Pretending to Farm

It's a Fiber Fiber Weekend!

How was your weekend? Mine was good, full of baseball and fiber.

While Augie Ojeda, the Diamondbacks Teeny Little Super Guy was amassing eight RBI’s and bringing up his batting average to a stellar .370, I was a knitting and spinning fiend.

I finally finished spinning and setting the twist on the yarn from Cookie’s second shearing despite the fact that someone who is now banned from this house tried to throw out my roving. (A few Charlotte skeins are in the mix as well.) Oh, and pay no attention to that liquor on the sideboard. Other than the tequila which David pulled out to make chair-nap margaritas yesterday, it is rarely touched.

New yarn in hand, I revisited the Favorite Sweater Sweater just in time for 100 plus degree temperatures. Yes, I love heavy wool on my lap in the Sonoran Desert summer. Design-wise, I had planned on continuing the brown yarn from Cookie’s first shearing (yes, Shetlands change color) on the top of the stripes but decided I did not have enough yarn to do so. I think it still looks good, very rustic and earthy. Comments?

It’s a raglan sweater, knit in the round. I have never knitted a raglan sweater before and am a wee bit nervous about when the time comes for putting the sleeves and body together on one big circular needle. Raglan knitters out there, I could use your support.

Not content to stop spinning while my mojo was at its apex, I spun this llama yarn from roving I got last year at the Taos Wool Festival. I just love it. It was a joy to make and inspired me to spin more of this previously untried fiber as this was all I had. Yes, I am looking greedily toward Spartacus and hoping he will cooperate and let us relieve him of his fur. Soon.

Next, I turned my attention to this mess I dyed last year. The baby I was going to spin and knit for is probably in college already but, other than more brown wool roving, this was all I had clean and ready to spin. I love brown, I do; but I needed some variety. Plus, I think I want to experiment with over-dyeing the brown because I have nothing else to do other than 10,000 loads of laundry and a million hours of housework.

Despite the color variegation, at a glance it just looks chartreuse. I think I’ll three-ply it and try to sell it because I DON’T NEED ANY MORE PURPOSELESS YARN. I truly need to purge my stash and hopefully earn some gas money. Yes, I love my big diesel pickup truck. I only twitch a little when I spend $120 filling it up.

As the weekend ended, and HH was down for the count, I watched Borat and lost a lung laughing heartily but with some guilt for the poor souls that were punked by the man. I think I need to do extra good deeds today to get my karma on track, especially if I watch it again as I plan to do.

Happy Beltane Everyone. Have a wonderful week.

In Which All is Revealed

The last four days of playing professional laundress (except without the pay) has severely interfered with my spinning, knitting, and writing time. Honestly, if I had my druthers, which I don’t, I would spend 90% of my day doing something creative. Unlike other media that have eventually left me bored and drifting away toward another artistic outlet, both writing and “fibering” still leave me aching to do more and I find myself straining to stay awake each night trying to either knit one more row or write one more paragraph. It’s a blessing and a curse.

Yesterday morning, though, whilst both washer and dryer were running and every bit of laundry was either sorted and waiting to go into the machines, in the machines, or, best of all, out of the machines, folded, and put away, I finished plying the last of the wool for the Recreation of the Favorite Sweater Sweater. In the past, I had promised that all would be revealed in time and, yes ladies and gentlemen, it is time. (I’m sure you’ve been waiting with baited breath unable to sleep at night. I am here to relieve your suffering. You’re welcome.)

This is the Favorite Sweater. I bought it for Hunky Husband years ago as a Christmas gift. He loves it, the simplicity of it, its sole decoration being a few assorted stripes. He prostrated himself across the bed and cried like the baby he is when I told him the ink stain that he himself had put there would not come out. Not really, but he was majorly bummed out. “It’s my favorite sweater,” he moaned. This is when the rusty gears inside my head began turning and a plan was hatched.

Obviously, the Favorite Sweater is machine knit. In order to truly recreate it, I would have to knit it on size 0000 needles and it would take me from now until the end of time to finish. Perhaps, instead of a recreation, I would design an interpretation. I would knit it solely from yarn I would spin from the first shearings of four of our sheep, Charlotte, Leroy, Cookie, and Carmela (lambswool, I can’t say yum enough).

