Tuesday

We’ve been having some of that glorious clear crisp weather that makes autumn a sheer delight! Walking the mutts early (5:30) this morning the deep indigo velvet sky was spangled with glittering stars. The dew frosted like diamonds in the lamplight, and there wasn’t any sound unless it was the song of the stars themselves. I did scent a cigar which meant the Doberman from the top of the hill had taken his person for an even earlier walk. The forest paths, which aren’t lamp lit, were resplendent in patchwork moonlight. The only things to watch out for are: 1) the odd cat on the prowl – both mutts take it as given that all cats are to be destroyed on sight, so I have to be sure to prevent their hauling me off my feet – 2) the few muddy spots, which are slippery; and 3) mushrooms, which I cannot see in the moonlight but which the dogs can smell and some of which they adore eating, but which give them dreadful gas.


I hauled myself into town via bus today to get to the employment office. Then on to my physical therapy – found where my shoulders OUGHT to be for the second time in a month. Feels great the moment they are in the right place it is “Wow! Yes, that’s definitely where they belong!” and then I can walk along for a day or so with them actually as they should be. After that I hurried home and walked the mutts again. May does a lot of berry picking as we take our afternoon walk; Breaker wants more mushrooms or apples. Then it was back to town for a lesson. After the lesson and before going to Martta (women’s group) I stopped by the handicraft advice center. I am still not happy with the belt.

You can see from the picture – and the pattern – that things are shaping up, but appear elongated. They shouldn’t be elongated. That is caused by the white thread being too thick. Also the pattern seems mostly balanced between white and blue; it ought to be dominated by the blue. Again this is a problem caused by the white being too thick What you cannot see is the reverse side, which ought to be a “negative” to the “positive”. It looks dreadful. Anyhow, I made an appointment at the handicraft advice center, and will go in on Thursday morning with EVERYTHING I have (already packed). And we will get this thing figured out. It may mean spinning the cotton myself, but daggumit if that’s what it takes, then that is what it takes!

Meanwhile the sock is coming along – I took it with me today and knit while waiting my turn at the employment office, while waiting for my PT, and during our Martta meeting. I even knit a few rows on the bus. This photo taken early yesterday when I was turning the cuff doesn't show today's progress. By the time I get through tomorrow I will indeed have "progress" to show you.

Bits and Pieces

Silver and Gold
The silver birch trees leaves are turning gold. The maples flame a fiery red to burnished bronze and here and there true copper tones gleam among the steadfast dark green spruce trees. The autumn leaves are a trove of precious metals in recyclable format. It’s still too warm for the leaves to have fallen much, but if we are blessed with a few crisp clear nights and sunny days the world will be populated with birch bedecked in silver and gold. Anyone walking among these trees then will have a carpet of gold leaves underfoot and can enjoy a royal feeling of wealth and well-being that would pauper a king’s effort to translate into the real precious metals. Even my patio sports a vivid plaid.


Copper kettle
A week ago Saturday, Funlayo, Lilja, Sofia, and I went to a flea market. I found a few odds and ends. Among which are contributions toward Lilja and Sofia’s birthday presents. Two other items may end up as gifts elsewhere. But among the various cast offs and castaways was a bronze footed copper kettle with a wrought iron handle. I hemmed and hawed to myself, looked over the other copperware: it was either too small; lined with tin; or, too small AND lined with tin. I debated with myself: whether I will ever use this copper pot? I noted how pretty it is. I decided to get it. Perhaps I will never use it for dying. But if I do ever plan to use copper for dying this is the pot for it.


