More cuteness

I always look wistfully at people who own large fiber-producing animals. Why is a mystery, 'cause I know what a pain they can be. But one of my little wishes in life is to get a bit of our back acreage cleared and get a tiny barn put up so I could have a couple of sheep or maybe a llama. (And pigs. Must have pigs. But that's a different story.) We've been fitfully progressing toward that goal for quite some time now, but it's slow going and is still probably a year away at the most wildly optimistic estimate.

Many people amongst my circle of aquaintances have their own fiber flock. In my spinning guild, there are people who raise alpacas, llamas, Shetlands, Icelandics, CVMs, and I may be missing a few breeds of beasties. So it's not like I can't find really great handspinning fleece - southern Vermont is filthy with it.

Me, I have no large fiberish critters. But I do have a goodly herd of these:
There ought to be laws against this horrifying level of cuteness.

She, or perhaps he - it's sometimes hard to tell the boys from the girls at this young age - is a lilac tort German hybrid angora, about two months old. I have lots of these beasts. Lots. My adult female bun surprised me with a litter and now the place is crawling with baby buns. They're like tribbles. (Do we all remember tribbles? For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, it's probably the most famous, and funniest, Star Trek episode ever. A classic of the genre.)
Here's another one, a black tort. Girl, I think. Or not. If it gets any sweeter we'll all be in diabetic shock.

Slowly, I was accumulating enough angora from my adult buns to spin into my own version of a Bohus. Been working on that for six months now, and figured it would take at least another half year, maybe more, to accumulate the necessary number of ounces. Suddenly I find myself in possession of enough buns to open a yarn factory. When these guys get big, I will be awash in angora. Which is not a terrible problem to have, I guess ;-)

Yet another one. I can't tolerate such cuteness so early in the morning.

Some of them will be staying here, some will be going to Rhinebeck to hopefully find new homes. I find myself slightly over-bunned at the moment

The particulars, for rabbit wonks: The litter is high-percentage German hybrid. I have two chocolate torts, a fawn, a lilac tort, a black tort, a cream and two whites. Not all will be going to Rhinebeck - I haven't made the final decision on whom to keep yet. Mama bun is a choc. tort, an excellent wooler with very dense, non-matting fiber. Daddy bun is cream, very interesting color genetics, and is a big dude. If you're interested in any of these babies, either contact me directly, or look for Katie of Smith Family Farms, Charlotte, Vermont, at Rhinebeck. She will have these babies with her.

One thing about hand-harvested and handspun angora is that it is infinitely superior to commercial angora yarns. Commercial equipment is hard on Angora fiber. The very delicate individual strands break under the stress of the equipment. Generally, once the fiber gets shredded by the equipment, the staple length is only around an inch. Which doesn't leave very much to get caught up in the yarn twist. So, since a lot of it isn't very well secured in the first place, a lot sheds off. It's generally not so bad with blends (Solveig's Bohus yarn, for instance, is fabulous) but that's more a function of there not being so much angora to shed than it is any improvement in the commercial spinning process.

With hand-harvested and handspun fiber, the staple length is more like 2-5 inches. Enough of it gets caught up so that not much sheds. You still get the cloudlike softness, you still get the angora halo - but little or no shedding. Lesson: If you're going to wear pure bunny, make sure it's handspun bun. Or be prepared to buy stock in companies that make those sticky lint-roller things.

So what's a girl to do with so much angora? I amuse myself by contemplating visions of Me as 50s Sweater Girl. You've seen the pictures - Grace Kelly in form-fitting pastel angora, a Glamazon from head to toe.

Unfortunately there are several problems associated with that little snippet of dream, the least of which is that I don't look good in pastels. Let's not even talk about the fact that I haven't had the figure to get away with that for many a year. We need not discuss it. Just leave me to my little fantasies, OK?

Danger, severe cuteness

Still life, Cat in Bowl.


Don't be fooled by what looks like a gentle, kind wee beastie. She's merely taking a break from her vicious homicidal mass-murdering days of blood and glory. You wouldn't believe the recent body count. She leaves grisly little tokens for us on the front deck - a spleen here, a foreleg there. I have to watch my step every time I leave the house.

Recently I was interested to discover three, count 'em three, tails on the steps. Nothing else. Just tails. What am I to infer from this? Is it a gift, or a warning? Am I to believe she regards us in a benevolent light... or should I be grateful that she is not just a wee bit bigger?

Susanna Hansson is da bomb

She really is. If you ever get a chance to take one of her classes, do it. Trust me. You will not regret it.

The Mittens of Rovaniemi class was mind-blowing. Eleven tiny balls of yarn, intarsia in the round, fiendishly wee little needles - how much fun can one girl have? The technique was amazingly simple, once you get the hang of it. As in many things, it's all in the prep work. Of course, get that mucked up and it's a world of hurt on so very many levels...

According to her I am now one of, oh, fiftyish people in the Americas who know how to do this:
Ho ho. I always wanted to be one of the cool kids.

The Bohus class was fantastic as well. I lust to make this:

If we were interested in strict telling of truth here, there aren't many Bohus garments I'd pass on making. I really won't be content with my life until I have at least one of every kit Solveg offers (solsilke.se). There are some colorways I probably wouldn't WEAR all that much, but as art, there's not a single one that's not worth making.

In other news, this is how I've been spending the week:

Some is on its way to Not Just Yarn, some is going to Etsy when I can motivate myself to get it posted, and some is going to Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. I donated four skeins for her to use as prizes for the Knitters Without Borders drawing, so if you see something that looks like one of these on yarnharlot.com, that might be me ;-)

Someone asked what my Etsy name is, so for those interested, here you go: whitebirchfiberarts. See you there ;-)

Blah day

Saturday and Sunday are the Susanna Hansson classes down at Webs. I am a mite perturbed. One of the classes requires a piddling little twenty minutes of pre-class homework. Not a problem... but it needs to be done in Cascade 220, color 8010 (off white)... which has proven unavailable at all four of the LYSs within an hours' drive.

It is indeed annoying. This is an ubiquitous yarn, one of the most common elements in the known fiber universe. Isn't it some kind of licensing requirement to have scads in stock? I'm quite sure there is a regulation buried deep in the bowels of some massive federal agency that says if you own a yarn store, you must carry Cascade 220.

I'm going to have to improvise. Which puts a crimp in my plan to behave myself. I was at least hoping to enter the class fully prepared.

I had planned on disguising myself as Teacher's Pet, Good Student, maybe even Potential Honor Roll. No doubt I would have revealed my true self in short order - that disguise would not have held for long - but still. Leave me my little fantasies, OK?

I must now fume and figure out what to do.

Bad blogger. Just bad.

I've been a bad blogger. Sorry. Lots of stuff going on. First, the important news:
Forest Darkness, finished! O, frabjouous day! The totally craptastic picture I took does not convey how fabulous this sweater is. I believe once it gets cold I will put it on and wear it every day for the rest of my life. For those interested, I actually finished it a couple of weeks ago, and though I can't prove it I believe the day I bound off WAS the hottest day of summer. Always a wonderment to finish a three or so month project and then be unable to wear it for more than 30 seconds. Yeesh.

Of course I immediately cast on for not one, not two, not even three, but four new sweaters. No. 1 is this: a Kauni Turkish cardigan. Stitch pattern pilfered, then adapted from one found in the incredible sock book "Fancy Feet" by Anna Zilboorg. No overall pattern; just using my own wit and low cunning.

