild meeting yesterday, and several people commented on how cute it was (it really is pretty cute). A lot of people confuse a Wendy with John Rappard's wheels, the Little Peggy and the Wee Peggy, but they're completely different wheels from different wheelmakers.

Emily seems to have lived a charmed life. Stephen found her in an antiques shop in Coloma (California) in late 1994, while we were there doing an historical reenactment. He bought her for me, lock, stock, and 3 bobbins, for the whopping price of $65, including tax. I'm sure she probably sold for more than that brand new. Shortly after purchasing her, I "sort of" learned to spin and had loads of fun spinning really bad yarn until I finally settled down and started taking classes and spinning on a regular basis. I ordered a bunch of extra bobbins for Emily from Philip Poore, the New Zealand wheelmaker who made her, and have a couple charming letters detailing the history of the wheel, how to build and install a Scotch tensioner on the wheel, and why it wasn't in production any longer. Nobody is really sure how she ended up here in the US, but I'm not complaining--she's still the wheel I take to workshops because she spins silently and is tremendously light and sturdy. For her trip to Black Sheep, I got a new, blue carrying case for her that arrived today. If inanimate objects can look happy and excited, this wheel is doing just that: she's currently standing in her new carrying case in the front hall, saying, "Can we go yet? Can we go yet?" Soon.

Spin Journal #5: Cooking Up Something Wild

This experiment is entirely due to an off-hand comment by Randall Hayden of Hayden Looms. He compared types of wool processing before spinning to cake baking: if purchased roving is your basic cake mix, while hand-processing is baking from scratch.

"Cake" got me thinking about food, and dyes, and what can I do that's fun with fiber I'm not overly concerned about. Idea! Dye parts of the remaining batt of Romney with Kool-Aid, spin and ply them with a bobbin of white Romney already spun, then overdye the entire mess with yet another color.

The white Romney (approximately 2 ounces) was spun this afternoon. The other batt, which weighed just over 2 ounces, was split in half lengthwise. I decided to go with Cherry (red) and Lemonade (yellow) Kool-Aid for the first dyes--when overdyed with Ice Blue Lemonade (blue) Kool-Aid, I should end up with a finished yarn that is 50% blue, 25% purple, and 25% green, with a color twist.

To make the dyebath for each of the batts, I dissolved 2 packets of the appropriate flavor/color Kool-Aid with hot water in a stainless steel pot with a tight-fitting lid, then added 1/3 cup white vinegar to make the dyebath acidic. Then I submerged the batt in the dyebath, gently pushing it down under the water, but not agitating it any more than necessary. I lidded the pot and put it in a 210-degree oven for 1 hour (and found out the "Cooking Time" feature on my oven works), then left the pots in the oven overnight to slowly cool.

What? Fair Time Already?!?

It's June, and the panic has set in--what am I entering in the county fair? This happens every year. I get busy with my life in general, June 1st arrives, and I suddenly realize two very important things:

1) I missed the deadline (for the umpteenth year in a row) for most of the "big" county fairs in my area; and

2) The deadline for our county fair is next week.

This year is no different than the past five. Once again, I missed the deadline for most of the big fairs in the Bay Area (Alameda, Contra Costa, and Marin county fairs); the deadline for the Solano County Fair is Monday at 4:00 p.m.

Fortunately for me, this is just the entry deadline. If it was the actual deadline (June 16th for everything except baked goods), I'd be in real trouble. As it is, I just have to fill out the entry forms, and calculate what I can get finished before the actual deadline.

I'm the first to admit it: I like county fairs. Maybe it's because I'm not that far removed from the farm myself (only 2 generations), or that it's the one place where what you do is judged strictly on it's merits. Or maybe it's because it's the only time I allow myself to indulge in that gustatory disaster/delight known as a "corn dog" (preferably with lots of yellow mustard). I like to wander around, looking at all the jars of tomatoes, pickles, jams and jellies, watching the Ginzu knife guy saw through an aluminum can and then slice up a tomato, marvelling at the crocheted afghans, knitted sweaters, and embroidered quilts, and laughing at the antics of the kids and their prized sheep, goats, rabbits, and pigs. It's a pleasant rite of summer.

I got started competing in county fairs about 20 years ago when I entered and won my first blue ribbon for a jar of wine jelly. I was hooked! Since then, I've kept competing when I've had the time, and can now boast of a sizeable collection of ribbons, mostly blue, plus a bunch of rosettes for Best of Show, Reserve Best of Show, and Sweepstakes (given to the person with the most blue ribbons that year). I even won "Best of Class" a couple times at the California State Fair.

Last year, I started to branch out, in part because I do much more than make fabulous jams and jellies. I like to bake, so last year I entered some of my baked goods: just a couple breads and three kinds of cookies, just for fun. "Fun" turned out to be four blue ribbons. Last year I also entered a couple crocheted afghans as my first foray into the Needlework competitions and they both won blue ribbons. The final "take" after last year's fair was the Best of Show rosette for my Tecate & Lime Beer Jelly, the Reserve Best of Show rosette for my Cherry-Amaretto Jam, and out of 20 entries, 17 took ribbons (11 blue ribbons).

So, what should I enter this year? How many jams and jellies can I get made before June 16th? Do I have examples of my knitting, weaving, and spinning that can be entered? Will it be unbearably hot the days I have set aside for baking the baked goods entries? You'll just have to stay tuned to find out!

Spin Journal #4 The Gray Monmouth Cap

Success! After two trips through a hot washer and a hot dryer, the Monmouth cap shrank to a fraction of its former size, became very thick, and the Cotswold bloomed beautifully, as I had hoped. It took two trips because after the first "felting cycle," Stephen pronounced it to be still a bit too large (it came down over his ears too much). As you can see in the photographs, there's still some indication that the cap was knitted, but it's beginning to get very fuzzy.

One problem I discovered during the first felting cycle: do not felt fuzzy knits with terrycloth towels. I spent about 15 minutes carefully picking little black lint balls off the hat. As they were a different color black than the black in the hat, I knew they must have come from the black terrycloth towel I threw in the washer with the cap to help with the felting. For the second felting cycle, the cap went into the washer alone, and there were no more cotton lint balls.

After the second felting cycle, the hat was smaller, thicker, and the individual stitches in the knitting obscured by the fuzziness of the Cotswold bloom. Stephen tried it on and it gave him slightly goofy, just-fell-off-the-haywagon look that I suspect all these knitted and felted caps gave their wearers. I'm planning on teaseling (gently brushing the surface to bring up the nap) and then shearing the nap to improve the water-shedding ability these caps supposedly had. I would love to use actual teasels--they grow in vacant lots in the Bay Area--but this is the wrong season for them, so the dog brush I use for flicking open locks for spinning will have to suffice.

This has been a good experiment in reproducing 16th century knitting. I designed a yarn with characteristics to achieve a specific finished product, knitted something out of my handspun, achieved the level of felting I desired, and made Stephen something extremely cool that can't be purchased from a sutler or off the Internet.