Last bit of Gardening
Thursday morning, after another spate of rain, I hove out of the house to tend the garden once more. First I trimmed back the herbs, then I uncovered my potato experiment. I need sand. And after that I settled in to locate the lost onions. Three hours later, shaking with exhaustion I made for home. I managed to get my onions out to dry off a bit. My potatoes were miserable and small. I need sand. And my herb harvest bountiful. I still need wire fencing to protect the cherry and apple trees from varmints. Also need to dig up those gladiolus bulbs… Can’t wait much longer. Today I am still very stiff and sore from those three hours digging in that rain soaked mostly clay soil. I need sand!
Onion crop

Inkle woven belt
I will be unwarping my inkle loom, selecting a different cotton thread and rewarping the loom. I had selected this particular thread based on the sample I had received. The sample was much thicker than the 2 x 50 Tex that the instructions specified. Indeed, I had wondered about that. The first few rows of weaving left me even more concerned, but once I started picking pattern, I became convinced. If I continue with this particular thickness of white, then the white will be the dominant pattern, whereas the blue should be. I do not relish this task of undoing, salvaging, and redoing, but it is necessary, or the finished belt will not be right!
Belt with some of the many family patterns

Sock
I’m knitting socks. This particular knee high pair is from Sukkasillaan by Kyllikki Mitronen and Liia Vilkkumaa . They are based on 19th Century socks from coastal areas of Finland. I know that because I attended a lecture they gave when the book was published. That detail is not in the book. The knitting directions are to cast on 80 stitches – two brands of Finnish yarn are named the slightly thicker one for men. Two needle sizes are mentioned 2.5 mm and 2.75 mm. I am using a much thinner yarn and the recommended needle size is 2.0 mm. After doing a sample swatch, thank you Elizabeth Zimmerman you have saved me great frustration, I decided that 80 stitches would not be enough.

Unfortunately Mitronen and Vilkkumaa did not anticipate someone needing to test for gauge so they did not include gauge in any of the directions. I cast on 100 stitches and will find out if it will be enough. If not, I have plenty more of the same yarn!

The first six rows should be worked back and forth to give a stockinet stitch. The seventh row is worked in reverse so that the top turns back on itself. Only then are the uppers joined and the sock reverses again to return to stockinet stitch and six more rows are knit. The idea is to create a tube into which either an elastic band or a proper ribbon to tie about the leg can be inserted and keep the socks up.


Elizabeth I
I’ve been watching Elizabeth I, with Helen Mirren, Jeremy Irons and Hugh Dancy. It’s the second time of seeing it. Various elements strike me this time. It is a disquieting film; the intrigues and uncertainty of whom to trust run like the agonized wailing of a violin being tortured throughout the film. Yet it is a visually rich film with attention to detail from the layers upon layers of clothing, to the details of lavish garnishment. I do wonder if Irons’ and Dancy’s would really have worn their collar’s open in a court and during a fashion when noble gentlemen wore stiflingly high closed collars with ruffs. Especially when all the other characters were tightly buttoned up. Does that fly in the face of detail? Perhaps it is to show a degree of favour, or of the compromises they made.

Replanting

I replanted things a couple of weeks ago – right after cleaning up all those pots. I meant to get everything replanted but somehow didn’t have the right size pot for the geraniums! They don’t seem to be root bound so perhaps that’s alright.

Once upon a time I planted four date seeds in a pot – a very small pot. One came up but eventually died. So I planted a few “Christmas cactus” leaves which took off remarkably well. Then another palm sprouted, but also died. So I planted a lemon seed, which spouted immediately and has done very well in the small pot. When I took this small crowded pot out to transplant the cactus and the lemon I found that yet another date palm had sprouted. It had an amazingly long tap root for such a tiny pot, but it was thriving most happily. So I planted it in the long tall flower pot and replanted the lemon in the tiny thing it’s been in. I’ll just have to get it another pot.

I tried to separate the coffee plantation, but it seems to be multiple stems of one tree. It reminds me of willow. It was exceedingly happy to get out of the pot it had been in. It was very happy but very root bound. I discovered it REALLY likes wet feet. Now the challenge will be to keep it comfortably moist.


The gardenia and the cactus look like they might be happier now. I hope so. Time will tell. Their pictures did not come out clearly enough, so you'll either just have to take my word for it, or come visit and see for yourself.

