Knitting and spinning after geography, I promise.

Traditionally May Day Bank Holiday weekend (that’s the weekend just past, with holiday Monday) is the first weekend of the year when the urban/suburban British head for somewhere green. Many go for the garden centre option, where they can contemplate over-priced plants (£3.99 that’s nearly US$8 for a 6″ tomato seedling!) and water features while eating greasy food in the restaurant. Others clog the motorways heading for the great outdoors. Those with sense stay home. We… had a little sense. We left early, heading from Flatland up to the Dark Peak of Derbyshire to see whether our work in the gym was of any use at all In Real Life. As we drove north the landscape developed bumps and hollows and we became proper 3-dimensional people. From Edale we walked up Grinds Brook in company with many others, staying on the public right-of-way because the open moors were closed due to high fire risk.
I confess? announce proudly? that we passed all those people and more before we reached the top of the hill. I admit I’m not at all certain that it was wise to do so, but we’re too competitive for our own good. Something that must change if we’re too continue walking for pleasure, as our joints aren’t going to be able to sustain that level of activity much longer.
Born in Canada, I learned about England from books. I painted landscapes in my head based on the words of Dickens and Tolkien and the pictures of illustrators such as Pauline Baynes. Grindsbrook Clough could be part of Ettinsmoor (from the Chronicles of Narnia by C S Lewis); I kept a wary eye open for the giants who’d thrown all these loose rocks. Note the sculpted rimrock; that’s Millstone Grit, so named because it was used to make millstones. The top of the hill is vast and flat. Known as Kinder Scout, it’s famed for being difficult to navigate. We’d never been here before, and found its reputation well-deserved. High above the rest of the landscape there are few landmarks by which to navigate even on a clear day.
I should have thought to include someone for scale; that sandy-bottomed hollow in the peat is about 6′ deep. We never walk without a map and compass, so were able (with lots of, um, animated discussion because we’re not practiced compass-users) to find our route across the plateau. I thought of Mrs J often during the day, as the hills were alive with teachers escorting groups of students. Or searching like sheepdogs for their missing students. We were astonished by the degree of erosion up here, made starkly evident by the contrast of the underlying white sand against the dark peat. Where possible we stayed on the sand to spare the vegetation.
Those who walk here often would probably learn to recognise individual rocks. It may look like a sculpture park specialising in the work of Henry Moore, but grit-laden wind over many, many years was probably responsible for these works of art.
We did the walk we’d intended to do* and finished bloodied but unbowed at a pub in Edale. Where I realised that the back of my neck was sporting the worst sunburn I’ve had for 30 years. Where was that fairy godmother when I needed her?

I’d planned to knit while he drove back, but he voted for me to drive and had a second beer. So I knitted like fury the rest of the weekend. And did some spinning.

Now, this is a lesson I MUST LEARN, or rather REMEMBER. Pretty fibre does NOT necessarily yield pretty yarn. As the progression from short-repeat colourful roving through singles to 2-ply yarn proves. The pretty blues and greens are buried in that grey/pink band, visible only to those who peer at it closely. If I want to see clean, clear colours in the yarn, I must choose fibre with colour bands longer than the length of the fibres OR Navajo-ply the singles. In short, the roving was pretty, the knitted lace looks like something a cat threw up. Really, it does. At least in this house. Also, although the final yarn was reasonably balanced (no twist after washing), I think the singles was over-twisted. Memo to self: don’t be such a speed demon when spinning.

But I spent most of my time on The Purple Thing, as he calls it. I’ve never knitted this type of lace before and am now unable to think of much else. I wanna see the pattern. “Just one more round” I mutter as I notice the time. It’s now too big for its bag and like a hermit crab must crawl off and seek a larger home. That small ball of wool is about 1.5″ in diameter; it was once the largest of the three balls/2500 yds of laceweight. Larger than the ball next to it, which will be needed before the weekend if I can ignore the telephone, the computer, work, everything else.

Also: is Joanne’s book good news or bad news for her bank balance? Discuss.

* 64cm, that is to say 16km, a shade under 10 miles. Some of that was steep hill and at the end I felt we could have done more, so that’s not bad. For two c.50yo from flatland. I think we can start thinking about the Pennine Way.