Spin Journal #3: The Gray Monmouth Cap

As noted in a previous post, I decided to knit the gray Monmouth cap with 3 strands of single handspun "Corrie-Cot" (a Corriedale and Cotswold blend), as my singles still seemed a little skimpy for the task at hand. No matter how much I try, I simply can't spin fat singles. I don't have wheels for spinning fat singles--double-drive wheels are traditionally for fine spinning--and it really is difficult for a spinner to go back to fat after learning to spin thin. A great deal of it has to do with concentration: you have to constantly pay attention to how you're spinning, and if your attention strays, you go back to spinning your regular "default" yarn.

I finished the knitting on the Monmouth cap, and took a few liberties with Rutt's original description to get a cap more to Stephen's taste. He thought the first cap was "OK, but..." and then had a list of changes he wanted made. Make the crown shallower, make it more semi-spherical, etc. One thing he wanted that I simply can't comply with is making it a thinner cap. The original cap I made him was out of a 2-ply Merino I spun and hand-dyed with madder, and I used overly large needles to create a cap that was lighter and lacier than a normal Monmouth. But back to the changes. I've listed my pattern notes below.

1) Cast on 60. Join to make round. Mark the join.

2) Knit 3 rounds. Inc 3 stitches spread evenly throughout round. Mark where the stitches are.

3) Knit 1 round, then purl 1 round (this will create the edge of the hem), then knit another round.

4) Dec 3 stitches above the increases while knitting this round. Mark these decreases.

5) Knit next 8 rounds.

6) Dec 3 stitches above the previous decs while knitting this round. Mark the decreases.

7) Knit next 6 rounds.

8) Dec 3 stitches spaced evenly between the previous decs while knitting this round. Mark the decreases.

9) Knit the next 4 rounds.

10) Dec 3 stitches above the first 2 sets of decreases while knitting this round. Mark the decreases.

11) Knit the next 2 rounds.

12) Knit 2, k2tog all the way around.

13) Knit next round.

14) K 2, k2tog all the way around.

15) Knit next round.

16) K 1, k2tog all the way around.

17) K1, k2tog all the way around. You should now be down to 8 stitches.

18) Thread a tapestry needle, cut the yarn leaving a tail of about 6 inches, and thread it through the remaining 8 stitches, then pull tight to close the top of the hat. With another piece of yarn and the tapestry needle, turn the brim and whip it down.

19) Felt the living daylights out of the cap (I throw it in the washer on hot with a couple of towels, then dry it in a hot dryer), and shape it over a head form to get the shape you want.

I'm not putting a button or a loop on this one, as Stephen normally wears these caps under his helm as padding, and the extra stuff can be annoying. The finished cap is quite large; the photos of it are on a styrofoam head, but it's huge on my own head. Next step: felting/fulling the cap.

Felled By The Back...Again!

I can't believe this--just as I'm planning a weekend full of busy tasks, my back goes out once again! So I'm now "back" on muscle relaxants, anti-inflammatories, and (when necessary) painkillers, trying to keep still once again, and wondering if I'm ever going to get anything accomplished. A bad back is such a trial!

I did manage to finish the layette for a friend's BBQ/Baby Shower, and it came out quite cute, I think. The sweater is from the "Happy Baby" pattern from Red Heart yarns, the booties are from another layette pattern, and the hat is the "Stupid Baby Bonnet" pattern from Maggie Righetti's Knitting in Plain English. I took a few liberties with the pattern (working it up on #6 needles rather than #8s, changing colors, etc.), but it still came out pretty well, and the mom-to-be to appreciate a handknitted layette. She also got a gorgeous handknitted baby afghan from another friend, and lots of the usual "baby" stuff: sleepers, T-shirts, baby toys, a "gift basket" of all the weird things you need to take care of a baby (whoever heard of "Dr. Boudreaux's Butt Paste"?). There were, of course, stupid baby shower games, but the hostess added a twist: instead of all the women being subjected to these indignities, the guys (it was a co-ed BBQ) had to compete. It was a hoot seeing all these big guys trying to drink beer out of baby bottles and guess the contents of different baby food jars. In the end, everybody had a good time, and the mom-(and dad-) to-be got a lot of needed stuff for Junior's arrival in a few weeks.

Odds, Ends, and Another Skein of Yarn

Four weeks and counting until I'm paroled for the summer! Then I'll have vast quantities of time to spend messing about with fiber, and all the other things I normally do when I'm not torturing children (according to them) or grading papers.

I decided that 2 strands of the single "Corrie-Cot" blend might not be enough for the Monmouth cap, so I finished spinning another bobbin of Corrie-Cot, washed it, and got it dry. Before that, however, I spent nearly 2 hours trying to fine-tune my Reeves. Oil, new drive band, more oil, different drive band, a bit more oil (it was really thirsty), and finally, a change to a different whorl. Success! I think the issue was the small differential between the smallest whorl and the bobbin. They were nearly the same size (the whorl is only slightly larger), and I was having to treadle like made and ended up with horribly overtwisted yarn. I switched to a larger whorl, and things smoothed right out. It's still a bit difficult to switch back and forth between the two wheels (the Reeves and the Schacht-Reeves), but I have to keep my skills up on both, as I normally take the Reeves to workshops and demonstrations, while I just love spinning at home on the Schacht-Reeves.

"Character"-building Yarns

I can honestly say I've now seen it all. Well...OK, I haven't seen Jesus riding down Market Street on a bicycle as part of Critical Mass, but that event can't be far off.

Last weekend, I trekked into one of the local LYS (Local Yarn Shop for the non-knitters). Normally, I seldom set foot inside one of these rarefied establishments--the yarns are costly, there is nearly always a group of expensively "casually" dressed women all gathered around a table knitting and gossiping, and, quite frankly, the atmosphere gives me the heebie-jeebies. I keep wondering if they're going to require a credit check before I buy the set of 000 Addi Turbos I need to knit the latest odd thing I'm creating. The yarns in my not inconsiderable stash have come from Michael's and Jo-Ann's (aka "the lands of cheap yarns"), the Internet, fiber shows, and what I can produce myself. Visits to LYSs usually involve buying equipment, books, and patterns for the latest thing that has captured my fancy.

Last weekend we finally had a blue moon, and this particular LYS had a sale: 25% off everything in the store. 25% off will get me into nearly any store dealing with fiber, so I dashed down after work, ignored the women sitting around the table gossiping about their latest vacations in the Caribbean and Hawaii, and proceeded to comb the store for the Addis and books I wanted. I also went through the yarns, looking for future projects waiting to happen. That's when I stumbled across it: the "character" yarn. I'm pretty tough, but I was frightened by this yarn. It was a blobby mess made by a beginning spinner, full of snarls of mohair and lumps of wool, with bits dyed different colors that appeared all randomly mixed together. It looked uncomfortably like a few skeins I spun years ago when I was a brand-new spinner, and hadn't yet mastered the intricacies of the spinning wheel. I've kept these skeins, marked with the type of wool and the date they were spun, both as a reminder of how my spinning was when I started in 1994, and to show me how far I've come. The photograph shows my improvement over the years. The bottom skein is some Suffolk singles I spun in late 1994 on my little Pipy Wendy wheel; the upper skein is some 2-ply merino I spun and plied on my beloved Schacht-Reeves last month.