Detail of the Turkish cardigan. I am using Kauni yarn in the EP and EK colorways. Incredible stuff. My nonexistant photography skill does not convey the richness of the colors in these yarns.
Sweater No. 2: Blue Shimmer, in progress. It's just a baby. I didn't cast on for Bohus No. 2 immediately - kinda needed a break from Bohussing. Now that I'm started, I wonder why I waited ;-)

Sweaters No. 3 and 4 didn't want to be photographed. Sigh. No. 3 is a Dale in more or less the Lake Placid 1932 pattern, though not in any of the suggested colorways, and modified somewhat. No. 4 is something I'm calling the Tree Sweater. Truly faking it on this one. No pattern whatsoever. Using Green Mountain Spinnery's Green Mountain Green so it will be a hefty sort when it's done.

Quick bits of other news: The Beth Brown-Reinsel class was absolutely fantastic. I am now a steeking fool. Better than the class is that Beth decided to move to Vermont! And she's here! I feel like Mick Jagger moved in next door.

We're building a chicken palace. This has been taking up a lot of time. Rotten beasts had best appreciate it or it will be the crock pot for each and every one of the little hussies. At the same time I am refinishing a table that I've been meaning to fool with for, oh, three or four years. It's stripped; next step is to pick out paint and get that slapped on before the snow flies.

There's more, much more, but I hear the car coming up the driveway and I'm sure that means I'm going to need to give up the computer to hubby in a minute, so this'll have to do for the moment.

Gulp

The steek class is this weekend. Pass the Scotch, please.

Spent all day yesterday dyeing a new batch of yarn for Susan. I wanted to dye a bunch more, so I'd have a little reserve for surprise Susan orders, some to put on Etsy and some to take to another LYS that has expressed interest in carrying it, but I've been having issues with my supplier. As in, the base yarn I use is constantly on back order. Grrrr.

I put in a gi-normous order a week or so ago but they can't tell me if it will be available next week or next month. Or six months from now. This is irritating. I'd switch suppliers, but the base yarn is soooo nice... soft, springy, bouncy, elastic, but with a high twist so it wears well. It truly is a Most Excellent Sock Yarn.

I haven't found an equivalent, and there's no way I'd be happy with using something lesser, so I guess I'll just have to grit my teeth and wait.

I reserve the right to whine and complain bitterly.

Pretty pictures

Forest Darkness, in progress...

Detail shot of the yoke...
Blue Shimmer kit...
and Wild Apple.

This would all be sooooo much further along if I wasn't such a slow knitter. It would also be further along if I didn't have the attention span of a gnat. I knit an inch or so on the Bo, then wander off and spin or dye (or sometimes, under protest, do things that indicate that I have some smallish life outside of fiber).

It is possible Bohus No. 1 will be done by mid to late August. Anyone want to take bets on the exact day? Before you do, check the Farmers' Almanac. My guess is, I'll finish it on the nastiest, hottest, most stinking humid day of the entire year. 'Cause there's nothing quite like finishing a marathon project and then being unable to bear wearing it for more than 30 seconds ;-)

Slow ride

A couple of nights ago, I proved something that was long suspected: I am, as experienced knitters go, dirt slow.

The lovely ladies in my knitting group at Margie's Muse are almost all beginners to advanced beginners. They are all I have to compare myself to, and of course I am faster than them. So for awhile I was tricked into thinking that maybe I'm at least average for my level of experience. But no, not so much. My Speed Racer pedal-to-the-metal top number of stitches per minute, in stockinette on circs (no purling, and certainly nothing tricky) is 43 stitches per minute. On lace, colorwork, cabling, whatever, my pace is anything from glacial to geologic.

No bloody wonder it takes freakin' forever for me to get anything done.

In my own defense, I am pretty darn accurate. But still, accuracy alone is worthless unless you eventually wind up with A FINISHED OBJECT.

If anyone knows any sort of speed-knitting training program for terminal waddlers, could you let me know?

Eye candy

It's been one of those weeks that can best be described as soul-sucking. Haven't been able to rouse myself enough to work on much of anything, even my true love, the Bohus.


However, I did get off my butt in order to dye a big fat batch 'o' yarn. I had not much choice in the matter and could summon little passion for the task, but it needed doing.

Wonder of wonders, Susan at Not Just Yarn has been selling my little bits of string at a pace I can best describe as surprising. Or at least surprising to me. She called to reorder, so dye I did.

Sent a passel of skeins off to NJY, put a bunch on Etsy. I give you pictures (mostly to distract you from the fact that I have nothing profound or clever or even mildly witty to say).

UPDATE: Well, I'll be damned. I had my first Etsy sale! (If you don't know what Etsy is, go there now. Trust me.) The two green skeins in the pictures are off to their new home in sunny California.

Bad people. Just bad.

Can I talk for a moment about Webs?

Webs is.... hmmm. How can I describe it? For starters, I'm pretty sure it's the exact center of the yarnish universe. It's huge. And it has EVERYTHING. If it's not at Webs, it doesn't exist. And I'm pretty sure they have some sort of subliminal mood control spray or something 'cause the place plays merry hell with my torturously built-up immunity to most commercially spun yarn. Believe this: If you go in with the intention of spending $10, you will walk out having spent $100. You have been warned.

They even have their own exclusive yarns. Let's talk about the 2/14 laceweight alpaca silk on cones.

Now, on the list of Webs Crimes Against Me, development of this yarn ranks very very high. Why on earth did they come out with such a luscious, irresisitible yarn? Surely they know I am powerless to resist. It's one of the more wonderful weaving yarns I've come across and if I decide to stop dithering and take the plunge on MS3, the alpaca silk is what will be used.

It has recently come to my attention that they have introduced new colors. There's a picture of one of them, Raspberry, up top, swiped from their web site. I have all the old colors and thought my life was good. Now I know that is just not true and that my life is really shit and that it will continue to be so until I have in my possession at least one cone apiece of all the new colors.

Someone must stop these people before they do this again.

My boring life

I'm rifling through my brain for something entertaining to write about. After the excitement of Wild Apple Bohus showing up, the breathless retrieval from the post office, the fondling, the petting, the ogling ... well, honestly, all that probably wasn't terribly exciting to anyone but me, and everything else I have to write about will only highlight the fact that I'm abysmally dull.

My knitting right now is, well, boring. Still plonking away at the gajillion miles of green stockinette on Forest Darkness, still dithering about MS3. Working on a pair of handspun boot socks destined for hubby that are so completely devoid of ornamentation they should be in a dictionary under "stifling." Spinning some commercial top for the Guy Sweater. Turned the heels on the Monkey socks a couple of weeks ago, then stuffed them in a bag in favor of Bohussing. At least I feel guilty about it.

However, there are a few bright points on my small horizon. I have signed up for CLASSES.

Those of you who know me, know that I am not a take-a-class sort of knitter. In general, I'm far too antisocial and odd to be suitable for public viewing. (This is a bold statement, especially when we're talking knitters, but I stand behind it.) In fact, I am, up to this point, entirely self-taught. No classes. Not one. So how now have I found myself signed up for FOUR?

In general, my preferred method of learning is this: Buy the book. Read it. Mull. Try the technique suggested. Beat my head bloody for a few days or weeks until I get it figured out. (I seem to enjoy this part.)

So far this method has worked well for me. My forehead is curiously shaped, but other than that, no worries.

Here's the problem: I've run out of two things. Courage. And books.

The first class I'm taking is in late August. It's a two-day Fair Isle workshop taught by Beth Brown-Reinsel at Margaret Klein Wilson's farm. Beth wrote the (absolutely fantastic and highly recommended) book "Knitting Ganseys," and she's working on another one, "Knitting Scandinavian Sweaters."