Inkle Woven Belt for National Dress - set up

Friday evening I warped my inkle loom. Ah look! There’s another one of those multi-meaning English words: warped! This warped is positive, rather than negative. Negative warped would be to bend something permanently that should not be bent. Here it means to apply “warp” threads to a loom with the positive intention of weaving.

I got out my Ashford inkle loom and put it together. If you live in Finland and want one go to http://www.lankakauppakuje.fi/kauppa/. Hanna will be happy to get one for you. I clamped it on its side to the table top so it wouldn’t move around.

Then I set up my yarn, I put the white mercerized cotton into the empty water pitcher, and the indigo dyed hand-spun wool on the swift. I figured out how threading my inkle loom would be different from threading a traditional rigid heddle (pirtta). Then I began warping the loom.

Set up:


After the first two warp threads are on the loom:


Note the red leashes. They go up from the middle peg, over the white warp thread, and back to the middle peg. This brings the white warp threads to the same level as the lower blue threads, and it will allow me to create the shed (opening between the threads so that I can weave):


All warped but still clamped down:


Finally upright and ready to weave:


I have woven the first few rows but it will be tomorrow before I willingly show you what things are looking like.

Dyeing

I’ve been dyeing. That sounds somewhat alarming, doesn’t it? English can be marvelously frustrating. Consider the words die and dye. They sound the same, yet are spelled differently and contain a wealth of different meanings. The dyeing I’ve been doing adds color to wool yarn I’d spun. The color, and substance, I’ve been dyeing is indigo. There definitely are some alarming aspects to the endeavor and repeatedly I have found it marvelously frustrating. It all goes with trying to make a National Dress, but more on that elsewhere. Today the topic is merely dyeing, and the focus is the alarming frustration I’ve “enjoyed” with indigo.

In May 2010 I spun some lovely yarn as carefully as I knew how and aimed to have it be 2 x 80 tex. More on Tex and me another time. The goal of this yarn is for the belt of that national dress I mentioned. The belt is a woven band, and yes, more on that is coming sooner than some of the other threatening topics already mentioned. Once the yarn was spun and finished, sorry no details will be forthcoming for a long while yet, I was ready to dye it. Since I seem to love doing everything the hard way, I had planned to dye the yarn with indigo.

I turned to Jenny Dean’s helpful book Natural Dyeing and began following her indigo recipe two, which calls for yeast and expects the dyepot to turn “indigo white” over a period of days as the yeast does its thing. Two plus weeks into the process the dyepot was showing no signs of changing from dark blue to “indigo white”. Let me add that indigo needs to have that color shift or the dye won’t take, or won’t dye the fiber. The dyepot had been sitting in my oven for the 2 weeks on a nice low temperature. I needed my oven for food. So I emptied the first dyepot, cooked supper, and the next day I started a second attempt at a dyepot. Same result. I was merely frustrated.

I turned to Heather, my mentor and spinning teacher, and bored her to tears with my agonies over the indigo dye. Sensibly she responded by sending me the type of indigo she’s used, some washing soda (needed to assist the process), and some powdered urea which actually causes the indigo to turn “indigo white”. She also sent her own instructor and mentor’s, Paula Vester, indigo dying instructions.

I began soaking the yarn as I read the instructions carefully four or five times that evening. The next morning I got out my entire collection of dye pots and equipment and began… only to realize that there was a gap caused by my not having been to Paula’s course where I could have seen what was going on and benefited from the wealth of unwritten tacit knowledge of an experienced craftsperson – something which may be visible or which they may not convey unless asked but which a novice cannot always “read between the lines” to gather. I muddled along and hoped for a miracle.

I carefully measured and mixed the indigo with water and added it to the pot, I added the washing soda. Then it was the urea’s turn… that got sprinkled on top and yes the dyepot bloomed or flowered and I skimmed that off, saving it in a glass jar – which was soon looking threateningly full – and wondered if saving it was worth the effort, and would I ever buy shaving cream to try the dyeing experiment that Paula suggested, and, if I did, what I would try it on, and if I didn’t where I could safely dispose of it. Meanwhile I was bringing the yarn into warmer and warmer water so that it wouldn’t be too shocked at the hot dyebath.

