Christmas Weave With Help

Day 73: I had intended to wait until I had a few throws or even a full motif on my Christmas Weave, but I had so much Help while warping that I simply couldn't wait until I finished threading the loom. I use poster board (one of the thinner types) to pad the warp as I wind it on to prevent the threads from sinking into the previous layer, and as they peel off the warp roller during the weaving process, I stow them behind a sheet of plywood against the wall to flatten them out a bit for the next time. I'd pulled out several sheets and dropped one of them as I walked around to the other side of the loom to run the crank. Merry, good little Weaver's Cat that he is, wasn't in his box when I turned around again, and then I noticed that the curled-up piece of poster board I'd dropped was wiggling. I peered inside. Yep, he was at the far end of the tunnel, so I grabbed a camera, but this is what greeted me when I came back into the room. Needless to say, I left this piece 'til last. Max is partially threaded, and I'll be done in time to put on an inch or three before bed tonight...with Help, of course.

Undressed For Christmas

Day 72: Most people put on finery (or at least an ugly sweater) for Christmas. Max got undressed instead. I have been diligently plugging away in the hopes of finishing the "weftovers" (i.e., the remaining warp) following three tablecloth panels, a length of roughly five feet. I wasn't sure I'd make my goal, but with Merry's cooperation, I got it done. I had also thought I might finish up the towels on the table loom in the living room, but discovered I had more warp left than I'd thought. Even so, I will probably be done with that in time to have a "New Year's Weave" on both looms. It's funny how those little personal goals can motivate. The idea is to set them just far enough out that you have to push yourself to achieve them, but not so far that you defeat yourself with something which is impossible to attain (or nearly so). Max already has a new warp in waiting: "Friend Evelyn" (an overshot) in "A Handweaver's Pattern Book" in two shades of green. Schacht (the table loom) is earmarked for an experiment with halvdräll, a Swedish technique which is sometimes described as a simplified overshot. Halvdräll only requires four shafts, two for the pattern and two for plain weave/tabby. I have yet to decide if I just want to weave a sample the first time around, or if I want to warp for a complete project. I'm not really fond of weaving on Schacht because the jacks are operated manually, placing too much strain on my repaired shoulder. That said, Max will be tied up for some time because again, I'll be weaving a coverlet in three panels. In any event, I'm excited by the prospect of new projects, as always.

Seasonal Blahs

Day 71: The seasonal Blahs have come on in a massive wave, at least along a 100-foot stretch of the Bud Blancher Trail in Eatonville. I have never seen them in such abundance as where they blanketed a section of the embankment, erupting from the moss in large clusters similar to this one, and spaced only six inches to a foot apart over a three-foot width of ground. Were they stimulated by an increase in light exposure due to the cutting back of brush? And why just that one area? And why so MANY? Ramaria acrisiccescens, aka "Blah Coral," is arguably one of our most common coral fungi, its pale tendrils emerging in the cooler months of late autumn and winter. It is often found in association with Hemlock. Why "Blah?" The jury is out as to its edibility, but it has been reported to be tasteless and insipid by those who have tried it.

Winter Solstice

Day 70: A good Solstice to all! And it's a rather strange one here, what with temperatures in the mid-50s. Don't get me wrong. I'm not objecting! I've been able to get out for a couple of short walks over the last week, the longest being a little over three miles yesterday, but now we have rain coming in again. That said, rain and 50 degrees is better than snow and 20 degrees, no matter how much I'd enjoy a white Christmas. As most of you know, the winter Solstice is one of the most important days in my year. I do not have any particular way to celebrate it, other than to breathe a sigh of relief that soon, the days will be visibly longer. My body recognizes the fact about a week earlier than my mind does, responding with a rise in my overall energy level. By some time in the first week of January, I'll be saying, "Hey, it's not dark yet" at dinnertime, even though sunset has advanced only by a minute or two, and I'll be perusing seed catalogs with fervor, the urge to plant and grow strong within my nature. Spring is just around the corner, people, so join me today in celebrating the return of Light to the world!

Spinsterhood

Day 69: From the first time I sat down at my great-grandmother's wheel at four years of age, I knew I was destined to be a spinster. It wasn't until I entered my teens that I realized the second meaning of the word was also likely to apply, and of course by then, the first was no longer relevant. My great-grandma was long gone, and my grandmother who had taught me the art was in a rest home and her wheel had been sold. I forgot all about spinning, except to admire the craftspeople who put on demonstrations, but gradually, a desire to take it up was growing in the back of my mind. When I mentioned to my mother that I'd learned to spin from her mother, she told me, "Grandma didn't know how to spin. She can't have taught you," but I remembered clearly Gma turning the crank by hand as I manipulated what little fiber we'd found caught in the carders into a short piece of yarn. When I finally decided to purchase a wheel, my mother went with me, and to her utter amazement, I sat down in the shop and began to spin. "I told you Gma taught me how," I said. "And I haven't forgotten." That wheel (the Louët I bought that day) is now my "ply wheel." I spin singles on a Kromski Minstrel, and when I have two bobbins full, I set them aside to rest for at least 24 hours. This frees up the Minstrel to spin more singles. I cycle through the process, plying a little, spinning a little, and I've been known to run myself short of bobbins when I'm in "production" mode. Here's just a bit of what I've spun over the last six weeks or so. There's more off camera. The two skeins of Green Chaos and two skeins of Salt & Pepper are done. The orange 8-Ball is plied and ready to be stretched on the warping board, as is the huge bobbin loaded with Raspberry Yogurt. The two bobbins of red 8-Ball are ready to be plied, and the "purple" (a blend of red and blue) 8-Ball is a single waiting for its partner to be spun. Stretched on the warping board in the Loom Room, you'd find yellow 8-Ball and the last skein of Salt & Pepper, now waiting to be soaked and weighted to set the twist. Spinsterhood suits me well.

Dead Soldier

Day 68: In the hopes that only a leaf caught in the orifice was preventing rainfall from registering in my Davis weather station, I carefully lowered the four-year old instrument to the ground. Nope, nothing obvious, so I took the next and somewhat major step of dismounting it from the pipe which served as its tower so that I could test it indoors. I thought running water through it might clear out any blockage which was not visible, but even that didn't work. My weather station is down for the count. I doubt I'll replace it with a new unit. For the time, I'll only be recording rainfall as measured in a plastic gauge, and will have to pick up a high-low thermometer. I'll need help putting this unit back up to record wind speed since that is something I don't want to try alone.

Past Pull

Day 67: "I know I've got some dark Karo in the back of the cupboard," I said, visions of sugarplums...well, of pecan pie for Christmas dessert, anyway...dancing in my head. I started dragging out containers of olive oil, vinegar, molasses, soy sauce...cat...shortening...cat...cooking spray, maple syrup...cat...and then I could see the Karo, two bottles (one large and one small) of white, one of dark. Aha! I extracted Cat one more time and pulled out the dark. It was stuck to the shelf liner, but it came free with relative ease. "Does this stuff ever go bad?" I wondered, and then I looked at the pull date: 1984. Ooops. Both bottles of white were almost as old, so the whole shebang went in the garbage without further ado. I'm still going to make a pecan pie, but I'll be opening a brand-new bottle of Karo for the occasion.