I was frightened a second time when I saw the price: more than $25 for a tiny 50g (35 yards)hank of this yarn that looked so much like intestines, and labeled as "chunky" yarn. OK, that's just crazy. I've worked for years to produce to fine, consistent single that can be plied into a nice-looking handspun suitable for knitting or weaving, and some guy is making money off what I would throw in the trash as a disaster? Impossible. Surely the LYS owner made a mistake in ordering this year, as nobody would spend their hard-earned money and precious time making something out of this stuff. One would have to spend more than $150 just to make a small garment.

Just as these thoughts were drifting through my fevered brain, still reeling over the price, a well-dressed woman walked in, lugging her latest project. She had suffered that bane of a knitter's life, running short, and needed match the yarn used for her project (a small cardigan-type sweater). The yarn? That same horrendous handspun that had shocked me to my toes. I couldn't resist the temptation--I asked to look at her project more closely. I have to admit, I was not impressed by what I saw. The yarn worked up in a nasty, blobby fashion, with uneven stitches and bits of mohair sticking out at all angles. The color range--and remember, I am the queen of loud variegated--looked like random bits of colored wool all tossed together without regard for tone or color compatibility. In other words, the colors clashed violently. I mumbled a polite, "Oh, how every interesting!" and "Thank you," to the poor woman, obviously proud of her project, and beat a hasty retreat to the bins of Koigu until I could recover enough to pay for my items (5 sets of Addis and a stack of books and magazines) and escape to the relative safety of a nearby pub and a pint of cider. I can only hope that her little project is destined for fulling/felting, which might hide some of the "features" of the yarn, or this project, too, is one destined for the bottom of a drawer or the back of a closet.

I recognize that handspun yarns have character, and that the unevenness of handspun can be a desirable trait. However, there is such a thing as too much character. In my book, blobby messes marketed as "handspun" are both a rip-off and an insult to the rest of us who work so hard to produce beautiful handspun yarns. My plea to handspinners is this: Please, please, honor the rest of us that spin, and the good taste of needleworkers, and don't sell blobby messes as "handspun with character." You're giving me a headache, and the rest of the spinsters of the world a bad name. Produce great yarns--they have all your great character already built in.

Spin Journal #2: The Gray Monmouth Cap

I finally succumbed to the temptation of using the new drum carder, and recarded the rolags and some additional picked wool both to try out the carder, and to continue spinning up the Corri-Cot into yarn. I ended up with about 6 ounced of beautiful batts (still full of noils, thanks to the second-cuts), but this time spun what I had on the Schacht-Reeves. Talk about quick! I had nearly everything spun in an evening (thank heavens I can still treadle, even with a bad back).

After spinning, Stephen said, "Can you really felt my hat a lot?" Well, I can do nearly anything (at least where fiber is concerned), so I reeled off all my singles and tied the hanks to set twist. Normally, I don't set the twist until after plying, but this time I'm using singles. Also, I sort of wish I had known before I started spinning. Normally I ply my yarns, so I overtwist the single slightly to accommodate the slight "untwisting" that happens during plying. Since these yarns weren't plied, they're overtwisted a bit.

Using the singles will also answer a couple questions that have come up recently on the Historic Knitting list about knitting, yarns, twist, bias. I want to see if the following happens:

1) Does the single attempt to untwist as I knit because I knit "US/English" style (I throw the yarn)?
2) Does the twist cause knitting to bias or skew to one direction or another?
3) Does the finished knitting felt tighter (more like felt) because the yarns aren't plied?

Spin Journal #1: The Gray Monmouth Cap

In a valiant attempt to document the construction of a Monmouth cap from sheep to wearing, I'm starting a "Spin Journal."

Years ago (we won't say how long, as it's embarrassing), I got a Cotwold hogget from (IIRC) Teresa Simons of Mountain Shadow Ranch. She brought a darling little Cotswold down to an historical reenactment at Coloma (my first wheel came from that same reenactment), and she did a sheep-shearing demonstration using a set of 19th century hand shears. Unfortunately, the little beast was squirmy, and it takes a lot of skill to shear using those old hand shears, so there were a lot of second cuts, but the fleece is so pretty--a mix of white, black, and silver gray--and the wool is so soft and lustrous that I didn't want to just use it for felting. It ended up in the back of the stash closet until I could find time to do something with it.

A few years (and a few fleeces) later, I got a gorgeous silver-gray Corridale fleece from Sherilee Farms. That fleece came off Christopher, their big, award-winning Corridale ram, and I got the entire fleece (I even skirted it myself). It was a huge fleece--14 pounds after skirting--so I graded it, and wondered what to do with all the leg and belly wool. It was too nice to just dump (Sheryl and Lee kept the sheep coated, so even the "trash" was first-rate), but too short for combing and spinning worsted yarn. Again, more fleece was consigned to the back of the stash closet until inspiration struck.

This spring, as I was cleaning the studio, I came across all this fleece that had been stored for years. The bugs hadn't gotten to it, so I sent it off to Yolo Wool Works for scouring. There wasn't enough of the Cotswold nor of the Corridale leg and belly to send as separate lots, so I thought, why not have them scoured together (and save $30), blend them, and see what I get? Both staples are about the same length, both are soft, and and the different colors (from black, through silver gray, to white) should make a nice gray wool. So all that wool went as one lot to the processor.

I got back about 8 pounds of scoured wool, all of which needs picked. While I will spend lots of money on my fiber addiction, I balked at buying a picker. It's not the cost; I simply can't justify the space a nice Patrick Green triple-picker will take up. Also, I'm just a little afraid of something with that many sharp points. I'm by nature a klutz, and I'm afraid I would not concentrate on what I'm doing for just a second and shred my arm from wrist to elbow. So the wool has to be picked by hand--a horrible, boring, tedious job, but it has to be done. I just put on a "Book on Tape," and let someone read to me while I sit in the studio, pulling locks apart and picking out noils and bits of vegetative matter. I got about half a pound picked before my hands finally rebelled and I couldn't pick any more.

After picking comes carding. I bought a new set of handcards in February, and all this gave me a chance to give them a serious workout. I did give them a workout, as I handcarded this entire half-pound of picked wool, rolled it into neat rolags, and stacked them in a basket for spinning. I also realized that there is no way that I can humanly pick and handcard all this wool--it's too hard on my fingers and hands, and I need them for other things, like spinning. Time to break down and order the drum carder. I was nearly ready to give up, so I tried spinning up a few of the rolags to see what kind of yarn I would get. Hooray! The yarn, a glorious tweedy gray, was just what I was looking for, so my enthusiasm for this project was renewed, and I slogged on, carding and rolling all this gray fuzz.

