From Rags To Rugs

Day 110: Several friends contributed heavily to the project currently on my table loom. After cutting over a dozen old t-shirts into narrow pieces, my rug-strip box was so full, I could barely get the lid on. At that time, the loom was loaded with false damask, a time-consuming style of weaving if ever there was one, and when I finally reeled off the last piece, I wanted nothing more than to do something quick and easy. I loaded the loom with enough rug warp for three or four rugs, unsure how far my supply of strips would take me. With one done, the pile doesn't look a whole lot smaller, although the bright colours are diminishing faster than the darker ones, but I began with a disproportionate amount of black and dark blue. Any leftovers will go back in the rug-strip box for another day. I love rag rugs because they are heavy. They stay where you put them, don't flip up easily if caught by a toe, don't require backing and, best of all, they're a marvelous way to recycle t-shirts.

Hellebore In Black And White

Day 109: When I mentioned that I wanted to add more hellebores to my yard, maybe even create a space especially for them, my botany partner offered to share a root of his white one to go with the black one I already had growing in two places. I welcomed the opportunity although I was worried that it was a little late in the year to split it, but it seemed to be settling in, at least until the heat of summer arrived. The leaves withered, and I figured I'd lost it. However, hellebores are pretty durable despite not always responding well to being divided, and I was pleased when leaf buds emerged from the ground. It is now flowering, as are the black ones. Hellebore flowers nod, so I propped these up so that you could see their faces. Joe's has the additional appeal of light-veined dark leaves. I still want more varieties!

A Favourite Flower

Day 108: As far as favourite flowers go (excluding rare species), it ranks right up there with Wild Ginger (Asarum caudatum) and Skunk Cabbage (Lysichiton americanus) as far as I'm concerned. These teeny-tiny tufts go unnoticed if you don't know exactly what to look for, and when. I've been watching them develop on the Contorted Filbert over the last few days, hoping that it wouldn't be pouring down rain when they burst open. The pendulous catkins you see in the background are the males, the pollen producers on this monoecious shrub. In an experiment last year to see if my tree would produce hazelnuts, I caged several clusters of burgeoning nuts to protect them from squirrels and birds. Predictably, those not caged were devoured. There was nothing I could do about worms (a common pest which eats the nut from the inside out, having accessed the center of the ovary during the blossoming phase), but it appeared that the ones I had caged were developing. However, when I cracked them open months later, there were no nuts inside, nor was there any tell-tale worm frass. From this, I conclude that despite forming shells, the tree is not self-fertile at the very least, and perhaps sterile altogether.

Leftovers With Variables

Day 107: A quarter cone of the crimped yellow thread has been sitting in my weaving stash for about forty years, waiting for me to figure out what to do with it. It was something I picked up at a marvelous store in Portland (Oregon) called "Mill Ends" which went out of business shortly thereafter, and I'd used most of the thread to make placemats. There was too much left for my conscience to allow me to throw it out, but I was having difficulty finding an inspiration which would include it, given the limited amount. This morning as I was threading the table loom with warp for rag rugs, it struck me: break out the variable-dent reed for the rigid heddle and use it in combination with some of the leftover 3/2 cotton I'd used as weft in the King's Flower coverlet. The two yarns were close to the same size, so I arranged the sections of the variable-dent reed to have the 3/2 at the edges and in the center section at 10 epi, spaced apart by two inches of 8/2 (aqua) at 15 epi. I'll be working three towels in plain weave and 8/2, but the different weights of thread will give them texture and visual interest.

False Damask Projects

Day 106: When I was ready to warp the table loom with another round of false damask, I got a little carried away and measured off more than I'd really intended. The first banner (a sailboat, reversible) was a birthday present requiring timely shipping, so when I finished the weaving, I cut it off, re-tied the warp, and began the second project ("The Loom Room") with nothing particular in mind for the remaining warp. When I came to the end of it, I realized there was still a lot of warp left on the roller, so I began a third piece (the leaves and berries, right), but even after that piece was done, I still had warp remaining. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away or consign it to the thrums bag, but honestly, I was pretty tired of false damask at that point. It's a demanding weave with a lot of pickup and a lot of bending over sideways to be certain of a clear shed before throwing the shuttle. I decided to put a small area of pattern on each end of a fingertip towel, with the center portion worked in the twill. Now I just have to do the finishing work, turning/sewing rod pockets and twisting fringe. I think I'll take a break from false damask for a while. As much as I love the effect, it's a lot of work on a four-shaft loom.

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Day 105: "Why has she taken a picture of caramels?" you wonder. Ah, as some are given to say, thereby hangs a tale. Let's set the scene.

My husband is driving. We're headed to Portland, and I'm in the passenger seat. We're about halfway to Oregon and my mother is opening a snack in the back seat, just a small nibbly because we're planning to go to Rose's Deli for dinner. I hear her rustling around and my own tummy expresses itself with a low growl as I turn to see her unwrapping a Kraft caramel. The temptation is too much, so I ask if she has any more. She passes one up to me and I unwrap it, failing to notice that the wrapper isn't as crinkly as it should be, or perhaps dismissing it as a change in packaging. I pop the caramel in my mouth. When I bite down on it, my taste buds are jolted by not receiving the anticipated sweetness, but rather a sour milkiness which makes me think that despite being soft, the cream in the caramel has gone off somehow since it was manufactured. I can't help myself. I say, "Ugh!" and spit the caramel out into my hand. "Did yours taste all right? This one is nasty!" I ask my mother. At this juncture, she's folded double, trying to keep from laughing. What she had given me was a piece of Norwegian gjetost, a caramel-coloured, tangy, firm cheese made from goat's milk which under other circumstances, I would have thoroughly enjoyed. My mouth had been set for a Kraft caramel, smooth and sweet, taste buds all standing at attention at the thought. It was quite a shock, believe me! To this day, though, I think she'd been laying for my husband all along. He was notorious for only consuming a limited number of foods, largely meats, potatoes, green beans and (oddly) artichokes...and, of course, caramels which were one of our favourite backcountry desserts on long hiking trips. That said, she undoubtedly knew exactly how he would react to the gjetost, but having me reject it in disgust was even better than her original evil plan. Gjetost is my favourite cheese...usually.

Lang May Yer Lum Reek

Day 104: Here, on the wrong side of the dateline, it is January 25th, causing a small amount of confusion as to when Robert Burns' birthday should be celebrated with the traditional Burns Night dinner. Mine will be tonight, and a number of factors have gone into my decision to make a "faux haggis," "mock haggis," or whatever else you want to call it. A few years ago, the owner of the local company where I have always bought my haggis exposed himself to be a racist in several comments on his personal Facebook account. I said (with some profane adjectives), "That does it for me. I don't have to have haggis, and I feel I must stand by my principles." I stopped shopping with him as, apparently, did quite a few other people. The shop has gone out of business. Since then, I've been on a haggis hunt (the little buggers should really be classified as endangered for as rare as they have become), but to no avail. I cannot abide the thought of a canned haggis, and short of mortgaging my house for the shipping fees on a fresh one, I have been unable to find any other supplier. Frustrated, I began searching for an alternative, and came up with a recipe from The Kilted Chef which sounds like it should approximate the real thing fairly closely in both taste and texture. It uses chicken livers in place of sheep organ meats, and seems to be much easier to prepare. A wee drap o' Glen Livet should level out any inequities. Lang may yer lum reek!