First Fleece

I had a wonderful time at the Black Sheep Gathering this year. I took two workshops, traded in my old wheel for a new Majacraft Suzie Alpaca (more about that later), learned so much from listening to Judith MacKenzie McCuin judge the fiber arts show, and bought my first fleece! It was unexpected, unplanned. Sunday afternoon, I walked over the the near empty Wheeler Pavilion to look at the wool show before it closed. And then I saw this beautiful Romney lamb fleece from Fishwhistle Farm, a local farm just outside of Eugene, and was smitten. I just couldn’t walk away. 

My photographic skills don’t do this fleece justice. It is black, charcoal, silver, and red in different places. The locks seem silky and have more crimp than is usual for a Romney. I brought it home and dumped it out of its plastic bag onto a clean sheet to “sort” it, as I’d been instructed to do by the helpful volunteer who sold it to me. I had no idea what I was looking at. It all looked pretty clean to me, so it must have been well-skirted. (Later I found out that Fishwhistle Farm coats their sheep, so that is why it’s such a clean fleece.) I didn’t throw anything away. I just divided it up into clumps that would fit into paper bags, and then taped the bags shut and put them in big plastic bins. I have read so many conflicting opinions on fleece storage, but I knew I didn’t want to keep it in the plastic bag — I wanted it to breathe — and I knew I had to protect it against dreaded wool-devouring creatures. This arrangement was temporary, just until I could wash it and figure out a more permanent storage solution. If any readers out there have any great suggestions, please comment!

I kicked into high gear studying all my books and the internet for advice on scouring raw fleece and processing it. Ravelry’s Fiber Prep group has been especially helpful, as well as Spinning Spider Jenny’s blog. I finally came up with a version that I decided to test out on a small amount of fleece. I thought I’d share my process, in case it’s interesting or helpful to anyone else who wonders what to do with their first fleece.

This is what I used to scour the fleece in the kitchen sink:

• A big stainless steel pot (only used for fibery pursuits)
• A tea kettle
• A wooden spoon
• Ruber gloves
• A mesh bag
• Dishsoap with grease-cutter
• Distilled white vinegar

I filled the pot with hot water out of the tap and topped it off with water from the kettle that was just below boiling. Then I added the liquid dish soap and swirled it around with the spoon, being careful not to make suds. I lowered the fleece in the mesh bag (probably about 1/2 pound, but I didn’t weight it) into the water and pushed it down with the spoon. Then the lid went on to maintain heat, and I let the fleece soak for about 15 minutes. After that I lifted it out, wearing heavy rubber gloves, supporting it from below, and squeezed out the dirty, soapy water. The mesh bag kept it all together, which made it easy. Then I dumped the dirty water outside and started again.

The important things are to use hot water, which melts the grease, and to not let the water cool down, which prevents the grease from redepositing on the wool. And avoid felting by keeping the water temperature constant with each bath (or at least avoid drastic changes in water temperature), and don’t agitate the wool.

I did two washes, and then rinsed. To rinse, I filled the pot with hot tap water, and this time didn’t add any kettle water. I added a few glugs of vinegar to the first rinse, which provides a wool-friendly acidic environment and helps cut the soap. Leaving soap in wool can damage it. I rinsed three times, until the water stayed clear, soaking for about 5 minutes in each rinse bath. Then I squeezed out the water and rolled the mesh bag up in a towel to squeeze out even more. 

For drying the wool, I rigged up a sweater drying rack outside with some fine netting (I think it’s tulle fabric) and clothespins.

The mesh of the drying rack and the tulle fabric allow the fleece to dry quickly with plenty of air circulation, and the tulle also keeps the fleece from blowing away. The locks feel and smell really clean.

The whole process became very meditative. There is a lot of down time in between changing bath water, which was conducive to spinning and writing this blog post. I could see how washing and processing a fleece would be a really fun, relaxing summertime activity, especially if a group of women got together to card or comb wool, spin, and gossip during the process, as they must have done for aeons. I can almost feel in my bones the rhythm of this work, as if remembering something I was not even aware I knew. For me, the summer spent washing and processing this fleece in small batches is even sweeter when I think of the long autumn hours of spinning, and then the dark winter nights knitting it into something wonderful, a garment that stores the memories of what I thought about and learned during the process. 

 

Pre-BSG Fiber Frenzy

Just days before the Black Sheep Gathering, I temporarily lost control and ordered this from Spunky Eclectic:

It’s three different colorways of BFL fiber. I was surprised how well they all looked together when I opened the box, as this was not intentional when I ordered them. I am thinking of somehow blending the colors into one yarn. Maybe I will spin each into a single and then make a three-ply, or perhaps I’ll branch out and use a more adventurous color-blending technique. I could strip each roving into thin sections and then draft a section from each colorway together. Or, I could randomly spin up the singles by alternating sections from each roving and then ply the singles together for a serendipitous yarn. The inspiration for these techniques is mostly from two sources: Deb Menz’ Color in Spinning and Lynne Vogel, both here and in The Twisted Sisters Sock Workbook. 