Finally I was ready to dye. I wasn’t, but I did it anyway. Into the pot went the first skein of yarn. The “few” minutes which the instructions recommended went by too quickly, and then I was hauling the yarn – a green color - out of the dyepot. The range hood was in the way. I grabbed my other dyepan, empty, and used it as the catch pot for the drips as I continued hauling the skein out of the pot. Then I hung it up to air so the blue could develop and took the second skein of yarn and got it into the dyepot.

Complete alarmed, because the instructions warned that the high alkaline dye could make the wool brittle, I got the first skein into a rinse bath before taking the second skein out of the water. Let me add here two details which I learned later:
1. do not panic! Allow the color to develop even if it means the yarn dries completely before rinsing
2. the best color comes from repeated dipping in the indigo dyepot followed by an “airing” of at least 20 minutes.

Ice blue


Well the skeins turned out a nice “ice blue”. I did re-dip both skeins, but really couldn’t see any difference in the depth of color. I also dyed some silk hankies, and they are still that same ice blue. I’m contemplating dyeing the hankies again or leaving them as they are. Ah, the blue I was aiming for is a deep almost navy blue. I don’t know if I was more alarmed or more frustrated. I was alarmed at the possibility of damaging the wool, having it become brittle. I was frustrated because the blue was not the deep dark blue that I wanted. I washed, soaked, rinsed, and dried the yarn completely frustrated and dispirited. I emailed Heather, poor dear! How frustrated she must have felt, I can only imagine.

After a while I regathered my courage, cleaned up the dyepot, pouring the old dyebath out on some bushes I’d rather like to kill – they will probably flourish – and started the whole process over again. This time I compared Vester’s instructions with Dean’s instructions: and gained very little insight. I tried Googling for further hints and tips… Whatever I sought eluded me. I know exactly what I need: the tacit knowledge that comes only through the terror of that inexorable “do it again, and again” experience!

Darker but irregular:


The second round resulted in darker shades of blue – very pretty actually but quite obviously the dyeing was irregular as I’d put both skeins in the pot and crowded them. Frustration? Oh yes. So I emailed Heather again asking if I could possibly get Paula’s email so I could go the source.

And a wee aside here regarding the second round… The jar with the flower or bloom spilled over, solving the problem of what to do with it. Mop-up showed that there is a permanent blue spill on the cabinet next to the stove and on the floor by the stove. Attempting to get the blue out with bleach resulted in bleaching part of one tee-shirt and the front of a skirt. Frustration? Don’t even ask! I must continue to live in this apartment for at least two more years at which time the kitchen is scheduled to be redone and evidence of this particular dying disaster will vanish.

Paula was wonderfully helpful. I did get something that will pass for the desired blue that I want. I learned a lot, and when I have the yarn spun for my skirt I will probably use Ashford dyes to dye it, although I will likely miss the depth of color in the indigo I don’t anticipate missing the alarmingly tense frustration. Will I ever dye with indigo again? But of course, probably after the kitchen is remodeled!

Angry

Today I am angry. It isn't a feeling I enjoy at all. I was actually angry enough to make a phone call about a small matter that irritated me. The small matter was the bus driver speaking on the phone without using a "hands-free". I called the bus company to let them know.

What I am angry about is the continuing lack of text books for certain English classes that I teach. I ordered the books in early August ... well no, I informed The Powers That Be (TPTB) which books and how many of each were needed, where to get them, and left the affair in their hands. To give them credit they have made efforts to order the books, but have not actually ordered them. Classes began in September. Since August I have inquired occasionally about the books.... and things seemed slow but "in progress" so I continued waiting.

Yesterday I got the email suggesting that I look elsewhere for books because no one in Norway, Sweden or Denmark had these books - which come from the USA... Yes dear why are you looking for your pyjamas in the freezer? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH Grrrrrrrrrrr!

Yesterday I was too angry to dare write a reply.