I took the basket of rolags and my little Reeves castle wheel to School of the Renaissance Soldier and began spinning up the rolags. I'm trying to spin a fat, woolen yarn and it's proving quite a trick. I normally spin either worsted or semi-worsted and very fine (think sock-weight), so I have to spin slowly and keep saying "Fat. Soft. Fat. Soft."

Enforced Idleness

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a complete slug, except when you're ordered to do so. Then it becomes a form of torture.

I pulled a muscle in my back in late January. Pulling a muscle in your back is nothing like pulling a muscle in another part of your body--it takes forever to heal, and just when you think everything is OK, your back betrays you. My back seemed to be fine until Tuesday, and then agony! By Wednesday morning, I could barely move. The diagnosis: a pulled muscle (the same one pulled in January). The verdict: absolutely NOTHING until Monday. No work, no driving, no shopping, no housework, nothing. I was sent home with two prescriptions for painkillers and muscle relaxants (oooh, happy drugs!), a referral for physical therapy in four weeks, and a warning that if I tried to do anything, my back wouldn't get better. As I'm planning to camp at Black Sheep next month, my back had better be in good shape, so I'm trying my best to behave myself.

By Thursday afternoon, I was B.O.R.E.D. There is nothing so boring as enforced idleness, especially when there are so many things that need to be done, but can't because you're not allowed to do any of them. The studio needs to be straightened up, there are skeins of yarn to roll into balls, and since the carder is now here, a ton of fleece to be carded and spun. There's also all that "other" stuff that should be done: laundry, ironing, vacuuming, and dusting. Since I can't do any of those, I did things I could safely accomplish: grading papers (my students will be so pleased), and knitting a sheep.

When I went to Stitches in February, I was told "don't bring home any sheep," so as a joke I bought a kit to knit and felt a toy sheep from Yarn Barn. The sheep is from FiberTrend's pattern (#206X), and the kit had 3 skeins of Reynold's Lopi: 2 light gray and 1 dark brown. The sheep is knit on US#11 needles and, since I can't do anything except sit on the divan and knit, works up pretty quickly. I finished the body on Thursday, and probably will have the sheep finished by the end of the weekend. FiberTrends also has a pattern for little llamas and alpacas (#207X), so a trip to the LYS to order the pattern may be in my future.

Bits and Pieces

I'm spending far too much time with knitting needles in my hand, and far too little time doing all the other things I should be doing: grading papers, working in the garden, painting the studio. I'm even foregoing posting to this journal, as I want to get things done.

Speaking of "done," the parcel for afghans for Afghans is ready to go. I finished the vest (sewing on the buttons took nearly as long as knitting the vest), and after I finished it, got a "wild hair" about sending just one thing. I sat down with a a pattern for a little knitted cap, a skein of green wool, and my trusty US#10s, and four hours later, I had a little cap. Next: to adapt the Monmouth cap pattern I knitted Stephen's cap from to crank out little Monmouth caps for Afghani children to wear this winter. I like knitting caps--they're quick, don't take too much yarn, and once I get a pattern worked out, relatively mindless knitting (great for meetings).

School of the Renaissance Soldier was well-attended, and generally fun, except for the torrential downpour on Saturday afternoon and evening. I discovered something important about camping in the rain: I don't like it. Once upon a time (about 25 years ago), I didn't mind it so much, but now I generally hate it. Fortunately, it wasn't too cold, but still, very wet, and I really wished hard for a pair of wool socks to keep my poor toes warm (wish not granted). I took my little Reeves castle wheel with me and spent part of Saturday spinning some "grade 3" (neck and belly) corridale with some Cotswold I had gotten years ago. I'm trying to spin it as a woolen (tough for a longtime worsted spinner like me), and I'm getting pretty decent results. The yarn is a nice medium gray. Heaven only knows what I'll do with it when I'm finished: I've got about 6 pounds of the stuff, so everybody may end up with gray wool Monmouth caps, all knitted from yarn I've spun myself. In this picture, I'm knitting the top of one of a pair of wool socks for myself, so I will be warm at the next cold, rainy event. The white cloth is actually a small linen bag (think "little pillowcase") that I just pulled through my belt, leaving enough to allow the yarn to travel from the ball to my knitting. And yes, that dress really is made out of wool that heavy. I wear a linen gown underneath it and a linen shift, so the wool is essential to keeping moderately warm when the weather is chilly (it was in the low '50s).

On Sunday, the ground was damp, and I wanted to walk around, so I carried my knitting with me, and made a fascinating discovery: I can knit and walk at the same time. True, I'm not "power walking," and I have to be somewhat careful to keep an eye on where I'm going, but I can do it. As I can barely chew gum and walk at the same time, I'm rather pleased with my attempts at being coordinated.

One of the things I managed to do at SRS was to sell one of the spinning wheels. No, not my Reeves, not my Pipy, and certainly not my new Schacht-Reeves. I sold the Country Craftsman Saxony I had purchased about 5 years ago for reenactments, and then discovered that I didn't like how it spun. It's a perfectly fine wheel, I just don't like it. It was purchased by the daughter of a friend, so it is, in effect, staying in the family.

Having gotten rid of the wheel, I ordered my drum carder. After months of agonizing, I finally settled on Strauch as the manufactuer, and I was all set to buy the 205, when I found that for just a little bit more, I could buy the top-of-the-line Strauch 405. It actually ended up being nearly "a wash," as the 205 didn't come with the accessories (like clamps), while the 405 is a "turnkey" package: carder, brush, tools, clamps, and Strauch's new teasing tool (a piece of carding cloth attached to a board). So the 405 is on its way from The Woolery to me, along with a Leclerc floor inkle loom. I've been looking for one, off and on, for about 5 years, and after seeing one at Southern in early April, checked the various vendors and found the Leclerc. It doubles as a 10-yard warping board, so I can get rid of the gigantic warping board I've used for years and have this much smaller "multi-tasker" in its place. I want to experiment with weaving "narrow wares" (tapes) on it, and as a lot of people are beginning to bring spinning wheels to events, I want to stay one hop ahead of them and do some actual weaving at events. Other people have done it, usually dragging one of the little lap inkle looms with them, but I've always been bothered by the fact that the laptop inkle loom dates back to the 1930s, rather than the 15th century.

April Is A Very Busy Month

I just love April--there always seems to be so much, I have enough on my plate to fill three months, and it all needs to be wrapped up before May 1st. This year is no different from other years: every weekend has had something scheduled for at least 3 months, and I spend all my spare time recovering from one thing, and getting ready for the next event, workshop, or meeting.

One thing I am not doing this year is going to the Conference of Northern California Handweavers big meeting, scheduled for next weekend. This year's meeting is being called a "retreat" and is being held at Asilomar, the famous conference center near Monterey. The conferences are a chance to take spinning, weaving, dyeing, and felting workshops with regionally and nationally known experts, and (usually) there are incredible opportunities to shop, as most of the fiber and equipment vendors make the trip to Northern California for the conference.

