The New House of Chirp

Last summer, the House of Chirp stood empty for the first time in 30 years, and it wasn't until I typed those words that it hit me: 30 years. That's a long time for a bird house to be in annual use. During that time, I had only one failed clutch, something else which seems like it should go in the record books. Every year after the swallows departed, I took it down and cleaned it thoroughly. But last year, there were no tenants. I don't believe the accommodations were to be blamed, but rather a shortage of swallows, reminding me that they had been on their southward migration during the peak of the California wildfires. In any event, I mentioned the lack of renters on line, and apparently, the Christmas Faerie was tuned in that day. She sent a gift of a brand-new house which I just installed this morning. I love the adjustable entryway! It can be fine-tuned to let a pudgy swallow in, but still keep nasty starlings out. I haven't seen a swallow yet, but hopefully, someone will sign the lease soon.

Spicing Things Up

So there I was, getting ready to sift the dry ingredients for oatmeal cookies, thinking as I did so that recipes always seem to stint on nutmeg, which happens to be one of my favourite spices. In fact, I frequently make myself a bedtime hot posset of milk and water with a sprinkle of nutmeg on the top. I popped the lid off the nutmeg jar, shook out the stingy 1/4 teaspoon called for in the recipe, and...dropped the jar. On its head. In the sifter full of flour, sugar, cinnamon and cloves. I managed to retrieve most of it, but was left with at least 3/4 tsp. in the sifter. "Oh, well," I said. "Call it an experiment. Let's see how an abundance of nutmeg affects the cookies." Well, the results are in. There is a slightly peppery taste to them, but they are quite edible, and if I was asked to identify the "secret ingredient," I would not be able to pinpoint nutmeg.

Silly String

Thrums are a normal by-product of weaving. They are the bits and bobs of thread which cannot be woven due to having to pass through the heddles and reed, and are otherwise known as "loom waste." Their length depends on the individual loom. On Daisy, I allow three feet at the back (loom waste at the front of the loom where they are tied on is minimal). That was about the same for Max, but my old loom wanted an allowance of five feet. When you're talking about 250-500 threads, that's a lot of yardage to rest on your conscience as you throw them in the trash (which, I hate to say, a lot of people do). My Scottish soul can't abide that much wastage, so I usually "half-life" my thrums by moving them to the next smaller loom to use as warp, or I allow extra on a project to be sure I have enough to warp a smaller loom. Even so, I still wind up with thrums, and I flatly refuse to put them in the garbage until they've served as many purposes as possible. I've been weaving zanshiori-style towels and runners by tying the thrums together and using them as weft. The knots give a "down home" feel to the finished pieces, but some people don't appreciate the obvious "leftovers" look. I like it, but that's me. As my thrums jar filled up again, I had another thought for utilizing them. Okay, it was going to be a lot of work, but in the end, I'd have something functional. To that end, I have tied them all together and am now engaged in spinning them by the fours, which will later be re-spun into a thick 8-ply yarn to use as weft in rag rugs. I call the end product "Silly String!" And Merry is way more help than I need, grabbing the wiggly strings as they come up from the cones protecting the balls of wound thread from inquiring paws.

2/1 Twill on Rigid Heddle

I was sure it could be done, but after one full day and a sleepless night, I could not visualize how to effect a twill weave structure on my two-heddle rigid heddle loom. Although I'm trying to limit my internet time (to preserve my mental well-being!), the first thing I did the next morning was hit YouTube. I found a clear and easy to follow video from "Rigid Heddle Weaving in Brisbane" which told me everything I needed to know. She suggested warping in colour bundles of six threads to make it easier to understand the threading process which, I must admit, sounds daunting but is actually quite simple, so I dragged out all my partial cones of ancient dye lots and went a little mad with stripes. This is a 2/1 twill, meaning that the weft thread goes under one and over two in a progressive diagonal over three repeating passes of the shuttle. It is delightfully easy to weave. My plain coloured warp was a bundle of 65" super-long thrums from a project I'd cut off the floor loom early for some reason, and were the perfect length for two towels, allowing for loom waste. As I understand it, a 2/2 twill cannot be woven without adding a third heddle or using a pickup stick. That's fine. I'm happy with 1/2.

Warp In Waiting

I always like to have a "warp in waiting" when I'm working on a floor loom project so that when I finish up, I can jump right into a new one. However, my stock of threads (well, of colour choices) was getting rather low because my supplier has been out of stock for some time. They are beginning to restock now, but it set me to thinking that I should use what I have, and then replace the colours I use most frequently. Another factor to consider was that a friend just bought me out of every single towel and placemat I had in my stash, excluding those I was reserving for gifts! With that to inspire me, I decided to make towels. I took inventory of what was in my stash, discovered that I had two cones of the same blue, so rather than using cream or white for plain-weave stripes, I decided to use the blue instead. It will really make the coloured texture stripes pop. I'm roughly a third done with the second iteration of "Cornerstones," and I think it's time to do something simpler than overshot.

Snow Day

Until yesterday, winter had been almost snow-free. There had been a light dusting in late November, and another a few weeks ago, but that had been it. I was beginning to feel cheated. I love snow, at least when it isn't an inconvenience and, not to put too fine a point on it, I don't have all that many winters left to me when I might enjoy it. But yesterday, Mother Goose shook out her featherbed in a fervor of spring cleaning and, like many of our March snows, it came down like crazy, piled up briefly, and disappeared almost as quickly. This is snow at its best: beautiful and ephemeral even at its most intense.

Cornerstones In Green

Well, what I said and what I did were two entirely different animals. I was very tired after winding on, threading 399 warp threads through heddles and the reed, tying on the warp bundles, inserting a header and adjusting the tension, so my post to social media read, "The new warp is on Daisy, and I've installed the 'slicky cord' I use to space it. I've even wound some bobbins, but I probably won't start weaving (or seriously, anyway) until tomorrow." With that, I shut the computer down, stood up and walked immediately to the loom and wove the first motif. I find that having Daisy in the living room is a good motivator. I'm far more likely to fill a bored moment ("moment" being defined as 15-20 minutes in this case) with a stint at the loom. Appropriate to the upcoming celebration of St. Patrick's Day (although that wasn't why I chose the colour theme), these "Cornerstones" are actually three shades of green (warp, pattern thread and tabby).