As of yesterday morning, they are all spun and I have everything I need (with perhaps the exception of time) to make David a new favorite sweater.

Here it is so far, overlaid with my homespun in the order of sheep written above. It is knit in the round (204 stitches a row) and is just shy of the raglan stopping point (where I stopper the cable, start on the sleeves, and once they are to the same point, join everything together to begin the raglan decreases, and finish the yoke). I am hoping to get it done by Christmas but Lord knows what domestic goddess I will be forced to impersonate next.

Plus, even though the yarn is all spun for this project, I can’t live without at least a little spinning and a certain baby I will someday be privileged to know is in utero and, once sprung, will need to be adorned with the softest handspun, made from hand-dyed merino wool.

This washed and dyed mess needs to be carded into
this roving which will need to be spun into hopefully lovely yarn and made into an adorable wee cardigan, cap, and booties. All will be revealed in time (C’mon, I needed to give you fellow fiberholics something to look forward to/lose sleep over).

The Softer Side of Leroy the Grey

Yesterday, I finally got around to washing the yarn I spun from Leroy’s first shearing. Lambswool, yum.

How do you like my twist-setting weighting system? Beer, it’s not just for breakfast anymore.

This morning, it’s all dry and ready to be a few stripes in the Recreation of the Favorite Sweater Sweater (and another project or two it hasn’t yet revealed to me; you did know the yarn chooses what it wants to be; the craftperson has no say in the matter).

Skeined up, it’s cued and ready for its best Busby Berkeley impression. Unfortunately for me, I don’t quite have Busby’s camera skills (or at the least I am too lazy to stand on a chair to get the full shot; hey, I’m potty training here; give me a break).

On to Charlotte… (all will be unveiled in due time).

Back to Taos

When last we met up with the arguably-dynamic duo of Robert and me, it was a beautiful Thursday morning in Taos, New Mexico. A good night’s sleep and an active chicken’s appearance had washed away the weariness associated with the road of unending construction and, showered and dressed, we ventured out of our room to see what a “hot entrée” entailed.

We were not disappointed. Whole wheat blueberry and banana pancakes dusted with powdered sugar, fresh orange juice, hot coffee, and an accompanying breakfast bar of fresh fruit, mild cheese, vanilla yogurt, and granola. Not only were we recovered after this, we were feeling better than when we had left home. Sufficiently sophonsified (sorry, I can’t remember how Margaret Atwood spelled it; see “Cat’s Eye”), it was time for our first workshop, “Spinning with Beads.”

I love workshops. In addition the scheduled curriculum, the classes are filled with at-the-least colorful and at-the-most interesting and informative people, fellow fiber fanatics who approach their craft in unique and, as I found out, far simpler ways than previously taught.

Most of us grasped beaded spinning quickly. It involves 30-pound test fishing line, the beads of course, and smooth roving (carded fiber lengths) to get the job done. String your beads onto the filament, break the roving you have begun making into yarn, and pop the beads on, holding them back whilst the wheel turns and then pushing them forward as the mood strikes. Gilding the lily is allowed and even encouraged.

One individual, however, had a challenging time. Marilyn, a cantankerous dynamo of a shepherdess from The Black Hills of South Dakota, Marilyn whose name tag identifying her name and home kept “Rocky Raccoon” playing in my head all day, could not get the beads to pop onto the bobbin of her wheel. Enter “Bead Boy.” Robert at his best as Marilyn’s assistant relished the attention he was receiving. He stood beside the increasingly grumbling spinner and manually moved the beads from the orifice (I know, it sounds filthy and way too anatomical) to the bobbin. He was her hero. He became everyone’s hero moving from spinner to spinner helping out as needed, stringing beads for the arm-length challenged, making decisions for the ambivalent, and more. As time passed, he graduated to “Bead Dude” and ideas as to his superhero costume were being thrown around. Robert was in his element and I joined in the revelry as his self-esteem blossomed and grew.

By mid-afternoon, we were about to begin another beaded project involving linen squares, crochet hooks, and fine beaded yarn, and I admittedly was beginning to feel the fatigue catch up to me once again. I was toying with calling it a day, heading back to our room, and taking a much-needed nap when a familiar scent wafted over me and a welcome voice whispered in my ear, “Now where is this “Eske’s” place?”

Fatigue, what fatigue? To the brewery!

Which one is more “gorge”ous? I know where my chad hangs.

Something in the Air Today, Hold On

The weather is teasing me as of late. On one hand, it has been another record-breaking summer full of broiling heat and very little rain. As of September 1, we had had 31 days over 110 degrees and the highest low in history, 91 wake-up-sunshine degrees. Yet, on the other hand, the morning temperatures are beginning to decline and I can sense just the slightest suggestion that autumn is trying to fight its way through. This morning it was a frigid 77 when I drove the boys to the bus stop. Be still my beating heart!

With the promise of fall comes an awakening of my soul and excitement for the months to come. Soon I will be able to receive as much ruminant therapy as my little heart desires, no matter the time of day. I will be able to give Charlotte her favorite treat of green grapes and gift the goats with a turning apple or ten. I will be able to knit wool items larger than socks or child-sized sweaters without my lap catching on fire. Once again, I will be able to dye roving, and God willing, spin that wool into one-of-a-kind yarn, full of the promise of what it will become. I am getting just a wee bit excited.

Speaking of knitting projects, I have my very first knitting commission, a Tasha Halloween costume! Apparently, we are not the only Backyardigans fans around. I designed the dress myself (after Tasha’s of course), a sleeveless deep orange a-line jumper decorated with pale orange slightly-variegated intarsia flowers. I checked and triple checked my math and agonized over colors, gauge, and needle size until I was as confident as someone of my ilk can be that the dress will not only fit and make a wonderful Halloween costume but also be a garment wearable throughout the fall and winter with the addition of a shirt underneath. As Pint’s Cowboy Tyrone sweater is complete other than a half a sleeve and the normal blocking, seaming, and neckline, I am just about ready to begin. Today will be the day.

Very few things nourish the soul like a sense of accomplishment and today I’ve reached my RDA. It’s a good thing, Martha.

In Which the Family Helps Out So I Can Actually Do Something

Hunky Husband (yes, Michelle, I have given in to the truth and David the Husband will now be referenced by this new moniker) is away playing middle-aged Easy Rider with our friend Scott from San Diego, only sans Peter Fonda and with BMW Adventure motorcycles instead of Harleys. Scott says nothing screams old, fat, and bald like a Harley but I think it is only because he is prejudiced in favor of his new toy. The two of them were meeting slightly west of midway between here and there and planning on getting dusty and dirty exploring the trails in the mountains of eastern San Diego County. Though not as hot there as it is here, it’s still too toasty to fit in with my idea of outdoor fun but boy will be boys. For not the first time in my life, I am glad the farm and its responsibilities are keeping me here

Before he left, he did a little turkey sitting so I could finish plying the yarn which I am now calling “Sunny Beach Day.” At first, Zorro did not know what to think of this whiskered mass of handsomeness; but, after a peck or two on the cheek in introduction, decided he would do just fine as substitute for his usual caretaker (me) and they settled down to watch another disastrous Dodgers/ Diamondbacks game together.

Earlier in the day, I had tried to finish the yarn with Zorro along but never could quite get comfortable with the rhythm of it. The cats were poised nearby in case I moved suddenly, knocking Zorro off my shoulder, and, in general, the whole fiber therapy motive was stymied.

Zorro, obviously, didn’t seem to notice my discomfort.

He didn’t mind me knitting either. He must be a fiber friendly turkey poult. That’s a good thing, Martha.

Although I still need to wash it and set the twist, here is “Sunny Beach Day.” I am hoping to have enough to make Pint a little zippered sweater jacket but might have to settle for a vest, probably a more usable item of clothing around here anyway. Most winter days it still gets up into the sixties by the afternoon. Wool, wool everywhere, yet not a climate for its use. Grrrr.

Speaking of grrr, contest #2 did not go quite as well as the first one. I guess people are more willing to come up with cleverness for sock yarn than a Home Depot gift card. Lesson learned, though I was just trying to include the non-knitters among you. Teresa, though she was the one and only to enter the contest, came up with a wonderful and a little too close to the truth at times admission and, for that, wins. Email me funny lady with your address and let me know where your interests lie for your wee surprise. You all forgot about the surprise, didn’t you?

Have a wonderful weekend everyone. I want to thank young David for turkey-sitting so I could type two-handed for the first time in days. I had almost decided it was time to give the blog a rest until my turkey rearing days have come to a close but his reprieve saved me and hopefully lightened your day as well.