I can’t resist them. Show me a hole in the pavement and I’m there, inspecting the bowels of the earth (aka water/sewer/electricity mains), looking for archaeology in the layers of history that form the sides of the hole. In knitting, a hole can be a bad thing (think moth or not if you can’t bear to) or a good thing. Either way, the absence attracts interest. This is true of people, too. Think of all the times you’ve wondered if so-and-so is alright when you realise you haven’t heard from them for ages. I’ve been neglecting a lot of stuff other than work because I’ve finally, FINALLY finished the unadorned stockinette section of the Seraphim^2 shawl. Spurred on by the delights of making holes, I’m now on chart 2. It’s going to take some time still; I doubt I’m halfway through and it’s already well over 600 stitches around. It’s failed to distract me from a strange, urgent need to work on the house and garden, though. I don’t know whether my subconscious just wants to have a pleasant summer in tidy, freshly decorated surroundings, or I’m foreseeing a need to be able to sell the place soon. That last might be wishful thinking… it’s a nice house, in a nice garden but it’s not the place we want to be and, who knows? Next month, next year, it may not be the place we need to be.

Spinning: on the wheel I’m still slogging through the alpaca/silk, aiming for lots (600m) of lightish fingering-weight 2-ply for a shawl. It’s teaching me stuff, about how to pay attention with my hands rather than my eyes, about the importance of prep (tiny lumps of alpaca and of silk become lumps in my singles, and there are still some guard hairs in the roving). But it’s soooooooo monotonous. I’ve sworn that I won’t spin anything else on the wheel until I’ve plied a bobbin-full, and that’s some way off. So while a large file was printing this afternoon I decided to try the tiny lignum vitae Golding I bought to spin lace. The roving is hand-painted silk/merino intended primarily for felters, like most of such stuff sold at craft fairs in the UK. I split the somewhat sticky length into four, pre-drafted a length three times, then spun the finest thread I thought I could manage. Now, I usually prefer the ‘Princess Twinkle’ twirl with my fingers to rotate the spindle – I can’t draft thick stuff fast enough to cope with higher speed – but this is when revving the spindle up your thigh is a good idea. The fine stuff just eats twist. I can go even finer now. It’s more fun than the wheel. Two completely different experiences.

What else is going on?
These are NOT swatches. They’re design notes. Dark blue is Rowan indigo cotton, at least 10 years old. Five minutes with it reminded me of the reason I abandoned the sweater: it’s harsh on the fingers, this stuff, and it stains me blue. I wouldn’t mind celtic knotwork in blue on my arms (I want a tattoo, a really good one, but he’s horrified by the idea) but blue fingers just suggest I forgot to wear gloves for something. Nonetheless I’ll send this sample to M to be abused so she can assess it as fabric for design. The grey…. ah, I’m truly, madly, deeply in love. With a yarn. How will I break this to my husband? The grey is darker than it looks, a light charcoal silk/linen blend from School Products. If I didn’t already have two 1lb cones I wouldn’t tell you where I bought it. Roughly the same weight as the cotton, possibly even more splitty, but so different in every other way. Softer, a little more elastic (the silk?), the fabric has a lovely drape and yet is crisp. Beautiful stitch definition. It’s not wool, but I’m really enjoying knitting it. I know what I want to make with this, I can see it in my mind’s eye.

The exuberant starburst flowerheads of this little white allium always remind me of fireworks. When they glitter in the spring sun I remember autumn and the smell of gunpowder. I can’t imagine life in a land without seasons.

* The crew that dug our own personal hole to put the new electric meter in said that almost everyone has to look. Some people apparently sidle up to the hole pretending they’re not interested, not them, just another annoyance in their lives, but the guys working IN the hole can see they’re really trying to work out what’s going on in the hole whilst still appearing to be adults. I’m not proud: if the people in the hole look the least bit friendly, I’ll ASK them what’s going on.

It’s grey and just that bit too damp to put the washing out. On the other hand, after considerable expenditure and about a fortnight of hard labour in the garden, we might be able to sit outside next weekend and, well, just sit and contemplate our accomplishments. I think the electricians have finished with us bar submitting the final bill; the house is festooned with green&yellow earth wire and little silver tags that advertise the fact it is PME (whatever that is), and the new electricity meter is sitting in a box! on the outside! of the house instead of nestling at the back of the cupboard in which we store all our alcohol. I look forward to NOT seeing the expression on the meter-reader’s face as I open the cupboard doors. That involved digging 15m of trench 45cm deep, laying duct for the power line and covering the whole lot when they’d finished. I learned how they connect a new cable to the existing supply *while it’s live*, which is rather cool. I’d hoped for fireworks, but the chap just looked at me strangely and said “Not on Friday the 13th!”. We spent this weekend replacing the rotted ex-railway sleepers that retained one of the flower beds with new solid sleeper-size chunks of French oak. I ordered these while he was away, because I had a cunning plan for a few more. Which worked:
Our garden from my workroom window. At one end of the bed there are now four chunks of oak standing upright, forming a partition/break. For what it’s worth, placing those was much easier than we thought, given that each full-length piece must weigh c. 50kg. Note the new path, too. The blue tarp covers spare soil that must be disposed of together with the old sleepers. Which will be expensive: creosote is now a banned substance, so the sleepers (bits of which are still solid because they were soaked in it) are considered hazardous waste.