However, this year is different. There are only 14 workshops (none of which I'm interested in), the conference is expensive (over $500 if staying at Asilomar), and Asilomar does not allow vendors, so there's no shopping. I decided months ago to save my money and go to next year's conference, to be held in Sacramento.

While I'm not going to CNCH, I won't be sitting at home. The School of the Renaissance Soldier is the same weekend (See my post a couple weeks ago, further down; there are pictures of me in costume), so I'm off to spend the weekend doing what reenactors like to do best--getting sunburned and dirty while having fun. This year's weather forecast is for warm, sunny weather, so the "Action in the Low Countries" should be fun.

Speaking of a lot of fun, we managed to squeeze in a visit on the opening day of Renaissance Pleasure Faire in Los Angeles last Saturday. The Faire has found a new home in the Santa Fe Dam Recreation Area in Irwindale, and last Saturday was (for us Northern Californians) nearly perfect weather: cool, cloudy, and even a little drizzle. I wore my Flemish dress, Stephen wore his new socks (which needed to be fulled even more, as they were much too large), and we both had a marvelous time. While we were there, I did a lot of knitting on a new Monmouth cap for Stephen, and a number of people stopped and took pictures as I sat, either in "Nobles" or in "German Camp," knitted, and (in the best tradition of Faire), gossiped with friends. While there wasn't too much to buy, I did manage to find a lovely new pair of German shoes, so now I need to build new Germans to go with the shoes.

I knitted a Monmouth cap for Stephen based on talking with a friend about the caps she had knitted. She started with the description in Richard Rutt's History of Hand Knitting of a cap found in 1969 in Monmouth, and worked out the right size needles (US#11) and the right yarn (1 skein of Cascade 128). I ran by a LYS while we were in Southern California (Happy Hookers in Chatsworth--cute, cluttered shop with a nice owner), found the yarn, and splurged on a set of rosewood #11s. The cap worked up quickly, fulled into a thick, warm cap for Stephen's bald pate, and was a nice little project to work on at Faire. On this cap (nicknamed "Monmouth 1.0"), I turned the brim after fulling. On the next version, I'm going to try picking up the cast-on edge as I'm knitting the cap, so that the brim is already turned when I get ready to full it.

That done, I tried another experiment: knitting a pouch. I need a small black belt pouch, and couldn't find anything that was remotely what I wanted. After fulling the Monmouth cap, I thought, "This might work for a pouch," so I started with a skein of Paton's black merino and my trusty #11s, and knitted a pouch. I doubled the strand (one from the center, one from the outside), and made the pouch as large as I could and still keep it to 1 skein. I fulled it this afternoon, and ended up with a nice little belt pouch that is approximately the size I wanted to hang off my belt. It's also thick enough that I can carry small things and they won't fall through (a common problem with unfulled knitted pouches). So this experiment was a success. I've included approximate instructions:

Belt Pouch 1.0

Materials: 1 skein Paton's Classic Merino Wool (225 yds/skein)
1 set #11 dpns

Cast on 48, and join. Put a ring stitch marker at the join.
Knit 3 rows.
Knit 3, *bind off 4, knit 4,* repeat from * around. You should have 8 bound-off areas.
Knit each stitch, and when you get to bound off stitches, cast on 4 stitches using "backwards loop" cast-on. You should be back to 48 stitches and have 8 openings.
Knit about 30 more rounds.
*Knit 2, knit 2 together,* repeat from * around.
*Knit 1, knit 2 together,* repeat from * until about 8 stitches are left.
Draw end of yarn through the eight loops and pull tight. Tie off.
To full, wash in hot water in the washer, then dry in a hot dryer. Cut a thin leather thong to thread through the slits at the top of the pouch.

I'm not "goofing off," I'm...

Why is it that when you do a lot of handwork (and I do), people invariably think you're sitting in front of the TV doing nothing? I realize I'm not outside pulling weeds out of the flower beds (which I probably should be doing on this glorious spring day), or yet again cleaning up the living and dining rooms, but I'm actually doing something when I'm sitting on the divan in the living room. The divan is a good place for doing handwork because it's in the corner next to the fireplace, and my Ott light is tall enough to reach over the back and cast a good light on my work. I can also see the TV, on the rare occasions that I'm both working and watching TV (usually I have music on). I have done a lot of work in that corner--knitting, crocheting, a mountain of handsewing, baskets of spinning, and it is a comfy place to work.

The last two weeks have been nothing short of "panic mode": getting ready for WASC reaccreditation at the school (the Western Association of Secondary Schools and Colleges approves schools and their operations; without accreditation, our high school diplomas would be worthless), going through the three-day reaccreditation visit, trying to keep 1,500+ teenagers under control and learning while the reaccreditation visit is going on, and traipsing off to celebrate my oldest nephew's wedding right in the midst of all this. Fortunately, the reaccreditation is now behind me (they loved us!), my new niece is a sweet, darling girl, and Spring Break means two glorious uninterrupted weeks of time to myself to get caught up and life back under control.

In spite of this insanity, the handwork continues to get done. The olive merino Renaissance stockings are finally finished! They took what seems like forever, but was actually only four months. I couldn't take them to meetings because I had things like decreases to keep track of. I knit them out of Paton's merino wool, on #3 dpns, and they're so long (thigh high) it took a very long time to knit each leg. However, I kept persevering. I also tried as much as possible to knit both at the same time: one leg, then the other, one heel, then the other, one foot, then the other, one toe, then the other. It seems to have made a real difference, especially when I finished the toe on one sock, and then sat down and an hour later had the other sock finished too. I blocked them yesterday, and they're ready for Stephen to wear at Faire next weekend.

In the meantime, I've started another "charity" scarf for my Meeting Work. This one is out of gray merino I found while cleaning and organizing the stash, so it's serving three purposes: keeping me occupied during meetings, reducing the stash, and making something for somebody else. The scarf is a simple one, plain stockinette with a border of seed stitch, done on #6 needles, so it's going pretty quickly.

I also have another pair of "civilian wear" (as opposed to "costume") socks underway. Months ago, I saw the owner of our LYS knitting 2 socks at once on a very long circular needle, and I thought, "What a clever idea! No Second Sock Syndrome." However, I didn't need an ultra-long circular needle, so after I found Cat Bordhi's book, Socks Soar on Circular Needles, I thought there might be a way to knit both socks at once. Thank heavens for the Internet: somebody else not only figured out how to do it, but published complete instructions on the 'Net. I sat down with 2 skeins of Paton's merino in a wild variegated, 2 #5 circular needles, took a big leap of faith, and managed to get both socks safely started. It took quite a bit of turning my brain into a pretzel, but both socks are now nearly half-finished. I don't know what's going to happen when I get to the heels (maybe "afterthought heels"?), but I like this method for knitting socks. The only downside is the yarns tangle, so I have to stop periodically and untangle both skeins before I can continue going round and round and round.

