A Latvian Design

Day 72: I don't recall where I found this design, but I copied it down in my own weaver's shorthand on a sticky note, and taped it inside the front cover of an inkle-weaving book. I've made several iterations of it in different colours (this is my favourite combination) and using a variety of techniques including inkle and backstrap. Despite looking rather complex, it is a very easy pickup pattern. The threading is 2 red, 2 green, 2 yellow, 2 blue, 2 yellow, 1 green, 1 yellow, 1 green, 2 yellow, 2 blue, 2 yellow, 2 green, 2 red (a total of 23 threads), and is threaded in the normal fashion (hole/slot/hole/slot, etc.). The two single green threads near the center are manipulated every third pass, either pushing them down out of the way when they're in the upper layer of the shed (leaving the red to appear as a dash), or lifting them up from underneath when they appear in the lower layer of the shed. The band is functionally identical front and back. I was uncertain how pickup weaving would behave on the tape loom given that one changes hands with each pick, but actually, it's the same as weaving it with a backstrap loom, and not at all difficult or awkward.

Daisy

Day 71: Let me introduce you to Daisy, who has occupied the better portion of today. She came to me as a Christmas gift, at least in part, thanks to a generous gift certificate to Eugene Textile Center. She's an older lady, a 36" LeClerc Artisat, and although she appeared to have a few minor emotional problems, they were nothing we couldn't solve on the spot. I still have to tidy her up a bit, install bumpers for the beater, add additional heddles and we'll be ready to weave! She replaces my Schacht table loom, by virtue of having more working space between the breast beam and the shafts. She has a "ledge" for guiding a boat shuttle, two of which were also part of the gift, along with a bobbin winder. Finding her brings to a close a two year long search for a loom this size.

Solstice Tidings

Day 70: Dance the Holly! Dance the Mistletoe! The Light is now returning and dark nights swiftly go! A good Solstice to you, my friends. It won't be long before my body begins to recognize the lengthening days with a lifting of my spirits, and shortly after that, my head will recognize the change even though it only brings a few minutes of extra daylight. I have always been closely attuned to Nature, something I inherited from my father who could feel the changing of the seasons in his bones. Within two weeks, I'll say, "Hmmm...it's lighter out tonight" when I close my drapes in the evening, or "Brighter this morning" at dawn although the sun will undoubtedly be hidden behind cloud. Nature continues her deep sleep, but Solstice finds her dreaming of leaf buds and rising sap. Her eyelids will flutter as the crocuses emerge, to fully awaken with the daffodils. Spring is coming. Hold onto that hope, and dance the Solstice with me.

Christmas Cat House

Day 69 (bonus): Merry likes the Christmas Cat House, a soft-sided, padded "cat tent" with a cushy pillow inside. He assures me it's a big improvement on the Time-Out Box (his carrier) which has been his private space for months now. Y'see, sometimes when he knows he's going to get into trouble, he voluntarily puts himself in solitary confinement until the mood passes. However, this morning was exceptionally stressful for him because Mama was moving furniture to make room for a new (used) loom which will arrive some time fairly soon. That's a story for another day, though. This is about a little cat-cat who doesn't like the status quo being disturbed. No cat does. After expressing his displeasure by repeatedly attacking my thigh (a series of events which resulted in his being confined to the bathroom for half an hour), he decided it was just better to spend some time in the Cat House, no redaction necessary.

Russula Identification

Day 69: I have to tell you a story...

Russulas are fairly easy to identify as a genus. They're usually big. They generally have a coloured cap and a white stipe (stem). They tend to be brittle, and their gills are large and loose. Edible Russulas have a slightly fishy taste and, as you may already know from my previous posts, the well-known "Lobster mushroom" is actually the overgrowth of a different fungus on a Russula. Cap colour in Russulas can be tan/brown, and those types can be a little difficult to identify down to "species," but a pinkish-red or a purpleish-blue one surmounting a white stipe pretty much says, "I am a Russula," when the other factors are taken into account. Russula emetica is pictured above. The scientific name tells you all you need to know about its edibility, i.e., it has potent emetic powers.

My mother introduced me to mushrooming when I was in my 20s. I assumed she knew what she was doing because she was still walking around, but nevertheless, I only collected the species I could recognize easily on my own. On the other hand, she gathered other types for her table or for drying, including something she called "Blewits." It wasn't until some years later that I found out that a Blewit (Collybia nuda) is blue throughout: cap, stipe and flesh. My mother's "Blewits" were in fact a blue-capped Russula; edible, fortunately for her.

A Question Arises...

Day 68: It was an odd sensation, not something I could put a finger on, but any time I observed Platismatia glauca (Ragbag Lichen), a feeling of (vacancy? unease? puzzlement?) would come over me. Something was missing. How do you pin down an absence? The next time I found Ragbag, the same hollow sense would bring that not-exactly-a-chill to the back of my neck. It was always stronger when I'd find an older specimen, already starting to turn pinkish around the edges. A few days ago, it hit me: there was an unformed question I should have been needing to answer about that pink tinge.

We all know that lichens are comprised mainly of fungus and algae, right? Never mind the other stuff. It's not important to this discussion. We'll only concern ourselves with the algae. Those of us who live in coastal states are aware that red tides are caused by a toxic species of algae (or we bloody well should know that if we intend to eat shellfish). And those of us who backpack into the snowy uplands know (or should know) not to melt red-tinged snow for our drinking water for the same reason: toxic algae. Not that anybody would chow down on Ragbag, but is the pink colouration which appears in older specimens caused by the algal component of this common lichen? The answer is NO. Platismatia's phycobiont is a green alga. The pink tinge is a fungal pigment. And now that I've settled that thanks to an hour or so of internet delving, I can go back to quilting with the assurance that the next time I run across Ragbag, I'll be able to observe it without that sense of "something is missing here."

Lights Out Again

Day 67: This is us, Merry and I, in the dark again. Power went out some time between 3:30 AM when the Toe Attacker started trying to rake me out of bed, and 5 AM, which was how long I managed to convince him to sleep in, using the foot as a pillow instead of a game. He's getting better about that, but some mornings, he forgets his manners. In any event, when he woke me up again at 5, the house was dark. We got up by flashlight, turned on one of the "pocket light switches" (switch-operated, battery-powered LED light), and I navigated out to the camping cupboard where I took down my backpacking stove and made myself a cup of coffee. I was smart enough to make an extra pot yesterday in anticipation of this event (and for the record, I will drink coffee in any form except sugared or moldy). That part of morning taken care of, I turned on this "sparkle light," played some word games on my Kindle, whupped it at a game of chess and then decided that there had to be some fiberart I could do in the nearly-dark. By putting the pocket light switch in my lap so that the light was trained on the band, I managed to inkle about 18" of sheep, being extra super-careful that I wasn't catching any unwanted warp strings. Fried a piece of buttered sourdough on the camp stove for breakfast, thinking that would be a surefire way to bring the power back on. Nope, didn't work this time. Half an hour later, I heated up a second cup of coffee, and just as I went to sit down in my chair with it, the lights came on. It's magic how that works! You must sacrifice a certain unstated amount of precious stove fuel to the Power Gods before they will deign to consider your request for light. I think it's going to be a rough winter. And I keep telling myself, "It's almost Solstice. The Light is returning."