All that and knitting, too!
FO: Monsoon Socks, from Blue Moon Fiber Arts Rockin’ Sock Club.
Knitted exactly to the pattern, with sole and instep on 2mm needles, leg on 2.5mm. I could just about have managed the whole thing on 2mm, but I couldn’t consistently knit the cable round loosely enough on the leg. So, after two rounds I ripped back to the heel and changed to 2.5mm.
I am excruciatingly pleased with these. I’ve learned how to do an hourglass? toe (start at the sole with my first-ever provisional cast-on, short-row down to the toe, then pick up the short rows as you increase back up to instep width. Then rip out the cast-on and start knitting rounds as you head up the foot. As it were.). I’d never thought of garter stitch toes/heels; they’re extremely soft. The yarn is BMFA mediumweight, the thickest sock yarn I’ve knitted (incidentally, I’m intrigued by the variability of the patterning on the completed socks. Scroll through the others posted in the gallery). I love the feel of the yarn as I knitted it, woolly and resilient, and I love the cozy fabric it made. I love the colours, I love the intricate, witty pattern… I’m bouncing slightly as I type, I love these socks so much!

The next pair is (of course) already on the needles. This is SWTC ‘Tofutsies’, bought because the ingredients sounded interesting (soy silk? chitin??) and it was on sale. I can confirm reports of its ‘splittiness’, but it’s not too bad in straight knit/purl. M1 was a pain. It feels thin, but apparently will bloom a bit when washed; there were lots of comments for/against this yarn on Wendy’s blog, so I reserve judgement. I’m certainly not that keen on the colour patterning. This is the first ‘mechanically’ coloured/patterned sock yarn I’ve knitted, and I much prefer the subtleties (or not) of hand-paints. Never mind, live and learn. I’ve also bought some fabric to drape and cut into pattern pieces for a summer top I want to design. I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye, I just have to work out how to knit the thing. Some of it’s sideways :-) And I’m working intermittently on the Seraphim I started months ago. It’s a purple/blue jellyfish c. 520 st in circumference; only two more rows before I start the pattern charts. And find out if my calculations of stitch count to add a repeat were correct. I felt such an ass, I made so many mistakes working that out.

The US/UK exchange rate is very favourable at the moment, which means I’ve wasted far too much time coveting yarns available only in the US. I got as far as drafting an email order to Habu, told myself not to be greedy then, 15 minutes later, I was making notes of rovings I want from Crown Mountain Farm (this last is all HPNY‘s fault!). I’ve been wondering why I (and at least a few other bloggers) are so easily tempted by fibre when I am generally able to resist the siren song of anything other than books. It’s got something to do with price: fibre is a relatively cheap habit, especially if it’s to be hand-spun AND hand-knitted. It’s got something to do with potential, the possibility that I can produce something truly beautiful from this as-yet unformed stuff. But most of all (for me) it’s the colours and textures of the handpaints: true artistry makes me covet colours I normally hate, and I want to run everything through my hands. I think some of these yarns are speaking the same language as the art on our walls and the sculptures in the garden. I love undyed fibres too (my alpaca/silk makes me so happy), but I suspect I’ll always have my nose stuck to the sweetshop window, greedily eyeing the pretty colours. “I want one of these and one of those… wait, there’s no point in having just one, it’s not enough to make anything. Three of these and three of those and, oh, wow, I could make a sweater of that…”)

In addition to all the socks I’ve knitted for myself to date, I present my most recent extravagance as evidence for the above. This is handpainted silk top from Carol Weymar, the Silkworker. Just checking that URL has revived my greed. I must be strong, I will not succumb, I will think about what I’ve already bought. On the left a pink/purple/orange that is far outside my colour comfort zone, but I know at least two people who would love a scarf or shawl as beautiful as that. On the right, something for me. Black and chestnut and grey and brown and gold.
And here’s a reminder of other beauties. Spanish bluebells in Saturday sunlight.
Please may I have some sock yarn in those colours?