Sometimes, it's nice to be nice

I hate meetings so, in the perverse way that the universe works, I spend a lot of time sitting in them. I've learned to take some type of needlework with me, or I turn into one of those annoying people that fidgets and rolls their eyes at any discussion that lengthens the meeting. Fortunately, my principal understands that I fidget (actually, it drives him crazy), and is very tolerant of my prediliction for needlework during meetings. It's a nice change from the previous regime, headed up by one of Those People--the ones that are sure that you can't do two things at once, so if you're knitting or crocheting during a meeting, you obviously aren't paying attention to his pearls of wisdom. But now he's gone, and I can once again do needlework during meetings.

"Meeting Work" has to meet certain requirements:
-- It must be small enough to easily transport to meetings
-- It must be something that doesn't make any noise (I've learned not to click my needles)
-- It must be an easy enough pattern than I don't have to pay attention to it

Last year's project was the Fibonacci's Rainbow afghan (see one of the earlier posts for pictures). I started it at the beginning of the first day-long workshop of the school year, and had it finished well before the end of the school year. I also found a problem with large afghans for Meeting Work: eventually it gets too big to drag to meetings.

This year, I've been doing a lot of small projects, particularly scarves. Scarves are great because they are simple, usually have a brainless pattern, and are small enough to take to meetings. I've knitted and crocheted scarves for everyone I know (Stephen has several), and I'm still going to meetings, so I've started doing needlework for different charity organizations.

The National World War II Museum, located in New Orleans, began a scarf drive last fall, rather like the old "Knit Your Bit" Red Cross knitting drives held during WWI and WWII. The scarves they collected were going to veterans. It sounded cute, and fun, so the Meeting Work during February was knitted and crocheted scarves.

Afghans4Afghans was started by Ann Rubin in 2001, and is dedicated to producing a lot of knitted garments and blankets for people (mostly kids) in Afghanistan. A lot of people in the Bay Area knit and crochet for Afghans4Afghans and affiliated charities; many of the local teachers are also needleworkers and a bunch of them participated in a sweater and vest for school kids drive last fall.

So why do "charity knitting/crocheting"? Simple. I need something to do with my hands during all those meetings, and I can knit or crochet only so many sweaters, scarves, and afghans for myself and my friends. By making things and donating them to a charity, I'm sharing my needlework with other people, and maybe I'm making their life just a tiny bit more comfortable.

I'm certainly not any kind of saint; sometimes it's just nice to be nice to other people. So be nice to others: do something for somebody else. Run an errand for the senior that can't drive. Volunteer at your local public school. Smile and say "Hi!" to the office grump (that should freak 'em out!). Make something for a charity (there are a lot). I've put links to the National WWII Museum and afghans for Afghans on the right.

...and now for something completely different...

Ah, Spring is here, and this blogger's fancies lightly turn to thoughts of reenacting. Wearing funny clothes, camping out, cooking over an open fire, and generally getting sunburned and dirty while having fun. So, in spite of suffering from the jet lag of time change, some thoughts on historical reenacting.

This year's first big, multi-day event is the third School of the Renaissance Soldier (SORS). Held at a large park (aka "the site") north of Sacramento, the goal is to spend 3 days playing soldiers (and attached others) in Europe during the 15th and 16th centuries. This year's theme is "Action in the Low Countries," so we'll all be pretending to be slogging through the mud of Flanders. Hopefully, it will be "pretend"; last year's SORS took place during Week 4 the Great Bay Area Deluge--6 straight weeks of rain, from March 17 to May 3. Considering that I like rain about as much as a cashmere goat (basically, they don't), I passed on last year's event. However, this year I'm expected to be there, so I'm going to drag myself, my gear (including my new Schacht-Reeves), my tentage, and assorted other stuff to spend a couple days camping out and spinning in the Great Outdoors, all the while dressed as a 15th century hausfrau. That's a picture of me as a hausfrau up above.

Most people are familiar with medieval reenacting through seeing (in person, on Websites, or on TV) the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA). Yes, this is somewhat like the SCA: we are all interested in reenacting a period (for us) between 1485 (the elevation of Maximillian I to King of the Romans) and 1603 (the death of Elizabeth I of England). Like the SCA, what we're interested in is recreating (briefly) living in western Europe during that time period. However, there are a couple of big differences:

--In the SCA, the combatants use duct-taped rattan sticks for swords; we don't.
--In the SCA, once the fighting is over, it's the 21st century; for us it isn't.

The goal of the type of reenacting we do is to make it as real as is safely possible. Therefore, most of the events I attend are known as "24/7" events--you have a certain amount of time to get to the site, get your gear set up or put away, and get changed into appropriate attire, then you stay in the appropriate attire, using the appropriate tools, and doing appropriate things, eating appropriate food, until you are ready to leave, or the event is over. It sounds difficult, and in some ways it is--you do a lot of research, build and/or buy clothes, equipment and weapons, learn a lot of very survival-related skills (I can start a fire with nothing more than some dry wood, a sturdy knife, flint, and steel), and have to arrange your schedule to attend events. However, when it all comes together, it's nothing short of magical--you step back in time and really experience what life might have been like.

Part of what makes this very real for the guys that participate is the use of real weapons (swords, pikes, halberds, horses, etc.). Yes, this is every mother's nightmare--boys thwacking each other with sharp pointy objects--but the guys are armored, just as the knights of old. Knights and soldiers during the 15th and 16th centuries didn't just magically pick up weapons and have their skills; they had to practice, just like anyone trying to acquire a skill, and the best way to acquire that skill is to properly, safely, learn to use the weapon in a controlled situation. The guys, in armor that includes helmets and face shields, "spar" to gain skill with swords. Most also spend lots of time learning medieval military tactics (some of which date back to the Romans), and how to manage pikes (14-16 foot long spears) without hurting themselves or others.

While the guys are enamored of swords, pikes, and drilling, I much prefer to spend my time "in camp," doing things that women of the period might have done. My accommodations would be considered pretty luxurious by women from the period; I have a very large tent, furniture (including a bed!), enough clean underwear to see me through the entire weekend without washing, and different things (such as my wheel) to keep me occupied. I spend my time cooking foods appropriate to the period over an open fire, knitting, spinning, and keeping a tidy "house" for my soldier/husband. In the evenings, there is plenty of entertainment: eating, drinking, singing songs, playing appropriate card and dice games, and conversation keep everybody busy and happy.

So that is what a multi-day camping reenactment is like. But before I go off to the SORS, there is a party to celebrate Kaiser Karl's birthday! Nearly every year, many of us get together for an evening of eating, drinking, and "general debauchery" (definitely rated PG-13), all in our best 16th century finery, like what I'm wearing here, known as the "Emperor's Birthday Party." Originally it was created to celebrate the birthday of Charles V, and Charles' victory at Pavia (which happened on his 25th birthday) and was always held around February 24th. This year it's at the end of March, due to difficulties finding a place to have the party. Try finding a place to host a party of 50-100 people, that has the feel of a 16th century building, is not too expensive (under $750), and available on the weekend closest to February 24th. It's well-nigh impossible! However, we (the group of friends in charge of putting on the party) found a site, and the party is now less than 3 weeks away.