Today I spent the wee hours of the morning (4-7 am)figuring out who I could ask for help, how to ask for help, wondering what strings to pull, where to find said strings, and how to recognized them if I saw them. At nine I met someone who might be the person to help. I explained the situation. At 1 pm I wrote the email. I hope to hear good news, that the books have been ordered, on Monday.

In my current state of mind I feel that nothing less than an armed escort is needed to pick up and bring back the books next week. Yes, I do understand that that would be ever so slightly over the top, and considerably more expensive than airmail shipping, but I am not in the mood to be reasonable. In fact considering some of the actions I have contemplated, the armed escort is exceedingly reasonable in light of the fact that I already needed those books two weeks ago!

As it is, even if the books are ordered next week, and are shipped via airmail, they will still be at least three weeks in getting here. This means that half of a semester will have been wasted merely on getting books, which, if they had been ordered in a timely manner, could have been here aready!

What is so very special about these particular books? Why not substitute another set of books - perhaps more readily accessable? Those are fair questions. These books are intended for a very special audience, designed to include an entire English language arts program for pupils' who already know and use English. They include the spelling and vocabulary building, the grammar, the reading comprehension and reading for meaning, and the written skills to be mastered. They also include math word problems, which tend to give their own challenges. A different series of books would require three or four books for each pupil.

Changes

I’m listening to WFMT radio in Chicago via the magic of the Internet. Likewise I am brooding over news from home – home being Tryon, North Carolina. Tryon, population 2000, celebrated its 125th anniversary this year. I was nine when Dad and Mom arrived with me in Tryon. Before that they had avoided the place because it was supposedly the home of the rich and famous. We weren’t either.

They had spent the previous two summers house-hunting in Charlottesville, Virginia with me in tow. We’d just spent another week in Charlottesville. None of the houses there were what they wanted. At the wise ages of seven, eight and nine I had seen a LOT of houses. All had bedrooms, living rooms, kitchens… Most had bathrooms and electricity. All had running water. I had no idea what my parents were looking for that these places didn’t have. It didn’t matter if I liked a place or not, so obviously my opinion wasn’t a deciding factor.

Two days before driving to Tryon, my parents had decided to try looking in North Carolina, so we left Virginia heading south. It was just another interminable car ride to me. A few more mountain roads, hairpin turns, rocks falling from sheer mountain faces, and drops to gorges we couldn’t see the bottom of.

We’d arrived in Asheville in the evening and my parents had arranged to meet a realtor in the morning. He didn’t come. When my parents called the realty office, they learned he had died. This was in the days when realtors were scarce: there was no one else to show us property in Ashville.

Not wanting to waste the day, my parents called the realtor in Hendersonville and agreed to meet for lunch and then see some property. We spent the rest of the morning driving south to Hendersonville where we waited for the realtor. He didn’t come either. When my parents called the realty office, they learned that he had been hospitalized. So we ate and got back in the car and headed further south, down the mountain to Tryon, where we found accommodation at the then flourishing Valley Courts Motel. My parents called the local realtor who promised to come first thing in the morning.

Between that fateful phone call and the following morning, I found a friend, a girl my age whose parents owned the motel. We had a glorious time swimming and talking horses. So on that fateful morning, when Mr. Hester arrived in a flawless white suit – the temperature was hot and muggy – my parents went off without me for the first (and only) time. Never let your parents out of your sight: they might do something stupid! They did. Meanwhile I learned to like sausage and grits for breakfast!

They arrived back for lunch. What do I mean “they”? It was two people who looked like my parents but who acted like… How do people act when they’re in love with an object? That’s how they acted. All they could talk about was the house. The original part was modeled after a small French chateau – but the second owner had doubled the size of the house adding two bedrooms. So what? Every house we looked at had bedrooms! The living room was huge! So what? Every house we’d seen had a living room! They described the rooms, bathrooms, kitchen… and they weren’t making any headway getting me in the least enthused about their dream.