That’s what he said I must be when, last night, I cast on for the BMFA Sock Club ‘Monsoon’ Socks almost as soon as I’d finished the Amber Monkey socks. I delayed only to cook/serve/eat dinner and wind the Monsoon skein into balls. He said it again this morning, when I abandoned my book for the socks as soon as I’d eaten breakfast. But look, they’re so interesting! I hadn’t tried garterstitch toes and heels, I’ve never ever done a crochet provisional cast-on before. And the yarn is delightful, soft and bouncy.

FO: Amber Monkey socks.
Pattern: ‘Monkey‘, free from knitty.
Yarn: ‘Seat by the fire’ from A Piece of Beauty.
Modifications: Knitted both at once on two circs rather than DPNs; leg/instep on 2.5mm, heelflap, sole, toes on 2mm. I tried to adapt the pattern for toe-up, but I don’t think it’s possible (there’s an earlier post about this). If I knit them again, I’ll try for one more pattern repeat on the leg. The toe is reduced from 32/needle to 14st/needle, then grafted; it works, but the end result seems very square albeit I haven’t noticed a difference in fit. If I do this type of toe again I might try to remember to start a row or two earlier and do the same shaping I do for toe-up.
He said he couldn’t believe I’d be willing to wear these socks. I asked why (somewhat belligerently), expecting a comment about the colour (M absolutely HATES it), but he said they appeared far too complex and valuable to be exposed to wear. Strange; I think this is a straightforward, easily memorised pattern.

If you’re cold, put on socks. That’s what they’re for.
With apologies to Brenda Dayne :-)

Home Sweet Home :-)
I’ve forgiven him the photo of a yarn shop window; he brought back a tin of maple syrup (we were running low), a dinky little bright green ipod shuffle (the cord on my old one is absolutely disgustingly sweat-stained), and 2 skeins of qiviut. And a lot of washing. These socks are perfect in circumference, but still slightly too long. I may just knit a toe or two to see how difficult it would be to open the toe, shortening it by ripping back about 1.5cm, then grafting it closed.

The airport was an ideal opportunity to knit. Lots of progress on the Amber socks.
The heel is turned using K2tog/SSK instead of wrapped short rows. It seems to be a simpler method, worth remembering. I’m following the instructions as written, which resulted in a tiny pointed heel (visible on the sock I’m not wearing) but that won’t show when they’re worn. I’m working as fast as I can on these, as there are so many other things I want to knit — including the seriously interesting BMFA Rockin’ Sock Club ‘Monsoon’ socks. I’ve seen a lot of pictures and it’s really, really hard not to just cast on. But the rule seems to be only one pair of socks per person on the needles at any one time. I suspect the Tuesday spinners/knitters have accurately diagnosed my addiction: Lynn started calling me ‘Professor Sock’ last week when yet another person asked for advice on sock-knitting! I also want to try a rib-warmer; I think it won’t entirely suit me (too square), but I like the idea.

Anyway. I don’t really mind the long drive to and from the airport (Gatwick this time). His car is comfortable, has decent speakers, and I allow lots of time for the journey; there are always queues and delays. At least this time I had time to admire the view from the top of the bridge at the Dartford crossing. Airports are strange places. Like railway stations and, to a lesser extent, Tube (Underground) stations, they’re what’s the word, I can’t think of it marginal? Liminal. That’s the one. Places defined by their existence between other places. I like the feel of transience, unreality, liminality. Spending an hour (I was early and the flight was late) knitting socks in the coffeeshop by Arrivals, I was a stationary object, a landmark in the constant flux, the flow of people arriving, greeting and being greeted, and departing again. I moved to the edge of the Arrivals area for the next hour (the monitors were broken so I didn’t know when they’d clear Customs) and began knitting the travelling scarf that lives in my bag for times like these, when I have to knit without thought.

This is the curicura silk from Habu, bought at Alexandra Palace 2006. Habu’s photo colur is off, mine is more accurate. It’s peculiar stuff. At times I feel as though I’m knitting microscopic filaments of spun gold; at others I think I’m knitting glass fibre loft (attic) insulation. I haven’t decided yet whether this is going to be a strikingly elegant and characterful scarf to be worn with expensive assymetric designer clothes… or a striking mistake to be unravelled and used for something else. I was almost sorry when I saw him finally materialise and we had to leave :-)

and very, very educational. If you like this kind of thing.
I recently revealed the Ugly Yarn, a mottled skein of orange and blue and white created by plying a singles of random lengths of blue, orange and white with a singles of blue. I decided to try Navajo plying to see if that made a more attractive pattern.
My first and second efforts. My word, but that takes coordination! 30 minutes once a day will be ample exercise for my brain. I thought the patterning, the neatly defined blocks of colour, much more attractive. In the skein. It’s the knitting that counts.