This will be my fifth BSG. I started spinning in 2004 after taking two spinning classes there. My first spindle was a Bosworth Midi, still one of my all-time faves.

 

Another Pi

I love Elizabeth Zimmermann’s Pi Shawl, found in Knitter’s Almanac and Knitter’s Workshop. Inspired by Jared Flood’s famous and stunning Pi, I made one with unspun Icelandic last winter and never tired of knitting it. Like EZ says in the book, the closer I got to finishing it, the more fond of it I became and was sad that it ended. The remedy, of course, is to cast on another one. This one is made out of Reynold’s Whiskey, a two-ply, soft, heathered, fingering-weight wool.

The shawl is knitted from the center out and becomes a handy carry-bag for your yarn as it grows. Every six rows there is an eyelet row (k2, k2tog), which mimics the actual increase rows (k1, yarnover) at mathematically calculated intervals. It’s a brilliant pattern. I’ll add a wide lace border toward the end and then a sideways garter stitch edging to finish it. This shawl is infinitely flexible in terms of personal creativity. There are hundreds of them on Ravelry and each one is unique. You can use any yarn, at any gauge, with any lace patterns that fit inserted in at your whim. Or you can make a very plain, straightforward piece in gorgeous yarn and end up with, as EZ puts it, “an heirloom.”

Sparkly

Just like a raven, I can’t resist a sparkly. This is a top-whorl, abalone shell mosaic spindle from Butterfly Girl Designs. It weighs about 1 ounce, my favorite weight of spindle for the yarn I like to spin. With a 1-oz spindle, I can comfortably spin a single that, when two-plied, will be in the sport to DK range of yarn. It takes more concentration to spin thicker, for a worsted weight. A better way for me to achieve that weight of yarn is to make a three-ply yarn. I have also spun thinner on a 1-oz spindle, such that a 2-ply would make more of a fingering yarn. A one-ounce spindle is just very versatile, in my opinion. I use a heavier spindle to ply, and one with a longer shaft so I can wind more yarn onto it and have a bigger skein when I’m done. The heavier weight of the spindle contributes to inertia, which means it will spin for a long time - a good thing when plying.

I have joined a fiber club. I love the idea of getting a surprise dose of fiber every month, allowing me to try out fibers and colors that I normally wouldn’t consider, and expanding my horizons as a spinner. April’s installment was four ounces of Wensleydale dyed in the Perfect Storm colorway. When I first opened it, I loved the colors (even though they’re not my usual earthy browns and greens), but was scared of the fiber. Wensleydale wool is long, lustrous and silky (read: slippery!). And by long, I mean about 8-12 inches. But reading about and ogling other club members’ exploits with Wensleydale gave me courage to try it out. I spun a sport-weight 2-ply on my wheel with no particular project in mind, wondering as I spun what the yarn would want to be when it grows up. Because Wensleydale is on the coarser side of soft, I was thinking of mittens or socks, something that requires a strong, sturdy yarn capable of withstanding lots of wear.

I adjusted my inch-worm drafting to accommodate the long fibers by holding my hands further apart than I normally do, still using a short forward draw from the nicely aligned top. Top just means the fibers are combed in a parallel arrangement, as opposed to a jumble of fibers running every which way, which is a carded preparation. Even though I spun worsted-style, slicking down the new yarn with every draft, the hairiness of the fiber escaped, creating a wonderful halo on the yarn’s surface.

Would I seek out more Wensleydale? Probably not. I prefer wools with a little more crimp and bounce, like Jacob or Shetland. But I’m glad I tried it and I look forward to what fiber May will bring in the mail.

Earth

Today’s post is inspired by several things. One is that this week starts the CSA (community supported agriculture) from Groundwork Organics farm. With a CSA, you buy a share in the harvest of a local, organic farm, and each week you receive a box of seasonal fresh fruits and veggies. The exciting thing is that you don’t know what you’re going to get - it’s a surprise every week. Some things I would have never bought at the store, like kohlrabi, but am glad to try. And if the farm’s season is bountiful, you get to share in the bounty; if there are blights, droughts, or unforeseen hailstorms, you get to experience the consequences of that too. Eating local and organic is a way to feel more connected to the source of our food, the earth. Hence the theme of this post.

It seems it was perfect timing that I came across the book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver. The book is a memoir of the year Kingsolver’s family vowed to eat only what their little corner of earth provided. If they couldn’t buy food raised in their own neighborhood or grow it themselves, they went without. This has been a quasi-practice of mine for a while. I try to pay attention to where my food comes from. Food looses its vitality the further it travels. This means that what I eat is in season. Now it’s asparagus and strawberry season - yum! I’ve got to give up the apples until next fall, as now they’re mostly from South America. Eating this way feels healthier for my body, more attuned to the place where I live, and it’s also good stewardship. Eating locally-grown produce limits the use of fossil fuels for food transport and supports the local economy.