My father got desperate, devious, and inspired. The house had a secret staircase, a secret room…. Okay, I could be persuaded to go see this place and I could bring my friend. The trip there took us through Tryon. The main thoroughfare, not just through town but from Asheville south to South Carolina, was Trade Street. It sported both typical small-town USA facades that rose two and three stories on one story buildings, but also a unique Tryon blend of shops that might have been extracted from a British country village. Along the very elegant Melrose Avenue, starting with Oak Hall Hotel (which has not survived), there was a hodge-podge of head turning architectural styles that could have come from around Europe and the US. My head was swinging from side to side as I took in all the places that turned my head!

After winding around streets that were a seeming maze of greenery, fine homes, and foresty areas we reached THE HOUSE. The place was (is still) definitely a head-turner too. It even had a witch’s hut on the property – actually it was an old garage for the original owner’s Model A that had been somewhat refurbished as a potting shed by the second owner, but oh so much more romantic to two nine year olds as a witch’s hut! The house itself had a staircase worthy of a romance and balconies to suit scenes from Romeo and Juliet. The gardens were a labyrinth of paths perfect for Hansel and Gretel to get lost in. And yes the secret room was there, but the secret stair looked more like a closet – until you opened the door.

Mom and Dad spent that evening and night agonizing over whether or not this was the place. They woke starry-eyed at dawn and asked each other the important question: should we? They decided we should. Mr. Hester returned that morning to take us all to breakfast at Mimosa Inn – which meant I didn’t get to have another breakfast of sausage and grits with my friend. Sometime that afternoon my parents met the sister-executrix of the deceased second owner. The place had been on the market for some three years and though my parents offer for the house was low, it was deemed sufficient. So we ended up moving in three years later when my parents retired although we did manage to spend summers there between buying and moving in.

In those days air conditioning was still relatively new and Tryon was still a summer town – people left “hot” areas like Charleston and Miami to enjoy the cooler climate in the mountains. But Tryon was no longer in its heyday. Tryon is beautifully situated in the mountains – although in recent years building has begun denuding those mountains of a number of trees and is causing erosion and other problems. Back then, folks were either local folks or they were rich. We weren’t local or rich. But our house had a history: built by artist Homer Ellertson who was a friend of musician George Gershwin – who reputedly wrote part of Porgy and Bess while staying with Ellertson. Guests to Tryon had included folks like F. Scott Fitzgerald, Clara Edwards and David Niven. Many had had lavish homes there. Historic inns like Mimosa and Oak Hall had catered to the needs and whims of glittering socialites.

Slowly over time these homes and inns are all losing their appeal. Not only aren’t they young anymore, today no one needs a butlery; very few people desire entire cabinets dedicated to silverware, or have sufficient table linen to devote an entire closet to it. Besides why deal with hard wood floors when wall to wall carpet is the rage? More importantly, their amenities no longer meet “code” and upgrading them is expensive almost to the point of impossibility of restoration. Nowadays folks moving to the area prefer to build new homes, homes not worn by age and neglect and loaded with the current list of modern conveniences. It is not just the mountains being eroded; it is the charm of the atmosphere. Why paint, carpet, shore-up and retrofit new plumbing or electric wiring into an old home when one can get a pristine new place without those headaches? Why save or plant trees to retain mountains when everyone wants a flat place to build and a clear view of the mountains?

Oh I know: old homes have problems! The first summer we stayed there, something dripped on my toe at night. I wiped it off but my toe was sticky. Another drip. I sat up to find out why a drip would be sticky. I tasted the sticky stuff – fearless I now realize. It could have been anything. It was honey. There was a false ceiling in the studio. Between it and the roof, honey bees had been diligently making honey for years. They’d even taken over the chimney. Unfortunately we had to exterminate them and that ruined the honey, but… and then there was the family of flying squirrels that occupied another part of the roof – until they came into the house and started using my bed as a trampoline. I woke one morning to a small warm furry bright-eyed squirrel sitting in my hand. I merely closed my eyes and went back to sleep and told my parents about them later. Getting rid of the squirrels was much more difficult than getting rid of the bees: they kept coming back!