On the left, the Ugly Skein. On the right, the Navajo-plied skein. I, er, I quite like the Ugly Skein heathering. The bright, clear striping of the NP yarn does nothing at all for me in those colours, although I can see that being able to force striping could be useful. The coolest thing is the difference in the texture of the fabric, and the skeins, for that matter. The standard 2-ply is a nice, soft knitted fabric. The NP on the other hand has bounce! The added twist makes it seriously sproinggy. (I completely messed up my third attempt at NP’g by neglecting to think through how the brake would affect bobbin speed, resulting in a yarn of such lively sproingginess it almost leapt back out of the rubbish bin before the lid closed.) Apparently if the singles is well-spun and even, the little knot-equivalents where the loop begins aren’t noticeable in the final yarn. I may try this on the sole of my foot, as (spun and plied correctly) I think this yarn would be both soft and hard-wearing.

This was so much more interesting and exciting than the work I should be doing that I decided to reward myself with something more attractive than blue, orange and white. I pre-drafted a length of the very felted hand-dyed finger-wide roving I bought last September at Alexandra Palace, and dug out the dyed silk top that I’d thought would look good with it.
That’s a bobbin of the singles spun from the merino (note the intensity of the colours) with the silk top at bottom right. When I’d spun half the weight of the roving I started another bobbin using the rest of the roving, randomly mixing in lengths of silk top. The result can be seen to the right in the photo below. The pale silk has diluted the intensity of the colours (contrast with bobbin on left or above). Verrrrrry interestink.
And in the middle is what I got by plying these two together. I knew the added silk was making the second singles thicker than the first, but I was nonetheless surprised by the bulk of the end result. I thought I was spinning more finely than this, but perhaps the merino was reverting a bit to the crinkled mess it was in the roving. I don’t really care. It may be thicker than I’d expected, but it’s very pretty. I’ve got about 10 or 20m of the pure wool singles left, so I’m plying that with pure silk. It’s very pretty too.

* even more fun than duct tape, and it doesn’t smell of plastic.

I wonder who will be deeply disappointed when Google offers them this? Best not to know.

Now, if I’d just thought to have a couple of empty wine bottles in the frame… but the recycling was collected that morning :-) They are seriously weird things, though. Much more humanoid in their imperfections than a dressmaker’s dummy will ever be. Joanne asked whether the duct tape dummy can be amended? stretched/allowed to shrink? to match changes in the original; I’d guess not. They’re flexible, but not in that way. The flexibility is one of the weirdnesses.

Lots of websites have illustrated instructions; here’s one describing several different methods to make what looks far more professional than mine, here’s the one that inspired my efforts, and here’s a use for any you no longer need.

In short, you start by finding a couple of old t-shirts (one to wear, one to cut to add length and a neck) and buying some duct tape. Two large rolls (20m) are ample. I wasn’t certain whether our local DIY builder’s merchant’s ‘cloth tape’ was the right stuff, so asked one of the counter staff if this (brandishing roll) was duct tape aka gaffer’s tape. He said he didn’t know those names, but it was the stuff that sticks to everything. I decided NOT to describe the intended use. Be sure you’re wearing a bra that supports you as you wish to be remembered. If you don’t need a bra, I HATE you. Start with strips that ‘lift and separate’ realistically, and some to define the under-bust neatly. Then just wrap, snugly but not too tight. We took care to have at least two layers of tape everywhere, and up to four on places that were likely to see some wear such as the bottom (you know, hem area) of the dummy.
I got done first and at this point neither of us could stop laughing. I just wish the other rolls had been black, too.
The wrapping took about 45 minutes. When finished, mark centre front, armscyes and centre back with indelible marker (M’s suggestion), then cut up the back with sharp scissors taking care not to cut the bra strap. There’s a strange sense of relief when you’re released, but the support provided by the taping is quite pleasant. I didn’t find it too hot in there, but it was a cold day.
I posted the other photo first so you KNOW the dummy is splayed open at the back. My hips are not that wide! Note that M also marked the finish point for the v-necks I should be wearing. Then I did hers, which is now named ‘Jane’. Then I was asked to demonstrate how a spinning wheel works. M avows no desire to spin (and I believe her), but wanted to understand the mechanism, so after a brief explanation I left her with fibre and wheel and went to see what dinner was doing. End result: her first-ever handspun (yellow), which she plied with some of my first wheelspun (blue).