I signed up for this class mostly because I am a coward: I have never cut a steek.

The mere thought of cutting into a perfectly good piece of knitting is enough to send me searching for a stiff snort of Scotch. Or a Valium. Or both. We need not speak of it. I figure the only way I'm going to learn is by exposing myself to devastating levels of peer pressure. Can't let all the other happy little scissors-wielding knitters in these parts know what a complete stinking wuss I am, right? So. This will work.

The second and third classes are in September, at Webs. Susanna Hansson, the woman who translates Solveig's Bohus patterns into English, is teaching a one-day class on Bohus techniques. Now, I do already have "Poems of Color." And I may have mentioned I am already knitting a Bohus, with two more to come. (Note to Lisa: Yes, you've mentioned it. About five thousand times. Shut up already.) But my theory is that there are probably a good many tricky little squibs of information about all things Bohus that Wendy Keele might not have gotten around to writing about.

(That is a very good justification, and I'm happy with it. But the real reason I'm taking that class is to ogle her collection of authentic vintage Bohus sweaters.)

Susanna is also teaching a class on "The Mittens From Rovaniemi." Check out the very top photo, which I stole from Susanna's web site. These mittens are constructed using ten or eleven separate yarn colors, teensy wee needles, and a fiendishly difficult intarsia-in-the-round technique which is apparently not in any English-language book, anywhere. At least not that I can find. Sensing a really, really good opportunity to beat my head bloody against a wall, I signed up for that one immediately.

The fourth class is a five-day workshop titled "Designing in the Bohus Tradition" taught by Donna Kay at the Harrisville Knitting and Weaving Center in October. As mentioned, I already have the definitive Bohus book. It contains much interesting information and history. But no design or color theory, and as far as I can tell there is no book that covers this. Since one of my long-term goals is to spin, dye, design and knit my own version of a Bohus, and since I'm not colorblind but I am color-stupid, that seemed like a really good idea.

(Another worthy justification. But if we're being honest, there is another factor at work: I'm in a bit of a snit over not getting to hike the Long Trail and figured this would be an acceptable substitute.)

So. We'll see if I can overcome my completely unforced ability to be eccentric, hermitish and cranky. Knitters are in general a kind and gentle lot, but after 20 years in journalism I find those qualities odd and mildly suspicious. Also, knitters often do not swear, at least not loudly, and I am rather fond of same. Put me in a room with knitters who are also longshoremen and I'd probably be quite happy.

I'll let y'all know how it goes.

I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!

It's here! Wild Apple is here! O frabjuous day!

The post office guy actually called and told me when it came in (I love that guy). I raced down, got there exactly three minutes before they closed, and ripped into that package like a weasel rips through chicken wire.

Dudes. What can I tell you. The pictures I posted? They don't even come close to capturing the the real thing. The colors are ... well... I'm having trouble coming up with a word that isn't totally hackneyed. If you could melt down emeralds and rubies and all sorts of precious brilliant stones and turn them into meltingly soft yarn, this Bohus is what you'd have.

I am so not worthy of owning something this beautiful. Well, I guess the fact that I have a working Mastercard makes me worthy enough, but still... I am not worthy.

Gotta go. Much ogling and fondling to be done.

To MS3, or not to MS3, that is the question

Temptation lurks everywhere. That stinking thing is all over the internet. I can't turn on a browser without reading about clue this and clue that and shiny wee beads and 2/14 alpaca/silk on cones.

I see pictures of stoles-in-progress. Me likee. See the beads? Shiny!

I am signed up. I have clues 1-3 in my hands, and clue 4 is only a download away. My stash contains appropriate yarn and the perfect matching beads. (If we're telling honest truths here, there's not much my stash does not contain, but that is something we need not speak of.) The correct needles are mere feet away. No purchase necessary. I even went so far as to make a tiny mite of a swatch.

And we loves us some lace knitting, we do. We really, really do.

But here's the rub. I am a happy little lace knitter, but I am not a girly girl. I could quite contentedly knit lace all day, every day, pretty much forever, but (except for the occasional random pair of girly socks, easily hidden under jeans) I do not WEAR lace.

So, here we have the problem. Do I really love it THAT much, that I want to devote weeks or months to it, knowing full well that the end result will be something that is draped artfully over the back of the sofa and rarely worn?

Well, yes.

But. There are many projects, all worthy, all demanding my attention. Forest Darkness wants finishing. Blue Shimmer wants beginning. Wild Apple... well, it just wants to arrive safely, have a bit of a rest from its long journey, and be fondled and petted and admired for awhile, but the handspun Guy Sweater is not going to be so patient, and neither is the Dale.

Dither, dither. Dudes, I really want to make this stole. From what I've seen so far, it is gorgeous. There doesn't seem to be anything hideously complex about it. And it does have those pretty shiny baubles, 'cause ya know, mere gorgeous lace knitting might not be quite enough temptation all on its own. Add a few sparklies, just to increase the oozing dripping lust factor...

This could lead me down an interesting rabbit hole of self-examination if I let it. There's clearly a divide between who I am and who I think I am. Or maybe I know who I am, but secretly long to be someone else. Does lace knitting satisfy some inner diva gene that I am not consciously aware I posess?

Must. Resist.

The most likely thing that will happen to me today does NOT involve Prince Charming showing up at my doorstep and saying, "Yes, yes, you are the one I want. I took one look at your stole pattern and was smitten." Problems with that scenario are abundant and do not end with the fact that I already have a quite acceptable husband.

More likely, the way the day will play out is this: The hens will escape from the pen and I'll spend a half hour wading through mud and chickenshit to round 'em up, the little hussies. Perhaps you can see why my life does not lend itself to abundant lace-wearing.

Must. Resist.

Greed, avarice, lust

Wild Apple is due to show up at my post office any day. Anystinkingdaynow. Yesterday would really not have been too soon. Today would have been acceptable as well. Tomorrow would be fine. Much more than that and the giant spiders are going to start crawling on the walls.

The good folk at my tiny local post office are getting tired of me, I'm sure. I have checked our box twice today, and will probably do so again tomorrow. It's OK, though, they already know we're kinda strange. Most of the boxes we've received in the last three months have either been from Sweden, or have contained live poultry. That's an odd combination even by postal standards.

We got 25 more peeps about a week ago. The post office guy called at 6:30 a.m. to let us know they were there and that we could come get them right away. He doesn't officially open until 8:30 a.m. but will make an exception for chickens.

So honey gets to the post office, and has this conversation:

Post office guy: They don't like the Four Tops.

Hubby: Hmmmm.

POG: And they HATE Vermont Public Radio.

H: That could be a problem.

POG: But they really seem to like Smokey Robinson.

Now I don't know about you but this is one reason I like Vermont - in what other location will federal officials help you determine the musical tastes of your day-old chickens?

However, I digress.

Back to Bohus. Should we have a sing-along? "An-ti-ci-pation, anticipay-yay-shun, it's making me wait...."

Eh, perhaps not. Chickens don't like karaoke.

I haven't anticipated a package this much since I was four and just knew there was a pony in that big shiny box. Yeesh. This avarice is quite unattractive. And yet I can't say I am remorseful.

Wild Apple is my personal little mystical knitting Mecca - the trip I have dreamed of taking, but never thought would actually come to fruition. To have it suddenly within my grasp is, um, exciting.

Up top there is a random picture of what I assume is a finished Kimmet Croft Wild Apple. I swiped it off someone else's web site and now I can't figure out where I found it, so my most sincere apologies for not giving proper credit.