Remember to keep on praying for wee Tom, though from what Beth tells me, he is lapping up all the attention he is getting at the hospital and beginning to think he is an only and much-indulged child.

Whiskers on Kittens

Last night, as I sat down to begin spinning Leroy No-Longer-Brown’s fleece, I found that, not only did it look like it had a lot of VM in it for fleece that had been professionally processed, it in fact did. After losing a few tedious hours to picking out every little scrap of hay, burr, and leaf, I decided to abandon my spinning for the night and haul out the drum carder this morning to re-process it.
This is not one of my favorite things. In fact, it’s exponentially more boring than watching grass grow and, if I didn’t have my trusty iPod, the littered fleece would take many moons to get through.

To counteract the fact that a good portion of my day has been devoted to do something very un-favorite, I thought I would list some of my favorite things, despite the absence of Julie Andrews and/or a highly-desired thunderstorm. So here goes (I’ve limited myself to three of each)…

Favorite Books:

Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
The Secret Life of Bees

Favorite Movies:

Ghostbusters (I know but I could watch it over and over.)
Chicago
Pride and Prejudice (BBC version with Colin Firth)

Favorite Blogs:

Confessions of a Pioneer Woman
The Yarn Harlot
The Panopticon

Favorite Blogs by People I Know (Cyberly):

Chocolate Sheep
Boulderneigh
Sheep Thrills Farm

Favorite Podcasts:

Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me
Sticks and String
Cast On

Favorite Television Shows:
The Office
The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Iron Chef America

There. I feel a little more balanced. I could have listed a lot more, particularly on the blogs and podcasts but I wouldn’t want to go too far in the favorite direction and feel all giddy while I drum card. I have my emotional, funk-prone reputation to keep up, you know.

By the way, there will be no blog post tomorrow as we go spend half the day at the dentist and then celebrate Jessica's 18th birthday together, as one happy (do you hear me, my offspring?!) family, even if it kills us all.

The Other Meaning of Tiananmen Square

I read the following in the NY Times this morning, triggering a flood of memories:

On June 4, 1989, Chinese army troops stormed Tiananmen Square in Beijing to crush the pro-democracy movement; hundreds - possibly thousands - of people died.

For most of you, the demonstration and massacre at Tiananmen Square is an historical event. It is for me as well but in a different way. At the time, my parents were visiting from their home in Hong Kong and I was heavily, as in 65 pounds gained heavily, with the child who would be Jessica. If I remember correctly, June 4th was my due date. I had just visited my OB/GYN and was told that nothing was happening, that I was not having this baby for at least another week, perhaps two. Determined to contradict him, the next day, David, Daddy, Mom, Meagan, and I went hiking the Kilimanjaro Trail at the San Diego Wild Animal Park and I went into labor that night.

So it was that on June 6th, as I was mid-labor, experiencing the worst pain I had ever endured, my father had to up and leave. Because of Tiananmen Square and the general unrest that was spreading throughout China, and because he was running a toy company (Tyco) that had manufacturing interests there, he had to return to Hong Kong for the good of the company. This was not for the good of my spirits and, I have to admit, for years I resented his action until one day my mother told me that the CEO of the company forced his return and Daddy had no choice in the matter. He was always a good soldier.

Although these were pre-cell phone days, I also found out that he had arranged with the doctors and nurses to keep in contact with him via the airlines and his plane’s pilot. And that is the way my father, and 200 some other passengers found out that I had given birth to a healthy 8 lb 4 oz girl minutes after it happened. Daddy always had a way of getting things done.

And there’s your piece of history for the day. Now for a few current goings-on here at Rancho Laurena…

Lost: The final baby turkey to the German Shepherds next door. We are sad; Lauren the Turkey is sadder. As I write, she is stubbornly sitting on more eggs, some of which are chicken-laid, in a persevering do-over.

Found: This snake skin in the feed shed. Oh, my. Methinks I will don my cowboy boots and keep a wary eye before farming in the future. I truly don’t care for creepy crawly things with no arms or legs, especially when they interfere with morning farm therapy. Snakes are not Zen-like in my book.

Discovered: Seaman Recruit Jessica walking into my bedroom at 10:30 last night. Freshly debarked from her Mexican cruise ship, she wanted to visit her family. I was delighted, shocked, and surprised. I couldn’t stop hugging her. It sure is nice to see her car parked in the driveway again, if only for a few days.