After dinner we sat around discussing knitting patterns. M is a costume maker working for film and TV, with a very strong sense of fashion and some strong likes/dislikes. It was a very interesting, thought-provoking discussion :-)
I brought out Barbara Albright’s ‘The Natural Knitter‘, which has been favourably reviewed on several blogs by people saying most of the patterns are eminently knittable (I want the Nora Gaughan’ ‘Architectural Rib’ sweater. how can I resist the name, let alone the cables?), and ‘Norsk Strikkedesign‘, which contains several patterns that make my fingers twitch almost uncontrollably as I imagine the fair isling. M commented that ganseys, jerseys, arans and fair isle are too 70s, too rectangular to be flattering to any normal person, and too heavy to be worn for anything except a brisk walk on a cold day. You know what? She’s right. What I realised is that I DON’T CARE. I hadn’t really thought this through, but I knit most stuff because I want to make it, in the same way that a sculptor wants to create a sculpture or a musician wants to make music. I want to knit cables and fair isle because I want a challenge, and because I think the end result is a work of art beautiful in itself. And I will wear the garment not because I think I look good in it, but because I think the garment is worth looking at in its own right as a work of art and I’m proud (oh, how I hope I am) of it. I must remember that I make this peculiar distinction between art and clothing-that-fits, and that I need/want both. And to bear it in mind when, as one does, I see someone wearing a hand-knit that does absolutely nothing (or even worse) for them as fashion or clothing.

We talked of the ways in which aran or fair isle patterning could be shaped for more attractive fittings and the problems therewith; I wish I’d thought to show her Rogue, in which the designer changes the flow of cables to provide waist shaping. The only patterns that she thought were both interesting and wearable, some even desirable, were in my copy of Jamieson’s of Shetland ‘Simply Shetland 3‘ which contains some intriguingly constructed elegant sweaters, jackets and capes as well as the more traditional fair isle.

Now we have our dummies we’ve decided to experiment with a hybrid fabric/knitting techinique. Over the next few weeks I’m going to knit some largish swatches in interesting yarns. Nothing too fine — I haven’t time — but I have some lovely grass-green hemp 3-ply that could make an interesting loose tunic top/sweater in a fairly open mesh, as well as a giant pullover’s-worth of ancient Rowan indigo cotton DK. I’ll post the swatches to M, she’ll wash them and compare the drape with bulk cheap stockinette. When she’s reasonably confident she understands how the handknit will shrink and how it behaves as fabric, then she’ll cut pattern pieces that I will in theory knit to shape. And post them to her to make up. We’ve both been carefully analysing the expensive designer clothes we love and can’t afford to buy, and this is how the knitwear pieces have been constructed: carefully shaped machine-knit pieces sewn together into a garment. We’ll start simple and see what happens :-)

Well, it is. It looks better in the photo than In Real Life; the reddish chair emphasizes the blues. I won’t knit with it – the Freecycler can have it – but I’ve learned a lot during the 2-3 hours made flesh, er, yarn sitting beside me. At this stage, new to wheel-spinning, I much prefer the drop spindle. Even at a slow speed, feeding fibre evenly and regularly (for some values of ‘even’ and ‘regular’) to the wheel occupies so much of my attention that I haven’t time to properly appreciate the fibre itself as it passes through my hands. The merino-silk on the spindle will not be moving to the wheel any time soon; I want to enjoy the nuances of colour and texture as I spin it. I’m sure that will change as experience improves my drafting. I notice that last night the experienced spinners, the 20-year-plus people, were not watching their fibre — their hands dealt with it efficiently while their attention went to conversations and appreciation of other people’s work. As opposed to the other side of the room surreptitously passing a copy of ‘Naughty Needles‘ from hand to hand. I do feel that knitted underwear is a waste of time and luxury yarn for anyone other than beanpole models; don’t the purl lumps leave unsightly blemishes on one’s tender bits? And I don’t need a giant owl-ish condom holder! (What would that say about the owner? the knitter?). Anyway, I have miles of blue and yellowish BFL roving left to teach my hands to feed the wheel. I will try Navajo plying to see whether eliminating the barber-pole effect makes much difference, while concentrating on thoughts of spinning something nicer when I deserve it. Speaking of which, he rang yesterday from the next stage of his voyage. Apparently he felt he needed some exercise in Salt Lake City, so walked to Black Sheep Wool (no website) despite (he said) knowing it was closed that day. He’s taken pictures of the shop window for me. *sigh* In the next city my sister-in-law, hearing that I was learning to spin, insisted he join them at the farmers’ market to visit the stall selling beautiful hand-dyed yarn and roving from local alpacas. He says he didn’t know whether I’d want any, so didn’t buy any. I’m hoping he’s just pulling my leg…