Other people are in charge of decorating, and coordinating the food and entertainment, but I managed to snag one of the best jobs: I'm the "Keg Coordinator." This means I have to calculate how much brew we're going to need, reserve the keg, pick up the keg, and return the keg after the party. This can be a trick, but not now, thanks to a clever little "kegulator" a couple guys (obviously with too much time on their hands) developed. Once I know how many people will be attending, and estimate how many people are going to get hammered, I plug the info into the kegulator, then call BevMo and order the keg(s). Being the Keg Coordinator means I can also get something I like to drink (no fizzy yellow macrobrews for me!).

Stitches West, 2007, Part 2: Everyone Has Their Limits

Sunday morning. I went back to Stitches West, this time with my long-time friend, confidante, and "cohort in crime," Betsy. Betsy has recently taken up knitting after a decades-long hiatus, and is approaching it as she approaches everything in life--jump in with both feet, and you'll probably do OK.

Our goals for Sunday: See the Victorian Lace Today style show, hosted by author Jane Sowerby; get my copies of Victorian Lace Today and Knitting Vintage Socks by Nancy Bush signed by the authors; pick up any tools either of us need; buy yarns for upcoming projects (such as 18th century socks). This time, I put a limit on myself--NO PLASTIC. I was limited to the cash in my wallet (around $200).

Our first stop was at the Yarn Barn booth, so I could return a book that I purchased and duplicated one already ordered from Amazon. Stupid, stupid, stoopid! I keep a list of the books I own on my PalmPilot (Readerware--a great little piece of software), but I had forgotten to add the books I had ordered, and so it didn't show up. Fortunately, the people at Yarn Barn were kind enough to let me exchange the book for something else I needed--a copy of the current issue of Spin-Off, several Brittany crochet hooks, and some wild rainbow sock yarn. All in all, they made out on the deal.

After the "housekeeping" tasks (i.e., returning the book) were completed, we dove into the fray, and came up with some yummy yarns. We were both drawn to the alpaca yarns like bees to honey; it's so soft, and almost reasonably priced. All I could do was mumble, a la Homer Simpson, "Oooooh...alpaca socks." I ended up with some dark purple alpaca and some rainbow variegated alpaca/wool blend, all for making socks. Betsy found alpaca (in more reasonable colors) for knitting socks and mitts, and at another booth a darling ribbed stocking pattern with a lace top that will be fetching when worked up. I'm more prosaic--I already have 5 books on sock knitting, so I didn't buy any patterns for more socks. We both succumbed to the yarns at the Bay Area Co-Op (Betsy picked up some Louet Gems for socks, and I found a hank of plummy purple Jaggerspun Zephyr for a scarf), and found a real deal on the tables of the Yarn Place: 100g hanks (about 1700 yds) of lace-weight merino superwash for less than $10. As we were running out of the expo with all our loot, a ball of baby alpaca (again in that dark, violently Victorian purple) caught my eye. Two minutes later, I had 4 balls, enough to knit one of the big lace shawls from Jane Sowerby's book. It should go really well with a new 1860s-style dress I have all the materials for, but have yet to start. The goal is to get the dress (and accessories) ready for Dicken's Faire 2007. The dress fabric is a black, yellow, and red window-pane check cotton from India (yes, some would consider it truly ugly, but I like it), and a dark purple shawl will go with it as only Victorians would understand.

So that was Stitches West, 2007. I managed to get through Sunday without even spending everything in my wallet (I left with about $50 still on my person), and have enough supplies, equipment, and materials to keep myself busy and out of trouble for at least a little while.

Stitches West 2007, Part I: So Much Fiber, So Little Time

I. Have. Done. It. I survived Stitches West 2007.

For the 5 people that work with fiber and have never heard of "Stitches," it's a series of huge (and I do mean huge) exposition/convention for those in love with fiber, particularly of the knit/purl variety. The shows are put on by XRX Publishers (the people who publish Knitters Magazine), and there are three each year: Stitches West in Santa Clara, CA each February, Stitches Midwest in Rosemont, IL every August, and a Stitches East in October. As Stitches West is the first of the year, it's full of hungry fiber people, who haven't had a "fix" in four months.

I decided to go simply for the shopping, so I bought a ticket just for the Stitches Market. $12 bought my entrance for two days of very serious shopping: the Santa Clara Convention Center's exhibit halls is 90,000 square feet, and every inch of it was filled little booths with everything to delight a fiber person's heart. I got down there on Saturday morning just after the Market opened, got my ticket stamped, walked in, and immediately suffered the fiber version of vapor-lock: there was so much, how was I ever going to find anything? I had scoped out the vendors (over 100 from all over the world), and knew there were certain people on the "must see" list, and I had a good shopping list, so I just started at row 1, and systematically worked my way through it.

This year, the "must have" was Jane Sowerby's new book, Victorian Lace Today. I picked up a copy a while back because I liked the pictures (all the photos in the book were shot at one of the Trust properties in England), and I liked the idea that she was updating historic knitting patterns, but still giving the history of each pattern. When you walked into the Stitches Market, the first thing you saw was XRX Publishing's booth, full of the pieces made for the book, all available for scrutiny (which for fiber people includes touching). Wow! They're beautiful in the book, and even more beautiful in person; everything is knitted of buttery soft yarns--personally, I would call them "threads"--and they're wonderfully floaty and drapey. There were booths with books, booths with yarns, booths with knitting needles, booths with patterns, booths with books, yarns, knitting needles, patterns, and so much more, it's really sort of difficult to describe. And the fibers! Alpaca, cashmere, wool (of course!), silk, cotton, and all the manmade fibers were well represented. Windy Valley Musk Ox came down from Anchorage, and I finally had a chance to feel what quiviut (pronounced "kiv-e-yute") is like--light, and very, very soft.

My downfall came on Saturday afternoon when I walked by the Carolina Homespun booth and noticed that Morgaine had brought a large selection of spinning wheels, including the Kromski Prelude. I've been toying with the idea of replacing my Country Craftsman Saxony with a smaller, better Saxony for reenactments. For some reason, I just don't like the Country Craftman, and I can't get it to spin properly. I sat down to spin on the Kromski and what a disappointment! Wobbly doesn't begin to describe this little wheel--the maidens "shimmy and shake like your sister Kate" when you get the wheel up to speed, and the entire time I was afraid the poor little wheel was going to tip right over into my shins. It's also sort of crude, and lacks the refinement of many other wheels (even Ashfords!). Right next to it was a drop-dead gorgeous cherry Schacht-Reeves 24" Saxony, so for hoots and giggles, I went ahead and tried spinning on that. Omigod! It spins itself. I literally sat there with a bit of roving, didn't even bother to try to keep a drafting triangle, and spun some of the best lace-weight singles I've ever spun. I had to have that wheel! Then I found out the price. Ulp! But dang it, I deserve a stunningly beautiful, terrific spinning wheel like that, so I called that darling enabler of mine, and ten minutes later, the Schacht-Reeves was mine, along with a cherry Kate, a high-speed whorl, and 3 more bobbins. One of the sales people from Carolina Homespun helped me get everything out to the car, and the looks I got as we paraded through the expo! So the baby is home now, awaiting a basket of roving. By the way, the photo is not a photo of my Schacht-Reeves, but of the (less expensive) ash one.