The KC version has been available for some time now. It is lovely. Marvelous, really. And I have occasionally considered getting it. But I really wanted the fine, fine detail of the original sweaters.

The image on the right is a vintage Bohus (pic swiped from Poems of Color).

Note the slight differences in the colors between it and the KC version. The KC version is a worthy sweater ... but I'm glad I waited for Solveig.

As I've said in previous blog entries, I have no intention of starting Wild Apple until both Forest Darkness and Blue Shimmer are done. My most vivid fantasies right now involve simple fondling of the skeins, not actual construction. Which makes my incredible stinking greed for this kit doubly inexplicable. The only even halfway good rationalization I can come up with at the moment is that Imusthaveitrightnowdammitnownownow because it's possible that Solveig might decide to retire (shudder!) and then there will be no more kits and then I. Will. Just. Die. So I had to get it, right? I had to.

In other news: My undyed yarn finally showed up from the not-terribly-service-oriented supplier. I need to get some skeins painted and send them off to their new homes.

I was hoping to have some up on Etsy shortly but hubby took the camera. He's off hiking the Long Trail with our 15-year-old. I really wanted to go, but I wasn't invited, and anyway, someone has to stay home and take care of the chickens.

Addendum: Ah, mystery solved. The top picture is from The Rainey Sisters blog. If you haven't read their postings, well, you should. They're funny and smart and almost as freaky about fiber as me.

In which the Bo' Ho does a dumb thing

I am an idiot. That much is clear. As much as I would like to think that I am clever and crafty and generally above making the stoopid mistakes I should have grown out of long ago in my knitterly career... well, no, not so much.

Previously I may have mentioned that I am knitting Forest Darkness. (Actually, if truth be told, I may have previously frothed at the mouth, compulsively yammered, and blathered to the point of mindlessness, but we need not speak of that.)

A quick recap: I knit the collar ribbing on Addi Turbo circs, US size 0. Switched over to US 2 for the color work. I tend to knit tight on color work, so the 2s, though bigger than the recommended needle size, were just ducky.

I also knit tightish when plonking away on the flat. Any time there is purling involved, I tighten up. Anyway. The 2s were not too hot, not too cold - they were juuuuust right.

So I come to the end of the flat parts and join 'em up. And knit away. Without changing needles. While knowing full well that, when freed from the tyranny of the purl stitch, I knit BIG.

Within slightly more than an inch it became apparent that I was not knitting a Bohus, I was knitting a very attractive, very well-designed... tent.

Deep breath. OK, at least I wasn't six inches into it. Only an inch.

Still. An inch of Bohus knitting is, well, a shitload of knitting. Let's do the math:

390 stitches per round x 10 rounds = 3900 stitches to rip out and reknit. I have knit entire afghans that probably contained fewer stitches than this one stinking inch of Bohus. (There was an unfortunate big-needle phase... I was young, I was foolish, what can I say... )

Being somewhat good at denial, avoidance, and procrastination, I decided to do nothing for a day. Somewhere in the back of my mind I really really believed that maybe if I just ignored the problem, the teeny tiny knitting fairies would come and fix it overnight.

They didn't, the rotten stinking little ingrates.

So I cursed and shook my fist and muttered terrible dark things. I had wild escapist fantasies in which blocking cured all. I thought about it obsessively, then I refused to think about it at all.

I remeasured four or five times. Oddly, nothing much changed. So last night, I grit my teeth, put on my big girl panties, and...

...ripped.

Spent a good hour counting and recounting the tiny picked-up stitches. Insecurities 'R' Us, ya know? Then knit back to more or less where I was before the Great Ripfest. So, basically, I spent all evening working and have absolutely nothing to show for it. Not even the wee inch or so of progress that is my norm for a Bohus session.

Tonight I'll get back to constructing a sweater instead of something you could hold a smallish wedding under, but in the meantime I do believe a bit of a pout is in order.

Public service announcement

Solveig now has the Wild Apple pullover available as a kit! She's also made a kit for the hat and scarf! I don't even wear hats, at least not until it gets down into the serious brass-monkey zone, yet I'm extremely excited about this.

So far, there is no Wild Apple jacket kit. But, I emailed Solveig and she says that if I get both the pullover and hat/scarf kits and follow the generic instructions from one of the other jacket patterns that she does have kitted, then I would have enough yarn and enough basic construction information to make a Wild Apple jacket. There would be a certain amount of faking it - it's uncharted territory for sure - but thankfully most of my knitting contains a hefty element of faking it. Bless you, Elizabeth Zimmerman, wherever you may be.

Above is a photo of the Wild Apple pullover, swiped from "Poems of Color." In-freaking-credible, isn't it? I mustmustmust make the jacket.

By the way, I'm well aware that my admiration and appreciation for all things Bohus has shifted from simple love to fetish. It's OK, though. I'm helping to preserve an art form that should not be lost. I'm creating beauty. I'm doing my part to reduce our energy dependance by making myself wonderful warm sweaters, so I can turn the thermostat down... blah blah blah. In my little universe there are a thousand and one good reasons why I absolutely MUST make this sweater, but the reality of the situation is that there is only one reason:

It's cheaper than a coke habit.

I am by-god going to finish Forest Darkness and the incredible, wonderful Blue Shimmer that I adore beyond words before launching Wild Apple. (Note to Frank: I really really want to start the Shimmer RIGHT NOW. It's been calling to me. Loudly. But you are right, I need to get Forest Darkness finished first.) And of course there are other projects that need doing. For instance, there is a handspun Guy Sweater that must be designed and built, there are interesting Cookie A socks that need to be constructed, there is a handspun Dale skulking about... All good, all worthy. Coke isn't the only drug, ya know? But Wild Apple simply Must. Be. Done.

In additional Bohus news, Green Mist - another on my wanna-knit list - is available as a pullover/cardigan and will be available as a jacket soon. Neither Wild Apple nor Green Mist are on Solveig's website yet, but you can still order them - just send her an email.

Non-Bohus news: Eh, who cares?

Birthday bounty

No. 43 was last week. My honey got me (among other things of no interest to fiberish types) a second Bohus kit! The new one is Blue Shimmer, which I believe was the most popular Bohus ever produced. It is so gorgeous and intricate and subtle ... I can't tell you how much I love it. Honey did very well ;-)

The picture at left is one I stole from Solveig's website. Don't be intimidated by the fact that most of the site is in Swedish - the pictures are worth ogling even if you think you'd never want to knit your own.

But if you did...

Ordering is not hard. Go to the section labeled Nyheter, have a look around, decide which one you want, then go to the tab that says Kontakta Mig and fill in the form. Don't worry, Solveig's English is quite good. The first kit I ordered she had in the mail the very next day. As I recall it took nine days to arrive, which is pretty good considering it's coming from halfway across the world.

The woman wearing the Shimmer is Kerstin Olsson, who was one of the designers of the original sweaters. I'm not sure if Blue Shimmer is her design or one of the other designers' but whomever designed it was out-of-orbit talented, that much is certain.

I am not going to start this new kit until Forest Darkness is finished, but that shouldn't be too terribly long. My hands are cooperating at the moment; life is good. I'm well past the colorwork and into the gajillion miles of green stockinette. I knit the yoke circularly, of course, then split it into a front, back and two sleeves, knit flat past the underarms, and then joined it back up so I could knit the body in the round.

Progress now is quite respectable, especially considering we've had buckets and buckets of rain lately. Warm sunny days in Vermont are too precious to waste; outside stuff takes precedence over knitting when the sun's out. But lots of rainy days = lots of knitting. Either way, life is good.

In other news, Frank's birthday was yesterday. His is exactly one week after mine. I decided that for us to do the Full Vermonty, I really needed to pimp out his ride, so I got him a bike rack for the hatch and a Thule kayak rack for the roof of the car. All good, considering I gave him the kayak for his birthday a couple of years ago but it was such a pain to drag around without a rack that it was used not at all.

I not only got him the rack, I installed it all by myself, which made me so absurdly, ridiculously pleased with myself I puffed up like a toad. Believe it or not, I can be tricked into thinking I am quite clever by the simple ability to follow clear printed directions.

We motored out to the lake yesterday, kayak securely strapped to the car roof (Look, Frank, it's still up there!) and spent a nice afternoon swimming and paddling around. The car looked happy. Very nicely tricked out it is, especially with my NSK - Notorious Sock Knitters bumper sticker from Blue Moon on the rear.

Sock it to me

More pictures!

Monkey socks, in progress. My own hand-dyed yarn. It's hard to see the stitch pattern in this picture - shoulda stretched the fabric a bit to give it some definition - but it's there, honest.


And just to show you that I do occasionally finish things, rotten hands or not, my lace girly girl socks. These were actually done awhile ago, I was just too disgusted with our old camera to take a picture. This is my Standard Sock Recipe No. 1 with ridged feather and fan stitch.

Slow Bo'

Slow Bohus progress so far. My worthless hands are just, well, worthless. RSI is a gift that keeps on giving, fer sure.

But isn't it wonderful??? Those Swedish ladies sure knew how to design a sweater. Incredible to think that Bohus garments were designed back in the 1940s, 50s and 60s, and yet are so utterly timeless they are as wearable now as they were sixty or seventy years ago.

It's such a pleasure to knit this, at least it's a pleasure when my hands aren't killing me. The yarn is wonderful, the colors are divine, the pattern is very clear, and amazingly enough the knitting is not difficult in most places, at least if you have some understanding of the basics of stranded colorwork. I wouldn't recommend this particular Bohus (the Forest Darkness pattern) as a first-colorwork project, 'cause it does get a little tricky in places - several rows require you to work with three colors, which is a bit much to ask of a beginner - but I know that some Bohus patterns call for only two colors per row, which makes life easier.

It does take patience. An entire sweater on size 1 needles is not for the faint of heart. But gracious, it will be worth it in the end, doncha think?

Other news: A week ago I took some samples of my handpainted sock yarn by Not Just Yarn in Brattleboro, and showed them to Susan the owner, thinking she might be interested in carrying them in her store. She bought 10 skeins right there on the spot, which so astonished me I could barely think straight.

So, day before yesterday, I get a call from Susan. Me being somewhat insecure, I immediately assume she's regretting spending good money on my little bits of string, and wants a refund.

Here's how the conversation really went:

Me: So what's up?

Her: I need to order some more yarn. The skeins from the first order are all gone.

Me: You're kidding.

Her: No, they're all sold.

Me: You're kidding.

Her: Can I get 10 more?

Me: (So flabbergasted I can barely speak) You're kidding.

To say I was slightly unprepared for such a request would be an understatement. My notion was that she'd sell three or four, maybe in a month she'd call and order a few more - you know, a leisurely sort of thing. Plenty of time to order more base yarn, plenty of time to futz and fiddle and procrastinate... Wrong.

So what we have in the bowl is the very last of my hand-paint, all of which is going to Susan this afternoon. (That, btw, is an extremely crappy photo. It makes all the colors look terribly washed out and dull, when they're really quite pretty.)

I am now completely out of base yarn, at least until my very hastily ordered next shipment comes in. Which I hope will be very very soon, 'cause if Susan keeps selling at this rate I really needed it yesterday. Unfortunately my supplier takes a somewhat relaxed approach to shipping. New base yarn might show up next week, or next month. Sigh.

At least I have something new and interesting to fret about.

Disappearing pictures!

What the hell??? I posted a picture yesterday, of Frank running in his race. Where on earth did it go? And why? What mysterious confluence of events would cause a photo that was formerly appearing just as it should, just where it should, to go poof and vanish into the thin and malodorous cyberspace air? I swear, anyone who can explain this to me will be eligible for a fabulous prize. (OK, only fabulous if you're into string and such, but still. A prize is a prize.)

Well. (If you imagine I'm saying that in a quite huffy tone of voice, you would be right.)

I have to say, posting pictures on this blogbeast is a pain in the rear. I'm not sure if it's the kludgy blog itself or whether it's a bandwidth issue, but it takes forever and often as not once I finally get something uploaded, it disappears. Grrrr.

Does anyone else, when dealing with blog woes, catch the faintest whiff of sulphur?

Anyway. I posted the Frank pic again. Isn't he cute? If he's not here when you look at this entry, it's not my fault.

In other news, well, hell, sistahs, there really isn't any. I managed two rows on the
Bohus today before my hands finked out. I really just need to put it aside for a couple of days.

Started a pair of Monkey socks last night - which, btw, is one of the most fun sock patterns I've ever come across. Cookie A is, in my most humble opinion, the best sock pattern designer out there. It's one of my small ambitions to track down every sock pattern the woman has ever written and stash them away, just in case they ever go out of print.

Monkey makes a decent travelling sock - it's an easily memorized pattern. But I'm torn about what to do for my next home socks. Twisted Flower, maybe. I love the German Stockings, too. So many wonderful socks, so little time to knit before I lose all sensation in my arms... Sigh...

This truly sucks

Right now, everything from the elbows on down aches.

This is good.

At least I can feel something. Hurting is better than losing all sensation in my hands, which is what is happening when I knit for much more than 10 minutes at a time. Kinda hard to get a decent stitch rythym going when you can't feel the needles. It's so freakin' frustrating.

But, I have taken the drastic step of joining a gym. I know (from many unfortunate years of experience with this stinking thing) that if I a) build up some muscle in my back, shoulders and arms, and b) lose a good amount of the excess weight I'm carting around, that some of this will resolve itself. That's the easy part. The hard part is that I really just need to put down the damned needles for a couple of weeks.

Yeah, right. Might as well try to take away a coke whore's little sniffing spoon. Sigh.

In other news, brace yourselves, ladies, the end of the world must be near - Frank decided to learn to knit. The astonishment I feel over this development is so extreme it has somewhat distracted me from the exasperation of my rotten hands.

For those of you who haven't met Frank, to the left is my favorite picture of him. I've been teaching him the basics, and he's doing great! Dug out a simple reversible cable scarf pattern I thought he'd like, gave him some very nice Lorna's Laces worsted weight (in manly camo colors), handed over my favorite pair of nice stout No. 10 straights, and set him to work.

I think he's almost - not completely, but almost - past the truly horrible initial part of learning to knit. Remember that part? The part where every single stitch is a miserable, tense struggle? Where absolutely everything feels awkward and stupid and wrong? The part where you make a gazillion mistakes and don't know how to find 'em, let alone fix 'em? He's only nine or ten rows into his scarf and already he's "getting it." If he keeps after it I think he's going to be a good knitter.

Actually, if he keeps after it, he'll probably wind up being better than me. This is one of the perils of marrying a brilliant man. I've never seen him do anything poorly.

We motored up to Arlington Saturday, where he ran in a 12-k race and came in third in his age group. Smart, multitalented, easy on the eyes, and now he knits. How I got this lucky is a great mystery.