There’s knitting, too, but not enough to be worth documenting with photos just yet. I’m trying to reverse-engineer a garter lace design for a scarf made of my alpaca-silk singles. I knitted enough to realise that it’s a delightfully soft yarn, but is blooming as it is worked, if bloom is the right term for individual alpaca and silk fibres working free of the twist. The halo obscures the flowing stitch pattern I’d earmarked for that rusty-steel grey, and the yarn thickness is a little too uneven for it. So… find a more open lacy stitch for the singles and make a note that plying should reduce the halo. I can see that it’s possible to spend hours? days? working with a single batch of fibre, making it serve different purposes. Socks are proceeding. And I’m thinking about a summer top. It would be easier to make it fit if I could see it on me as an observer, walk around it and note details. Hence the cunning plan for tomorrow. There may be pictures.

Have another weird thing.
We’ve woken to extremely cold, extremely dense fog every morning so far this week. After scraping ice off the windscreen I drive to the gym through a dusky, cold, blue, very personal world, a travelling sphere of perception. I like this reminder that each of us lives in a world defined by our individual perception, by what we believe we see, feel, taste and hear. I enjoy considering the possibility that as I drive into the fog I encounter only what I expect to encounter, that my mind is pulling the road, the hedges and everything else into being to meet my expectations. I particularly like the conceit that if my will and mind were strong enough, I could drive into the fog and be… somewhere else. Would it be possible if I didn’t know it were impossible?

Two hours Sunday morning:
Can you see the difference? I can’t either. Except for ‘A’ which is where I removed the giant dandelion that’s been mocking me all winter. ‘B’ is an olive tree that’s survived outside for the last 10 years. Just barely; it would help if I remembered to water it occasionally. Even an olive tree needs some water when planted in a tub. ‘C’ is the path to our door, which is beautiful in an architectural way but extraordinarily ugly if viewed as a functional item. Something Will Be Done about this soon.

Two hours Sunday afternoon:
In a manner of speaking. I have to confess (because this is a place for honesty: the magnitude of my achievements is best appreciated by contrast with the depths of my stupidity) that two hours of Saturday afternoon were required as well. I had planned to spend that time spinning, getting to grips with the wheel, but I could NOT get the yarn to build up on the bobbin. The twist built until the yarn broke, but I just couldn’t persuade the bobbin to rotate. Or so it seemed. I tried everything I could think of, finally rang P&M Woolcraft from whom I bought the wheel (very, very nice people) to explain the problem, adding that the fault was undoubtedly mine, but I’d be very grateful if someone could spare 5 minutes to show me what I was doing wrong. I raced over with the wheel, arriving at 1545 (they close at 1600) and yes, it did take only 5 minutes. For some reason I was expecting this wheel to ‘pull’ the way the Ashford Joy at Handweavers’ did. That wheel almost ripped the forming yarn from my fingers. This one doesn’t, I have to be more sensitive and feed the yarn to it gently. I practiced sensitivity and gratitude by buying 250g of bamboo roving and about the same again of tussah silk (I’ll be ready for it one day, I swear.), as well as the new Interweave ‘Favourite Socks‘. Must… knit… faster…

I was going to ply this lot tomorrow, but Alden Amos says it’s best to wind newly spun singles onto another bobbin before plying, so I’ll do a shuffle of yarn on bobbins tomorrow and then find out what it looks like plied. I’m fairly sure I’ll dislike the stripiness, although I have thought of a yarn I should be able to make with these colours that could make socks. Even if BFL socks won’t last very long! But I may have found a home for yarn I make that’s of decent quality even if I hate the colours: a local Freecycler has just asked for yarn and any tools used in fibre arts. I’ve asked for more details.