So what does this have to do with that basket of yarn? Well, remember we’re talking about earth. Inspired by Project Spectrum, I am planning a knitting project in earthy greens and browns. Although April and May are the official PS “Earth” months, I won’t get to this project until next fall. But I like the idea of thinking of my projects, and my life in general, as part of a cycle, symbolized by the turning of the year, the seasons, and the elements. For me it’s about exploring the natural world through my spinning and knitting projects, especially through color, but also through form. So many lace and cable patterns are named for natural phenomena: stag horn, crest of the wave, climbing vine, honeycomb… Leafing through stitch dictionaries is like reading earth poetry.

I will have to decide which hues of this Reynolds Lite Lopi yarn to use for the color patterned yoke of the Aftur pullover. The body will be a rich hazel brown, and the greens will become the yoke. 

What is it with color patterned yoke sweaters? I love them and have many in my Ravelry queue. I read somewhere that patterns around the openings of the sweaters - sleeves, hem, and yoke - protect the wearer from harm.

How about some spinning?

The white skeins are destined for my indigo dyeing class at the Black Sheep Gathering in June. The yellow and brown skein is 4 ounces of BFL dyed by Amy at Spunky Eclectic. The colorway is Monkey Farts. It was hard not to think of it in those terms while spinning, when I actually was inspired by the forsythia blooming at the time.

  

It’s a plump 2-ply, probably around a DK weight, spun on the Victoria.

As a final nod to today’s theme, I was thinking how it’s Mother’s Day, a good day to honor Mother Earth. 

Lady E. and Flyingdales

Last weekend at the coast, I cast on the Lady Eleanor stole with some Noro Silk Garden I’ve had in my stash. It’s a discontinued color, so I’ve been saving it for just the right project. My Lady E. is a bit narrower than the pattern - more of a generous scarf than a stole - because I have slightly less yardage than the pattern calls for and didn’t want to run out of yarn. I thought the entrelac would be difficult, but it’s really a breeze. 

I’ve also been spinning. Last September, I bought enough Jacob roving for a sweater. I love Jacob wool. It’s springy, easy to draft, and comes in beautiful colors. The roving I have is a mix of browns, greys, and white, so it’s turning out to be a heathered oatmeal. 

    

I’m spinning it into a heavy worsted weight 3-ply, about 4 stitches to the inch, and am planning to knit Flyingdales from Lisa Lloyd’s new gorgeous book, A Fine Fleece.

I haven’t knit too much with my handspun before, just some socks, a scarf I gifted to someone, and some fingerless mitts. I really want to transition away from commercial yarns and more toward using my own handspun in projects. There is something magical and intensely intimate about knitting with your own handspun. All the so-called imperfections of the yarn just enhance the character of the finished piece. The effect is organic, alive.

Spinning enough fiber for an entire sweater is a bit daunting, so I’m taking little breaks to spin smaller projects on spindles. Here is a shetland-angora mix that was fun to spin. The angora created lumpy bumps for a rustic-looking yarn.

I’m saving up a lot of 2-4 oz. spindle-spun skeins of different fibers for a funky scarf or shawl. Mostly when I spindle-spin, I just spin for the pleasure of spinning, not with a project in mind. It’s so freeing to not have a goal, but to experience the tactile repetition of twisting, drafting, and winding on.

Hybrid Yoke

  

I finished Elizabeth Zimmermann’s Hybrid Yoke, a cross between a raglan and saddle-shoulder pullover knitted in the round. The pattern can be found in Knitting Workshop, as well as Knitting Without Tears. I love the hem facings, which were knit in a contrasting color. It’s like having a little secret when I wear the sweater, because the facings don’t show. 

I do love knitting around and around in plain stockinette stitch. Sometimes I just need that mindless hour or two at the end of a harried day. But now that I’ve accomplished a saddle-shoulder in the round, I feel up to the challenge of adding patterns, maybe a cable traveling up the arm, uninterrupted from wrist to neck. 

Even though sweaters are probably my favorite thing to knit, I’m taking a break from them to start this. We have a weekend at the coast planned, and I’m looking forward to lots of knitting and spinning.

Romney and a Marled Three-Ply

Romney sheep are a longwool breed originally from the Kent marshlands in England, but now are common in the U.S. and New Zealand. Lustrous Romney wool is often recommended to new spinners because it is so easy to spin. The long (5-7″), crimpy fibers make it easy to control as the spinner learns the mechanics of drafting and twist. Romney fleece comes in natural shades of black, grey, silver, and brown. The wool spins up into a good all-purpose workhorse yarn. It’s not next-to-the-skin soft like Merino, but works perfectly for rugged sweaters, socks, mittens, and hats. It’s the wool equivalent of whole grain bread. I don’t think I could get tired spinning it.