Finished: The spinning of Cookie’s first shearing (as you can see, I was experimenting with skein size). The color is called moorit and it is 100% lamb’s wool weighing a total of 1 lb 8.5 oz or 695 grams. That’s almost fourteen 50 gm balls which is very sweater-worthy.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must move on to Leroy’s fleece. For the first time ever, David the Husband has requested a sweater knit from a combination of our sheep and, being a good wife, at least knit-wise, I aim to please (and like to spin and knit, I’m not totally selfless, you know.)

INEBG- Part II, The Wolf-man Cometh, and Lazy Lar

I love being a farmer, albeit a pretend one; I truly do. Some mornings, however, I just want to lie in bed surfing the internet and drinking coffee and this is one of them. It is 6:30am. Although I have been awake for approximately an hour, I am still in bed, only arising for ablutions, med swallowing, and doggy doorman role play. I’ll get up for real soon; I promise. They yell at me and conspire against me if I don’t.

As planned, I over-dyed the Kermit yarn which, by the way, looked much lighter and brighter in real life than it did in the photo. Its colors ranged from chartreuse to Kelly, no Northwest landscape as suggested by dear Michelle. Nancy and Melanie liked it as well. Believe me girls, if you had seen it in person, it would have made you throw up in your mouths a little bit.

So I repeated all the preparation processes mentioned ad nauseam in yesterday’s blog. This time, however, I only added a center section of straight blue and a mixture of one part black and one part water around the edges. Obviously, it’s still green, but now looks like it was portrayed in yesterday's photo (I still can't get the color to match what it looks like in person), ranging from Kelly to Deep Forest. I like it and will use it though, despite appearances, four ounces of roving will only spin up enough for socks or perhaps a tam; it’s a good color for a tam. In honor of Michelle who praised its perceived beauty, I am naming it “Amity,” which is the lovely place she lives at the base of Mt Hood and which also means friendship, something she has given me in droves. Thank you, Michelle.

Carrie, I will get to your bright and sunny roving; I promise. Someday.

On Monday, I, in addition to standing over a stewing pot of wool in 100° heat, sweat dripping down my face, and feeling very Dickenesque, had a visit from the Wolf-man, laden with grocery bags of the brushed undercoats of his TEN rescued wolves. I don’t know about you guys but I’d have a hard time sleeping at night with ten wolves in my house. (He can’t let them stay outdoors at night. Their howling instinct takes over and all the children, and some adults, either have nightmares or start marching toward his home with sharpened pitchforks and flaming torches.)

The fiber is lovely, reminds me of Angora rabbit, but it is very short and I am not sure if it will work or not, but as I am obviously unafraid of failure due to experiencing it on a daily basis, I will give it a go.

After he arrived back home to his den, he and the pack sent some photos.

Now, I truly have to get out of bed and be a good farmer. I heard them drilling a while ago and one of them calling himself Major Major.

Aaaahwhooooo!

After spending most of yesterday in a growing puddle of my own tears, a la Alice in Wonderland, I received an intriguing email from my Giant Schnauzer Rescue friend, Julie, asking via a fellow rescue buddy if I would be interested in some free wolf fiber. My ears were perked. This is something new that I have not tried before; it is also more than a little unique, and, therefore, draws me like a magnet.

I wrote Julie back, inquiring about staple length. (For the non-fibrous among you, staple length is basically the length of a lock of fur or hair. If it is too short, it is difficult if not impossible to spin.) I received the following reply from John at Tundra Shepherd Rescue:

It’s not “hair” it is wolf wool. It is washed, carded and spun into yarn just like sheep wool. The yarn is very warm and knitted into sweaters, hats and other things.

Wolf wool is the undercoat of double coated “northern dogs” and keeps them warm on cold nights. The outer “guard hair” keeps them dry as it is water repellent and has oil on it for shedding dirt. The under hair (wool) is a very good insulator as the hair shafts are hollow!

Well. Why the Hell not? If it’s new and different, and not familiar to the general public, I’m all for it.

As David the Husband says, “If it sucks, you can put it in the garden. I bet that will scare the bejesus out of those bunnies.”

And I had my first laugh since my little girl drove away.