Have another photo.
Nestled behind the bobbins is one of my cherished ‘hose in hose’ double primroses. These are reputedly Elizabethan in origin, hence the name. They’re not entirely happy in this garden; I usually manage to keep three or four plants by dint of frequent, careful division and replanting. Meanwhile the common ‘wild’ primrose is marching along the borders smothering all before it in a mass of pale yellow flowers.

Another two hours today and you can see a difference in the garden: two inches of bark mulch covering the remains of my battles with the weeds. Oh, and my left knee is twingeing unhappily. Never mind, if I can’t go to the gym I can always knit instead. Anyone else think getting up at 0515 to knit is a cunning plan?

1. Choosing gifts for people I don’t know. By definition my stash is a store of yarn I like, I want to keep. I don’t like all of it as much as I did when I bought it (I think there is something in the ‘wool fumes’ theory explaining impulse purchases), but nonetheless yarn in the hand is worth more than yarn that might materialise in the future. Gift-giving ties me in knots, I’m not sure why. I love giving gifts – I suspect that somewhere inside my head a lonely sub-teen is still trying to curry favour with possible friends – but I lack judgment. My exasperated husband tells me I frequently over-do it. If I’ve done so again, I apologise. But I still hope that at least one thing in the parcels made you unexpectedly happy. Don’t eat all the chocolate at once!

2. Loneliness. Don’t get me wrong, I like being alone. Until my third year at University I happily contemplated an entire life alone, full of solitary adventures. And then, completely unexpectedly, I was no longer alone, and I haven’t been alone much for the last 28 years. Alone sometimes seems a highly desirable place to be, especially when faced with five foolish questions/demands in as many minutes. Now, equally unexpectedly, ‘alone’ has become ‘lonely’. Despite Dyson’s best efforts, this house is empty. The bed is mine, all mine, but a hot water bottle is just not the *same* as a person. I don’t like this vulnerability. Three weeks will be the longest we’ve ever spent apart. There’s a reason socks come in pairs, and this pair is being knit with more love than desperation.
Being a grown-up, I know the best cure is to keep busy, so the socks and I spent yesterday evening with the Tuesday Evening spinners. I took my wheel, hoping for that quiet happy place that spinners seem to inhabit, but instead the entire time passed in a blur of casting on for toe-up socks (on two circulars at the same time, started separately and fed onto one circular, on one circular to demonstrate ‘magic loop’), knitting a few rows, then discarding what I’d done right to work out what someone else hadn’t done quite so right. It was lively, it was good, and I need to knit like the wind to demonstrate heels on two socks on two circulars next week. This has come as a great surprise; I honestly expected to sit quietly learning at the feet of the masters rather than passing on what seems to be an unusual skill here.

Sunday was a great treat, a vaguely fibre-related geology expedition. Sometime during the Cretaceous period (65-135 million years ago), southern Britain was not only nearer the latitude of the Bahamas (an attractive thought, it’s COLD today), there were volcanos in the vicinity. The precise location isn’t known, but layers of volcanic ash tell us they were there. Over time the chemical composition of some of this ash altered to become Fuller’s Earth the second link is a PDF with more technical info. Until recently there were open-cast mines near Woburn, Bedfordshire, but our expedition visited Aspley Heath to view the remains of much older mining activity.
The person is standing in one of many hollows scattered throughout this conifer plantation. Each hollow was once a bell-pit mine, a shaft sunk 60-70 feet straight down through sands and other sediments to reach the layer of Fuller’s Earth. When the miners reached it, they cut down and out to all sides, creating a bell-shaped pit from which they removed Fuller’s Earth until the pit collapsed or threatened to do so. I suspect a fair number of people died in these pits over the centuries. Why? At the time these pits were active (from the late 19th century and earlier. The industry is documented in the area in 1536), it was needed to absorb oil and dirt from wool as woven cloth was ‘fulled’, slightly felted to thicken it. There’s a good explanation here. Technically ‘felt’ and ‘felting’ involves matted fibres alone. When we ‘felt’ knitted goods, we’re actually fulling them.

Today Fuller’s Earth has many uses, including fine, lingering dust for theatrical ‘explosions’, in refining oils, papermaking, foundry casting, as drilling mud, and as an important constituent in cat litter. And what does this magic material look like?

It’s about the same hardness as blackboard chalk. Very, very, very fine texture (think of the total surface area of all the miniscule particles – that’s what makes it so absorbent). Strange feel on the teeth, not at all gritty, but more character than silt. Yes, I like to eat rocks. Is that weird? Am I winning yet?