Last summer I picked up four 2-oz bumps of Romney from the Elemental Affects booth at the Black Sheep Gathering. The wool was nicely carded into heathery autumn shades: persimmony oranges, russet brown, and natural stormy grey. My plan was to knit some socks, and I knew I wanted a three ply yarn. I decided to try spinning a marled yarn on my wheel. I split the roving lengthwise into long, narrow strips and held three colors at a time, drafting across one color, then another, back and forth. Every so often I would drop one color and add the fourth one, always holding just three colors at a time and drafting back and forth across each color. The effect achieved with this technique is a stretch of solid color, then a mix of two colors at the transition point, then another stretch of the next solid color, and so on. I repeated this process until I had three full bobbins, and then I plied them together.

I loved the finished yarn, although one sock turned out lighter than the other due to the marling process -  using four colors but only spinning three at any given time. They are still my favorite socks, mostly because they are my only handspun pair, and because I have good early autumn memories of spinning and knitting them.

For more about Romney and other sheep breeds, visit this link.

Endless Temptation

Do you ever feel like the more you spin, the more your fiber replenishes itself? That’s been the case while spinning this 3 ounces of Temptation, a carded blend of merino, camel, silk, and cashmere from Butterfly Girl Designs. I started on this teeny filigree spindle, also from BGD, which flies through the air with an effortless twirl, drawing out a whisper-thin thread behind it. I spun every day but was not making a dent in the bag of fiber, so I switched to my wheel. Sometimes I just need to have a sense of completion so I can move on.

It still took me several hours to spin one ounce! And the bag with the remaining ounce of fiber still looks full. It’s like a goldfish, expanding to fit whatever container it occupies. 

So I am planning to spin these gossamer singles, then 2-ply them into a lace-weight yarn for some kind of wimple, cowel, or smoke ring. Spinning and knitting with lace-weight yarn is not my favorite thing, as I like to see faster progress. But I like how the yarn is turning out kind of uneven and rustic-looking with little slubs of silk noil here and there. The camel gives it a beautiful patina. It’s a good experience, but I’ll be happy to return to my other project - spinning for a sweater with Jacob roving purchased in a barn at the Oregon Flock and Fiber Festival last September. More to come.

Plying on a Drop Spindle

After I learned to spin on drop spindles, I quickly purchased a wheel, mostly because of my frustration with trying to make a plied yarn on a spindle. A plied yarn has two or more singles twisted together in the opposite direction in which they were spun. I was taught that a plied yarn is more durable than a singles yarn, and that the ply balances out the twist so that your knitted fabric won’t bias. Now I’ve learned, largely from reading the spinning forums on Ravelry, that - like everything in spinning - singles just need the appropriate venue in order to shine. For example, the yarn overs and open fabric of lace obviates the tendency of singles to bias. So my next challenge for myself is to get over my fear of singles, and spin some for a shawl. But that’s another post.

On spindles, I started out Andean plying, which meant making a yarn bracelet and plying the single back on itself. This gave me lots of very short, lumpy-bumpy first attempts at yarn, which are endearing, though probably not knitable. I wanted more length in my skein. So I tried slipping the full cops of singles onto knitting needles, and fashioning a lazy kate out of a shoe box. The singles tangled terribly because they weren’t under tension. Next I tried winding two singles into two center pull balls, and then winding them together into a plying ball. This worked OK, the best of any method so far, but I didn’t like how the center of the ball would sometimes pop out in a big clump; tangles again. 

Then I read this article by Abby Franquemont about how to ply by making Peruvian-style outer-pull balls with courses, then winding those singles into a plying ball. This worked great for me, but I didn’t like starting the ball (and unfortunately I don’t know her Andean tricks… I would love to take her class at SOAR on production spinning with a spindle, but alas, that’s not in the cards this year). So, I modified this technique and made some felt balls out of roving. Now I can wrap the singles around a felt ball to get started, and the weight of the ball also keeps the yarn from flying around when I’m wrapping the plying ball or plying. Longer skeins can be made by finishing one cop of singles and wrapping it on the ball for storage, then spinning another cop and splicing the ends of the two singles together to make one long continuous strand. This would work, assuming you have a plying spindle with a long enough shaft to accommodate all that yarn.

I really am inspired by Abby’s notion that you don’t need a lot of tools, lazy kates, and whatnot to ply on spindles. Even the felt balls seem like an extra, even though they can easily be tucked in a spinning basket and are portable. As my spinning skill grows, maybe I’ll find I no longer use them, but for now this method works for me. The important thing, I believe, is to love the process of using the tools you have to produce a beautiful yarn that is unique to you… like no other yarn in the world.