We got a new digital camera a couple of days ago, which does not cast an annoying dark shadow over the subject matter every time the flash is used, so I should be able to more consistently post pics of my work in progress. My super secret goal for the day is to bag a photo of Frank knitting, so y'all know I'm not just making this all up. A close-up of the scarf in progress is also in the game plan.

The Bohus yoke needs a picture, too. It's so frickin' gorgeous. But, I have made such slow progress because of my stupid RSI that it might just be too depressing to post. Sigh.

Cripes

Once upon a time, many years ago, I had a different life.

In that life, I was a journalist. An editor, in fact, working for one of the largest, most respected newspapers in the country. It was interesting, and challenging, and exciting, and very very stressful.

About five years ago, I retired from that life, and moved onto this one. However, a few remnants of that life followed me, including a rollicking good case of repetitive stress injury.

It's one of those things that will never go away entirely, at least not without without surgery. And the surgery for my type of RSI is not an exact science - the chances that they'd make things worse not better run around 30%, which to me seems like a poor bargain. Anyway, now that I'm not spending 10 hours a day typing, most of the time it's not troublesome.

Sometimes it is, and now is one of those times.

No knitting for me, at least not much. No spinning, either.

All is OK, though. I'm fooling around with some natural dyeing, which is fun in a serendipitous mad scientist sort of way. It's not knitting, but it's enough of a fiber fix to keep me from seeing giant spiders on the walls.

Sigh.

Bohus, o Bohus - how I love thee

Telling you I adore the Bohus beyond reason and logic may be understating the case.

Have you ever had a knitting experience you secretly wished would last forever? That is so satisfying that it makes you want to forsake all other knitting? I have never once in my entire knitterly career made the same garment twice (with the exception of Standard Sock Pattern No. 1 and its many variants) but this Bohus... I would do it all over again, and again and again and again.

There is something about it that is so completely gratifying it almost hurts. Is it the color arrangement, so subtle yet vibrant it looks more like liquid than yarn? Is it the tiny little purl stitches? They amuse me to a degree that's truly embarassing. Is it the yarn itself, soft as a cloud and yet not shedding even a tinch? I don't know, and I don't care. True love defies logic.

If I had loads of money I'd be emailing Solveig in Sweden right now, ordering a kit in every colorway she has. Actually, if I had loads of money I'd order half a dozen each, just so I'd have a good solid stash tucked away for a rainy day. Plus extra skeins, of course, so I could make matching mittens and scarves and tams. I don't even wear tams, but that is a minor issue. We need not speak of it.

I mean, really, what if all the sheep and bunnies in the world suddenly go bald and I'm left without the means of obtaining another kit, ever? What if the Swedes declare war? You know how ferocious they can be. No kits then, bubba. It's all quite worrisome.

Of course I haven't yet reached the miles ... and miles ... and miles of plain green stockinette. Perhaps my ardor will fade after eighteen gazillion rows of mindlessness.

But I think not.

Quick hits

1. The "real" Bohus is in play. I'm about two inches into the colorwork, and so far I love it beyond all reason. The colors are so vibrant they look like they're backlit. And the yarn is sooooo wonderfully soft. I knit for a bit, then stop to pet it like a small fuzzy animal.

Progress is thus slow, but that's OK. Knitting pleasure of this purity must be savored.

2. Still slogging away on spinning up the Ashland Bay top. Two pounds takes awhile. Sigh.

3. Dyed a dozen skeins of sock yarn. It all came out really well, which is unusual. Generally at least one skein turns out not according to plan. This time, it's all good, baby. Hope to get pics onto Etsy within a day or so, and will post some pics here too.

4. Fussing around with blending some fawn Shetland with chocolate Angora from my bunny. Spun a test swatch at more or less fingering weight. So far, I am well pleased. At the moment I'm considering using this blend for the body of the handspun Bohus, adding silk only to the yoke.

Or, I could use only Shetland and colored Angora, no silk at all. And no dye. A Bohus done in all natural shades of wool and bunny is an alluring concept.

More research is needed.

Damn, damn, damn

1. Our only car died.

2. It died as I was on the way to see Stephanie Pearl-McPhee speak. I had been looking forward to going to this thing for months. I am quite disappointed.

3. My daughter is being medically discharged from the Air Force tomorrow and without a car I have no way of getting to the airport to pick her up. About this, I am panicky.

Life just never gets easy, does it?

Assorted other crappy things happened within the last 24 hours - those are just the three crappiest. Right now I wish I could crawl in a hole and just wait for this to all pass.

The only tiny piece of serenity I could summon today involved discovering, down deep in the needle drawer, a set of 10-inch size-0 double points. I didn't know I had them, don't remember buying them, don't remember why I bought them, don't remember if I ever began the project for which they were intended... but never mind all that. They are here.

Bohus time.

My size-1 circulars aren't in yet, so I may have to put the Bohus down for a bit after I get the collar ribbing done. Which should be tonight.

But that's OK. Today, I have two inches of wonderful, soft, soothing, mindless ribbing to work through.

Today, those are fine qualities indeed.

Yarn Harlot tomorrow!

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, aka the Yarn Harlot, is going to be speaking at Webs in Northampton tomorrow night. I am so there! Her books have made me laugh on days when I would have thought that was not possible.

For those of you who have read her books or blog, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, well, good heavens. Get thee to a bookstore.

According to Webs, the pre-event attendance estimate exceeds the number of people who showed up for her big book launch in NYC. I'm guessing that means there will be over 800 knitterly souls in attendance. How cool is that???

In other news, the twoish pounds of commerically dyed top I'm slogging my way through is turning out pretty well. We had a conversation, during which it made its goals clear to me - it hopes to become a sweaterjacket. This was surprising, and a little worrisome. I think a sweaterjacket will require more like two and a half or three pounds. I may have to order more, which is silly given how much fleece of various kinds I have in this house. Sigh. I can only hope that by the time I get through the first couple of pounds it will have changed its mind.

And yes, I do talk to fleece. And yarn. Don't you?

Scour-palooza

The scourfest is almost over. One more pound of Shetland, currently in the sink, then I'm done, at least for the moment. My sink can hold about a pound of fleece at a time, so you can see that 'round these parts, scouring in quantity is a slow proposition.

I have another wee chunk 'o' fleece coming soon. It's an interesting one - see No.173, there at the top? It's from a California Red sheep. They are the same color as Irish Setters when they're born, then fade to a kind of oatmealy color with raspberry undertones when they grow into big sheepies. I've never seen one in person, and I've never worked with the fleece, so it should be a fun experiment. I'll post a full report when it arrives and I've had a chance to futz with it.

In other news, work on the Noro blanket continues, although slowly. I've managed a couple of inches per day, just to keep it from becoming sullen and petulant.

Various socks are in various stages of doneness. Some have become quite rude in their efforts to attract my knitterly attention. I had to stuff a couple into the bottom of the project bag just to get 'em to shut up.

Test cardings and combings of Tybee and the various Shetlands have been completed, and the spinning of swatches has commenced.

The Bohus swatch was exquisite, did I mention that? But the only additional progress I've made on that is to measure out the amount of fiber I need to have in each batt to make it all come out more or less the same. It's a long-term project, and by that I mean VERY long-term. If I have a handspun Bohus to wear this winter, well, check the sky, 'cause pigs will be flyin'.

HOWEVER. There is a close-to-instant-gratification option. Got to feeling a wee bit guilty about not making a "real" Bohus, with authentic yarn and colors and whatnot, so I broke down and ordered a kit from Sweden, which arrived a couple of days ago. I could sail right in and start it, except I had to order new Addis - I don't have any long size-1 circulars. Since I'm an American and have been reared to strongly believe that whatever I want should be instantly available, in great quantities, on the shelf of the local big-blob store, it's been a frustrating couple of days.

What's the plural of Bohus? Bohuses? Bohi? Whatever. Two Bohi. Two sweaters on size-1 needles. Clearly I need medication.

And while all this foolishness is going on, I'm also spinning some commercial top I got back in the day. So far it has stubbornly refused to just spin itself while sitting in the stash closet - pretty darn rude, don't you think? It had been very patiently waiting but a couple of days ago it leapt out at me, all fibery teeth and claws, and snarled that I'd best spin it NOW if I know what's good for me.

I can only obey.

Hand-dyed woolly goodness

Two entries in one day! This is a first. But I've been remiss as far as bloggerdom is concerned,and it's making me feel a little guilty.

Not only that, but right now I'm pretty tired of scouring stinky sheep fleece. Which isn't so good, 'cause I've got a long way to go before it's done. Willow and Maura's friends are waiting.

It's been busy the last couple of days. Spent Saturday the 19th at the Jamaica Fiber Festival. It was rainy and cold and generally a disgusting day. Surprisingly, I sold lots of stuff. (No one was more astonished by this than me.) I was up under a porch so at least I didn't get rained on, but I was so damp I thought I would mold. Just to give you a hint, Frank and I unloaded the car at about 9 a.m. It was raining then, and my hair got wet. No problem, I won't melt... but it was so mucky and humid even under my little shelter that the damn hair was STILL WET at 4 p.m. when the festival ended.

For those interested, here are some pictures of the sort of eye candy I had at the festival. (For those not of the fiber junkie persuasion, well, this all SHOULD be interesting to you - since fiber is fascinating and wonderful and lots of fun - but I'll forgive you for not realizing it quite yet.)

Sooner or later, I'll get stuff posted on the store web site, but the stupid thing is kludgy and awkward and I'm gonna do a major revamp of the coding before I post anything else, so it might be awhile.

Picture 1: Yarn. A crapppy photo of many skeins of hand-dyed, in sock weight and worsted.

Picture 2: Dyed Corriedale, two ounces in each bundle. These are fun. I paint 'em in complimentary colors, so if you're feeling bold you can ply one bundle against another and get something really unexpected and cool.

Picture 3: Sock bundles, superwash, six ounces each. I have learned through bitter experience that in my house, no matter how often or loudly I say "DON'T PUT THE SOCKS IN THE WASHING MACHINE" they will in fact find their way into that swirling, felting vortex. Therefore, in this house, socks for anyone other than me are made from washable wool. Period.

I deeply envy those of you who can knit hand-wash only socks with confidence. I knit hand-wash socks for myself on occasion, which works out fine. Socks for other, unnamed persons who reside in this household? Socks for anyone at all besides me? Superwash, baby.

Scouring, and scouring, and scouring some more

Guess what I've been doing today.

One of the truly wonderful things about living in Vermont, at least from a fiber junkie perspective, is that there are lots and lots of places 'round these parts to find very special fleece.

An embarassing amount of it seems to have followed me home in the last couple of days.

So, all day today, scour scour scour.

I do have vast experience in scouring raw fleece. And every bit of my experiece resides in the head of Jenny. Have I mentioned that she's a goddess? She has a couple of blog posts on scouring that should be read by anyone even contemplating a buying a raw fleece.

Meet Vinca, in the top picture. Vinca is a Shetland ewe who lives with Kathleen Meeks of Maybelle Farm. Two pounds of Vinca came home with me yesterday. Smaller amounts of several of Vinca's friends also came to live here.

Kathleen doesn't have a website, which is bad and good. Bad, because I can't easily point fellow spinners in the direction of incredible, super-soft, fluffy Shetland in the most amazing array of colors. Good in that I get to keep this information all to myself, thus ensuring there will be more incredible, super-soft, fluffy Shetland available when the hankering come on. Of course, my spinning friends around here all already know about Kathleen and her happy sheepies, so I guess it's not such a well-kept secret after all.

Vinca is considered a dark fawn. Or maybe she's a musket - I'm not sure what the difference is, or where that line is crossed. She's about the shade of oatmeal with darker tips, nice sheen, staple length of around four inches. I expect her to spin up into a heathered yarn that will be soft, soft soft. Oh, my.

She and several of her friends want to be turned into a Fair Isle sweater made with several shades of brown, tan, cream and maybe some grey for variety. Miss Vinca also has some grey and black buddies - they want to be a different sweater, but their hour is not yet at hand. Soon, little sheepies, very soon.

Meet Tybee. Tybee is a yearling CVM/Romeldale ram who lives with Nancy Zeller. Nancy does have a website. Check it out: Longridge Farm.

About four pounds of him followed me home from the Jamaica Fiber Festival. He's amazing, too. His fleece runs from black with dark brown tips, to charcoal, to silver grey with blonde tips, to a smattering of pure white.

I think I got the last of Nancy's raw fleece, more's the pity, but she still has processed fiber. I got a chunk of it when I was first learning to spin. It drafted so easily it made me look like a whole lot better spinner than I actually was.

Tybee wants to be turned into a varigated yarn. My plan is to spin random chunks of the various colors, then Navaho ply to preserve the variations. What happens to Tybee after that? He hasn't told me yet. Maybe he wants to be another sweater, but maybe he wants to be something else. I'm sure that, in the fullness of time, he'll let me know.

You've already met Madame Snotcat. She was not helpful during today's scour-thon. She rarely is in situations like this, but it's always best to remain optimistic, even when there's no call for it.

This was how I knew Tybee was almost dry - Madame made a nest of him. I foiled her by putting him up on the drying rack, and putting the sopping wet Vinca on the cardboard. It's the rare day when I am victorious with Madame. Score one for me.

Here's Tybee, scoured, dried and put away until such time as I can turn him into yarn. Note cat tail on left side of picture. She thought she was being pretty sly, hiding under the lid, waiting for me to turn my back so she could get into the box. But that's the thing about having a tail - you have to hide it along with the rest of you if stealth is the goal.

Maura, another Shetland that lives with Kathleen, is in my sink right now, waiting for a rinse. She wanted her picture taken too, to show you she's just as incredible as Willow, but right now she's relaxing in her bubble bath and cannot be disturbed.

The Anti-Swatch Sock

For now I have given up trying to make the sock in my head match the sock on my needles. Right now I have plenty of aggravation in my life. (Including a cat trying to sit on my lap. She's making it very difficult to type. I've tried politely suggesting she sit elsewhere. I've also tried flinging her off my lap, several times if you want to be a stickler for accuracy. But Madame Snotcat will Not Be Denied.)

By the time I'd ripped out the third swatch and started in on the fourth, I had gauge down cold - thank god for small favors, eh? So on the fourth go-round I decided to just keep on a-goin'. Now about halfway down the leg of the first sock, no particular plan in mind other than a decent color scheme, just knitting along in whatever pattern seems like a good idea at the time. I'll take a picture later. Life is good.

Alas, nothing else will be accomplished sockwise today, or tomorrow. The Jamaica Fiber Festival is tomorrow, I'm one of the vendors, and I've just realized I'm nowhere near ready. Tons 'o' stuff to do, not enough time to do it. It's only 8 a.m. and already I could use a nap.

Off to bust some rocks...

The trouble with swatching

Almost done with the lace girly girl socks, almost done with the Fair Isle cotton booties. Futzed with the Noro blanket for an hour or so just to keep it happy.

Had an idea for a new sock design. Spent a couple of hours knitting test swatches, then ripping them out in fits of disgust and rage.

Couldn't quite get the real sock to match the sock in my head. But I will prevail, sooner or later. I am just too stubborn to let some pointy sticks and a piece of string get the better of me.

This is what happens when I try to be a good girl and play by the rules. Nothing but frustration comes of it.

When I dive right in and live dangerously by 1) failing to even consult, let alone follow, a pattern; 2) failing to knit the almighty swatch, 3) failing to calculate and instead casting on however many stitches seems more-or-less right, and 4) failing to have even the vaguest of plans... things generally work out. As evidence, I present the Fair Isle booties, which, despite their inherent silliness, are turning out quite nicely.

By the time I get the swatch worked out to my satisfaction I'll be so pissed off by the whole thing that I'll never knit the actual socks.

Bohus addendum

Husband is off at a 10-K race in Bennington to benefit the victims in Darfur. I don't expect him back for a couple of hours.

So what do I do when The Man isn't around to supervise? Do I do the responsible thing and clean or cook or work on the chicken cage or any of a dozen things I can think of that need doing in the worst possible way?

Of course not.

I carded a test batt for the Bohus. The sheen thing got the better of me - after a couple of false starts, I wound up doing a 33-33-33% blend of superfine Merino, Angora and silk.

All I can say is, oh, my god. If angels wear sweaters, this is the fiber blend they're made of.

Now to spin a swatch and see if I can do the batt justice.

Update on the update: Cute sexy husband came in third in his age group in the race. He's stoked. However, the t-shirts they handed out misspelled the word "atrocities," which to me - a former professional editor and lifelong spelling and grammar snot - pretty much negates the whole thing.

I will, however, keep this opinion to myself.

Maybe.

Sock update

Work on the socks has slowed, although not halted. My husband and I have been building out a chicken enclosure so maybe we can get these pesky birds out of the bathroom.

Some vague, indefinable Vermont-ish line has been crossed with these chickens, I think. It's the line that separates the real Vermonters from the tourists and wannabees. Here's my proof:

We've been having trouble with our hot water heater. The stupid thing has been giving us sporadic problems for months, which makes it a bit of an adventure to take a shower. One never knows whether one will get an icy, needlelike spray, or water hot enough to parboil.

Often I will get both in the same shower, which would be enough to felt a lesser human.

The plumbers came yesterday; they chanted incantations and waved their magic wrenches and muttered terrible dark curses. They also made a ritual inspection tour of all our faucets, including the upstairs bathroom that contains the peeps.

I suspect a Brooklyn plumber could have dined out on a chickens-in-a-bathroom story for months. "Ya wuddn't believe what was in there, Paulie! F*&^ ing chickens! Live ones!"

Our plumbers? They didn't so much as bat an eye. Apparently, it is perfectly normal in these parts to find 46 live chicks in a bathroom.

I love Vermont.

In fiberish news: Not much to report. The socks march onward. The blanket is perhaps feeling somewhat petulant from lack of attention, but it's just gonna have to suck it up.

I am formulating a plan to spin, dye and then knit the yarn for a Bohus. The traditional Bohus yarn is a 50-50 mix of wool and angora, spun to a light fingering weight and then knit on teensy needles. American size 1-1.5 is about normal. I'll do a screen grab of one of my favorite colorways:

Amazing, isn't it?

There is a woman in Sweden, Solveig Gustafsson, who sells Bohus kits, authenticated and authorized by the official Bohus museum. I was tempted to get one, but this seems like the sort of spinning project I don't have enough brains to know I'm not quite ready to tackle. Sign me up.

My first task will be to card the angora and wool together. Thankfully this is not a heavy sweater, so using a high percentage of luxury fiber won't be too hideously expensive.

I'm flirting with the notion of throwing a teensy bit of silk into the mix. Perhaps a 40-40-20 blend? I love the sheen of silk and my notion is that if this yarn has some silk in it those yoke colors will be so vibrant and deep and rich they'll practically leap off the sweater.

Then again, there was no silk in the authentic Bohus. I am torn between wanting to honor tradition and wanting a truly vibrant sweater.

Screw it. One of the better reasons to spin and then knit is to get Exactly What You Want.

There will be silk in the Bohus.

So there.

Onward...

Socks, socks, socks

Well. The blanket has been put on hold for a couple of days. It still thrills me, I adore it... but for the moment, I must regretfully turn away from its charms. I seem to have been siezed by an inexplicable - yet utterly overwhelming - NEED to knit socks.

Not just plain socks, of course. Couldn't possibly commit myself to anything quite that rational, no, not me.

I knit plenty of plain socks. So many that I have my own Standard Sock Pattern No. 1 memorized, in several sizes and with several variants.

Could I content myself with that? Heck, no. What am I knitting? Hold your breath.

Sock No. 1 (almost done) along with Sock No. 2 (not quite so far along):

Fair Isle. Booties. Cotton. Toe-up. Afterthought heel. No pattern. Designed on the fly.

Clearly I need medication. No part of this sounds like a good idea. Why I am having so much fun with it is a great, great mystery.

The plan for the other sock is to use the same colorway in more or less the same proportion but different stitch patterns, so they will match but not match. Embrace the random, that's what I say. That, and I fear for what tiny bits of sanity remain to me if I try to precisely reproduce Sock No. 1.

Here's sock-in-progress, being modeled by its eventual wearer (that would be me). A polite reader would pretend that she doesn't see the bristly, unshaven ankles attached to the sock.

I like me some Fair Isle, I really do. But what made me think that a proper application for Fair Isle would be booties, in which ALL the freakin' Fair Isle that I have labored over will be hidden by my STUPID SHOES??? Yeesh. I think I've been overcome by the wool fumes.

Also plonking away at some rather fetching lace girly girl socks:

Made from some utterly luscious Koigu in a ridged Feather and Fan variant. Be still my heart. I am a bit annoyed at the rolling cuff edge - should have come up with a better plan for cast-on - but I figure it will either unroll itself during wear, or it's really a Design Element and I meant to do it that way.

Gotta love Design Elements.

There is another lace sock in progress, btw. The heel is turned, I am working my way through the endless gussets, it looks a lot more like a sock than the one in the picture.

And where is this much more highly evolved and photo-worthy sock, you ask? Um. Well. That's a very good question and in time I may have a good answer. Until then, let's just say that Sock No. 1 is in an Undisclosed Location.

You don't need to know.

Apparently, at the moment, neither do I.

The Sock Gods are playing a little trick on me, yes they are. I'm sure they will reveal the whereabouts of Sock No. 1 in the fullness of time. It may take the sacrifice of a live chicken, but it will show up. Sooner or later. Honest.

The sock gods might not have been in the mood for such naughtiness if I had knit with some of my handspun sock yarn. But, I have a wee tiny stash of commercial yarn from the time when I was a knitter but not yet a spinner, and most of it is very nice stuff that I feel I ought to be using for something.

OK, that was a lie, and a big fat bald one at that. My commercial stash is gigantic. Lovely, but gigantic, and poorly behaved. The stashbeast totally took over my walk-in closet and then oozed out into the bedroom, the living room and (though we need not speak of this) the kitchen. Add to that my growing handspun stash and you can see We Have a Slight Problem.

So, I am knitting socks with commerical yarn in an attempt to put at least my commercial stash on a bit of a diet.

I estimate that finishing these two pairs of socks will reduce The Beast by approximately 0.001%. But that is how we eat an elephant - one spoonful at a time.

Onward.