Hopefully future generations enjoy the valleys where thunderstorms get caught in the arms of the mountains and struggle like young children to get out of a parent’s grip like the storms of my youth that rumbled up and down the valley until their clouds disgorged their rain-load and moved off.

More catching up

It is fall. Time to resume work on the national dress I am making. Classes resumed last week. Making very little, or very slow progress seems to be my current speed. Over the summer I did not get the zigzag stitchery done on the blouse parts. That task must be done before I continue doing the cut work embroidery. I also did not spin any wool for the skirt or apron, so that must be done. It only requires spinning a kilo or two (two to four pounds). So far, my largest project has been about 300 grams (just over half a pound). After it is spun I’ll need to dye it; and, before I dye it, it will have to be very carefully set out, measured off and tied so that the ikat in the weft will come at just the right places. I asked about that last Saturday when the Finnish Handicraft museum hosted a day devoted to National Dress.

Cut work embroidery on sleeve cuffs (click for larger picture):


I did manage to dye some of the belt warp with indigo, but it isn’t yet a dark enough blue, so it needs to be redyed. I also managed to buy the white cotton for the contrasting color of the belt warp. I also bought yarn for the socks. It will also need to be dyed. Knitting socks will be a major undertaking for me: I knit well enough but am dreadfully slow and clumsy. I also got my sewing machine overhauled – but I think I am a long way away from having anything to sew with it, and most of the sewing will be done by hand.

Indigo dyed hand spun yarn for belt warp - the flash makes it seem paler than it is, but it isn't dark enough:


Before I can begin spinning the wool, I must finish a current project: spinning some lovely Merino for Leila. The first skein is ready - almost 400 meters (definitely 400 plus yards) and 70 grams (2.25 oz), but it seems likely that two more skeins will come from the second 100 grams (3.5 ounces) as there is about 30 grams (1 ounce) still on the bobbins. I’ll just add the rest of the wool to that and then ply. Leila should get a fair amount of fun with this once it's done.

First skein for Leila and bobbins with singles:

Obessing

Obsessing

I am obsessing over Turkish yogurt; G.D. Gross’ 70% cacao chocolate; watching all of Dempsey and Makepeace on U-Tube; and getting the weeds out of 20 of my 70 square meters in my garden this year so that something else can grow there next year. I am also obsessing over getting sand and manure for the garden, and clearing the remaining 50 square meters of weeds, but that will just HAVE to wait.

I took on the yogurt as an additional source of calcium – needed along with MUCH higher Vitamin D – to counteract my osteoporosis. Now it is almost impossible to stop eating it until the yogurt tub is empty. Pudding should taste this good! Never mind about pudding! This yogurt defies the need for embellishment, although fresh ripe cranberries might just up the obsessive quality.

Yogurt and chocolate:


The chocolate ought to be a no-brainer! Surely by now EVERYONE knows that cocoa is positively GOOD for the body, don’t they? True, I do keep reading reports that support that idea. However, I MAY have ignored reports that contradict it, but, if I have, it is only because I want to believe it really is as good as my tongue insists it is.

I rather enjoy the cultural and gender dynamics of Dempsey and Makepeace. I didn’t get to see all of it when it was on TV in the previous century, and in this century, I didn’t buy the complete series when I could have. I don’t mind rewatching it on U-Tube. In fact, though I do watch it out of sequence, I really enjoy it. The only things that bother me are the small U-Tube screen, and having to upload the next 10 minutes worth every 10 minutes. Nevertheless, I am having excessive obsessive fun doing just that!

The weeds will still be there next year! (more joy) Rebecca recommends JUST growing weeds. This would be a brilliant solution, if I wanted weeds. The trouble is I want things like: onions, spinach, kale, peas, beans, flax (and nettle – which many people would classify as a “weed”), beets, turnips, potatoes, basil, parsley, sage, rosemary, lavender and so on. I must admit that the parsley, sage, rosemary and lavender are doing well. I’ll find out about the potatoes soon enough. I have a potato growing experiment going on. Some of the onions seem to have done well too, which is amazing since they are almost overwhelmed by weeds! I also actually have three peas! No, no, not pea plants, I have nine of those. I mean the entire crop of peas is three peas! I KNEW I should have planted beans!

