Minimizing Loom Waste

When starting a piece of weaving, most people use spacers of cardboard, yarn, even toilet paper to spread out the warp threads. This takes up several inches of the warp. I don't like having that much wastage, so I use "slicky cord" (my name for it) instead. Simply put, slicky cord is nylon cord of a size close to matching that of the warp. In this case, I used 0.5mm yellow cord because I couldn't find the length of green 1mm I'd ordinarily have paired with 8/2 cotton, but as they say, it was "close enough for gov'mint work." There are numerous advantages to using slicky cord, the first being that it can be pulled to adjust the width. The second is that it is easy to withdraw, so after I have woven the first few inches of my piece, I pull out a few rows and do the hemstitching, then remove the slicky cord entirely. The third advantage is that it allows you to use inches of warp you'd otherwise have consigned to loom waste. I usually weave 6-10 throws of slicky cord before beginning the actual weaving, but as I mentioned, I couldn't find the longer green bit I usually use, so had to make do with three throws with the thinner yellow. Predictably, when I went to put the yellow back in the box, I discovered the green had been right there in front of me the whole time.

Warpsy-Daisy

With all that's been going on lately, this warp has been waiting to be strung for over a week, Daisy standing empty and reproaching my conscience every time I looked up. It's unusual for me to leave my primary loom idle for more than 24 hours, so I hope she'll forgive me. This project will be an experiment in colour or, as I put it to my weaving buddy Ed, "Read, 'I didn't have enough of the light grey for both warp and tabby, so I'll be using a pale blue weft against a dark blue for the pattern threads.'" The draft will be Bertha Gray Hayes' "Cornerstones" which, although she calls it a miniature overshot, that description looks to me like it could be refined to call it a summer-and-winter (technically, summer-and-winter is a type of overshot). I'll be weaving two panels roughly 22" wide and 64" long, to finish as a lap throw 44" x 56". I wound the warp on yesterday and threaded half the 399 heddles before bed. I only have to thread the remaining half of the reed (quick) before I can begin weaving.

Taking Up Slack

Even with my revised warping system using bag clips to ease out slack, I still wound up with quite a bit at the end of this band, particularly in the green pattern threads. Fortunately, it was possible to work it back toward where it was tied on, so there were no issues in the structure of the band itself, but had the warp been any longer, the threads would probably have become hopelessly tangled. X-ty-x Scandinavians have used Leksand-style looms over the years without difficulty, so it must be something I'm doing wrong. With that thought in mind, I have had an insight I'll be trying as my next experiment.

Flowers of Filbert

 

As far as cultivated plants go, the flowers of the Contorted Filbert (Corylus avellana) are my favourite. Those are millimeters showing on the ruler in front of the bright pink female blossoms. The catkins (dangly bits) are the males. If pollinated, the females will form a "hazelnut." In the past, I've managed to protect a few of them from the birds and squirrels until they were mature, and yes, they held tiny, rather flat nutmeats. There are some who claim they are edible and I do not doubt that, but at the same time, you'd be hard put to collect enough of them to fill a tablespoon. That's never an issue here. The varmints eat them long before they are fully formed, sometimes even when they're in the budding stage shown here. And that's what my yard is about, anyway: providing habitat and food for the critters who so amuse me.

Nalbinding Hats

 

When I was hit by an unexpected cyber-vacation (i.e., my computer turned up its metaphorical toes and died without significant preamble), I shifted my focus to finishing old projects and starting some new ones. It was while I was making a red nålbinding "resistance" hat in the "cat hat" style that I remembered having started another one ages ago using wool from one of my first sheep. There was only one place I could have put it (in the cedar chest to keep the moths out of the wool), but a perfunctory initial search didn't turn it up, nor did a subsequent deeper dive. There was nothing for it but to take everything out until I either hit bottom or found the hat. Fortunately, it was only about halfway down, nested in a bag which should have been obvious. I finished the cat hat (not to be confused with a "pussy hat," but it does have corners which look like ears, hence the name of the style), and then settled in to completing the cloche. I found nålbinding to be an exercise in "mindfulness" this time around, and noticed that during the enforced cyber-vacation, my stress levels dropped to nearly normal instead of running at a fevered pitch. Sigh. But good things seldom last, and here I am again, back with a new computer...and two new hats. Henceforth, I won't be numbering these posts because of the lapse.

Hummingbirb

Day 111: On the "Birb Checklist," hummingbirbs such as this female Anna's are small, round in repose, cute and sometimes silly and therefore qualify on all counts. They are also aggressive and foul-mouthed (one nameless ornithologist reportedly said that "a hummingbird's vocabulary consists of 90% swear-words"). If you've ever heard two or more males debating territorial claims, you'll immediately know what I mean. Taken in total, that's four points toward birbiness and two points off, but in my birber's opinion, "small" and "cute" heavily weight the score toward birbiness, and if you want to take up the issue, we can discuss it behind the barn. I'm warning you. I have a lot in common with hummingbirds, even if "cute" doesn't apply.

Birb

Day 110: What is a birb? According to the Audubon Society (and they have sourced the term thoroughly), the guidelines suggest smallness, roundness, cuteness and/or silliness, although these qualifications are open to quite a wide range of interpretation. There are limits. Big raptors (hawks, eagles) are not birbs. A Great Blue Heron is not a birb, although a Green Heron is. Puffins and Penguins are definitely birbs. The visitors to my yard are almost all birbs, but some are "birbier" than others, particularly the Chickadees, whether Chestnut-backed or Black-capped. Steller's Jays are not particularly birby, no, and neither are adult Ravens, but baby Ravens can be hilariously birby until they learn the seriousness of maturity. Perhaps the birbiest of all are my Evening Grosbeaks despite their frowny yellow eyebrows and crotchety dispositions. A dozen or so showed up a few days ago, had a quick meal, and I haven't seen them since. In any event, any time I need cheering up, I go birbing. Not "birding," birbing. In the words of the Audubon, the ultimate authority, "Now, one might reasonably ask why it matters which birds qualify as birbs. Strictly speaking, of course, it doesn’t. But viewed sidelong, it becomes a taxonomic game, akin to 'is a hot dog a sandwich.' These sorts of debates are fun partially because they reveal real fault-lines in our operational definitions. It’s a chance to take stock, not just of what we think about birds, but how we think about them. Defining 'birb' also means interrogating our impressions. It’s not only about rating them: It's about reminding us that—regardless of birb-status—all birds are good."