After a purchase like that, most people would be shopped out, but I still had 3/4 of the Stitches Market left. I found a deal on some nice Surima wooden knitting needles (straights) for reenactments, scored a couple pounds of Corriedale/Falklands roving and picked a set of Howard handcards for carding the mountain of uncarded fiber I still have to deal with. A question here: Is it a reproduction if it never stopped being made? This is the case with my new handcards. Howard Brush started making handcards in 1866, and still make them exactly the same way (in some cases, on the same machinery). They're dandy cards, a little bigger than my Clemes & Clemes, and perfect for all the long, soft fibers I like to spin.

I had to get a "goodie" for Stephen, so I bought a skein of black alpaca to knit him a new "smoking" cap to wear around the house. It's soft and warm, and I think he'll really like it.

So that was the first day of Stitches. A fun day, an expensive day, but well worth it.

Reducing the Stash and Other Exercises in Futility

The new year always gets people excited about resolutions, and striving to be "a better person in 20XX." Fat people go on diets, lazy people join gyms, and fiberholics go on yarn, fiber, or fabric "diets," with the goal to finally finish those UnFinished Objects (usually referred to as "UFOs"), get rid of all that excess [fill in the blank], and even resort to swearing off buying anything new until a certain portion of the stash is gone.

This is an exercise in futility.

Fiberholics are unable to stop buying fiber for any length of time simply because we can't create without the raw materials: fibers. OK, maybe we really don't need the fibers for 8-10 different projects sitting around waiting for us to get to them, but unlike horses and sailboats, fiber doesn't "eat while you sleep." As long as as the fiber is stored properly, it can sit for years--even decades--and still be ready to be used at a future date, when it will only be more expensive. This probably seems like rationalizing an addiction; I'll remind myself of that as I'm busy using up some of the horridly expensive camel hair I got free years ago, and have stashed away to spin into yarn at a later date.

My own fiber stash is relatively small. Only 23 of those 12-gallon "tuff crates" of fiber and yarn, and another 30 full of fabric. This may seem like a lot for the average person, but not for somebody that works with fiber, fabric, and does historical reenacting. That fact was brought home last weekend when a bunch of us moved everything out of a friend's attic in preparation for reroofing the family manse. This was an organized move--as things came down out of the attic, costumes went one place, armor went another, and fabric went into the back parlor. As the boxes came down, they were neatly stacked until each stack was 6 feet tall.

We filled the entire back parlor, a room the size of a small storage facility space.

When we finished, we threw a tarp over the last set of shelves, still full of boxes of fabric and trims, and called it "done." There simply wasn't any room left to move more stuff into the house proper.

My own "stash reduction program" (which I prefer to the word "diet"), is a haphazard affair, as I have so many different things I'm working on at any given time. I have knitting projects for when I'm in knit mode, crochet projects for crochet mode, embroidery projects, and of course the ever-present need to do historical costuming. Add to this the projects for meetings (they don't require the same level of concentration), and I have a sizeable UFO stash. However, they will eventually get done; it just takes time, of which I have precious little.

I'm still managing to crank out a fair amount of stuff, in spite of a much too busy schedule. I finished Charity Scarf #1, a navy and winter white garter stitch scarf for the National WWII Museum's scarf drive. I also started (and have half finished) Charity Scarf #2: an olive and winter white crocheted scarf for the same scarf drive. Picked up the yarn to make Charity Scarves #3 and #4. Cleaned and tuned up my Reeves parlor wheel and started spinning some "mystery wool" (polworth?). Hung new Venetian blinds in the studio. Wound into balls 8 oz. of merino superwash sock wool in beautiful heathery shades of blue that I had purchased as roving and spun in 2001. Not a bad week's work.

A question to ponder: Which is more difficult--knitting or crocheting?

I switch back and forth between the two, and I've done both for so long, I've never given it much thought. I do know, however, I can't do both at the same time--each requires a different mindset.

Knitting, with a long and honored tradition, is really pretty easy. There are really only 5 things you can do with 2 sticks and a piece of yarn: knit, purl, knit or purl multiple stitches together, slip a stitch from one stick to the other, and wrap the yarn around the stick. All knitting "stitches" and patterns are composed of these 5 things. Add to this the "grid concept of knitting" (the idea that each stitch equals 1 box on a grid), and you reduce the most difficult knitting pattern to a simple structure. Knitting could be considered the fiber form of Legos.

Crochet, on the other hand, seems to be more complex. It also uses a lot more fiber, which may be the reason it didn't come about before the price of spun fibers started to drop in the Industrial Revolution. in crochet, you are working with just 1 stick, but you use that stick to make loops, and then manipulate the loops in lots of different ways, working them off the hook 1 or 2 at a time. Add to this the ability to work into the front or back of the fabric already created, and you have something that is pretty sophisticated. A perfect medium for Victorian "ladies" (as opposed to "women") who wanted to show off their needlework skills in a form of conspicuous consumption.

Consider the Navajo stitch, used in the Fibonacci afghan: after chaining the length you need for the finished piece, you work 4 rows of single crochet (with 1 loop already on the hook, go through the back loop of the top of the chain, pull back making a loop, yarn over, pull through both loops so you have a single loop on the hook. Repeat in the top of the next chain), you begin your 5th row with 4 single crochets, then a double crochet--a single crochet with an extra yarn over before the first through--into the front loop of the top of single crochet 2-3 rows below. Repeat the entire sequence until you get to the end, then break off the yarn, go back to the beginning, and repeat, but move the entire pattern over 1 stitch. No wonder crocheters spend so much time frogging (the needlework term for ripping and reworking to fix a mistake)--mistakes frequently don't show up until you've worked to the same point in the next row, and then it's rip, rip, rip back to the mistake and beginning the work again. It's enough to drive a saint to drink!

OK, enough on knitting v. crochet for today. I've got more important things to do.

Firstly, I had a chance to listen to Syne Mitchell's podcast from last year's Black Sheep Gathering in Eugene, Oregon. She had a wonderful interview with Russ of Robin & Russ, the late and much lamented weaver's store in McMinnville, OR, and she managed to make Black Sheep sound like so much fun I actually pulled out the Reeves and got spinning again. Whatever it is, it's wool, and a complete mystery, as I've managed to lose the information on it. It might be Suffolk, or it might be Falklands, or it might be Leicester. However, it does spin up nicely, so I'll have to spin up a bunch and see what I can make.

Next, a friend offered me a small stash of silk blend roving. For some reason, she doesn't like how it spins up (she's a drop spindle enthusiast), so she thinks I'll have better luck spinning it on my wheel. She also asked if I could knit her a biggin/coif. OK, maybe this is why I've suddenly started spinning again--to make her handknitted coif out of handspun yarn. We'll have to see.

Enough questions and thinking for today--I'm off to act like a spider and spin.