Garden: first the potato experiment, then the weed infested onionsand finally the thriving herbs.




Actually I planted the peas more for their nitrogen fixing ability. It is also another reason I like the nettle. That poor soil is so “poor” it is a wonder anything grows in it! Hence a reason I want the manure. One of these years, when the weeds are more under control, I will spread some nice HOT manure (preferably goat, sheep, horse or cow in that order) on the dirt in the fall and let it cool off under a nice blanket of winter snow, then dig it in the following spring. Perhaps then I could have four peas or even six! The sand is for the root crops and the herbs of course: it will give the roots room to expand and the herbs will get good drainage. Thinking about it increases the amount of sand and manure that would be “sufficient”. I’ve been straining my imagination to figure out how to get truck loads of sand and manure to the area. I don’t just want “some” sand and “some” manure, I want A LOT of both. Good thing the area is still covered in weeds AND not readily accessible for trucks, or I really would be obsessing about this. Do not tell me that a tractor could reach my garden. I do not want to know that!

Dang, but that reminds me Vesa wanted to sell me a John Deere way back when all I had was a balcony! Seventy square meters is still too small for even the smallest garden “tractor”. Still it’s kind of like big power tools: use them once and forever dream of having a personal machine shop loaded with drill presses, lathes, routers with the full compliment of router bits, not to mention entire swarms of saws, blades, chisels, and clamps. Heck, if it isn’t at least as well equipped as Norm Abrams’ New Yankee Workshop, then it’s definitely time for another visit to the hardware store! And thus another obsession is revealed. There you have it. I am obsessively obsessed!

Early September

Seems like an age and yes, by and large, I have been busy. Work on the garden has had its ons and offs. Offs have come due to rain and other commitments. The area I have been weeding and reweeding, is quite muddy for a day or two after rain, and the dirt clings more to the weed roots. On the other hand the rain helps the weeds sprout so I can find them and dig them up.

Today I not only worked on reducing the weed population – a pathetically slow endeavour as I am trying to get the small hair roots as well as the bigger ones – but I also cleaned seven large flower pots that have been given to me. I plan on replanting my coffee plantation, which is currently all in one tall but narrow pot. The gardenia also needs repotting and the Bay laurel is suffering and surely wants more dirt and some feeding.

Clean flower pots:

The gardenia:

The coffee plantation:


Yesterday I managed to transplant the spring bulbs I received last spring. Their new home is around the base of my apple tree. They include crocus, narcissus and daffodils. I hope to add tulips and lilies. I also need to plan a similar planting around the cherry tree. Gladiolus planted around midsummer are blooming, or about to, and looking very nice indeed. Soon enough I’ll have to dig up the onions and the glads.

Yesterday I also “finished” the cotton yarn I’ve been spinning. I boiled it in detergent and washing soda for an hour, rinsed it well in three changes of water, then boiled it again in plain water. After that I hung it to dry with weights depending from it. I have no idea exactly why all this was recommended. Next time I will try a different means of “finishing” my cotton yarn, perhaps just washing it and perhaps steaming it.

Natural colored cotton:

Natural white cotton:

The brown cotton grew that color. I know. I used to think all cotton was white too. Not so. These two efforts were my first major endeavor with cotton. The brown was spun on my Ashford Traditional at ratio 17 to 1. The white was spun on a drop spindle. Both were chain plied on my Ashford Traditional. They are about to go in the mail to my teacher for her comments.

I’ve also been busy making inkle band book marks. I’m satisfied with the blue, white and gold combination – based on a traditional Finnish pattern. I haven’t found exactly the combination that I want for the black, white, green and gold. I have now taken the endeavour to the literal drawing board before I rewrap my loom. If time were not an element then I would do a raised pattern motif.

The (out of focus) inkle bands:


The drawing board: