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.

On my way to see a friend

Her name is Jenny and she is a goddess. She already knows everything I ever wanted to know about spinning, plus a whole bunch of stuff I'm not smart enough to even know that I want to know about. When the ego gods get the better of me and I get to thinking I'm just all that AND a bag of chips as a spinner, all I have to do is think about Jenny's spinning and I am swiftly humbled.

She also knows oodles and oddles about natural dyeing, both the cooked-by-fossil-fuel method and solar. Plus, she's a fantastic knitter. And for those who really don't give a flip about the land of fibery goodness (I know you're out there. It's a big world.) she's an all-around fascinating person.

She's writing a book. I can't wait. Visit her blog, Spinning Spider Jenny - it's well worth the trip.

In other news, here's the blanket, still on the loom. So far, it has retained all its mysterious power to thrill me. I'm not sure what it is, but it is most certainly not Scottish plaid.

Can't wait to get this off the loom and get it fulled. The Harrisville warp should fluff up nicely. I like the contrast between the smoothness of the Harrisville and the nubbly Noro weft, I like the million different colors, I like the unpredictability of it all. Mostly, I like that it is Not. Scottish. Plaid.

Another picture, 'cause I'm just that pleased:

The first blanket I made was atrocious. I love it dearly but it's clearly akin to a kid's craft project made out of popsicle sticks and macaroni. Beautiful only to its creator.

Well, I've gotten a little better since then, and more importantly, my loom and I have reached detente.

My ancient Harrisville, well, to call it cranky would be generous. But through patience and understanding (and horrible cursing and a good swift kick when patience and understanding wore out) I figured out its little eccentricities and petty needs, and now we're getting along well. It still likes to try to slip a fast one in there once in awhile but I'm hip to its evil ways.

That's all for now. Maybe I'll have a finished blanket to show tomorrow, though more likely it will be Thursday. Maybe.