Posted on February 23, 2005 at 6:25 pm
And now for the spinning materials. Knitters, you may look away if you think the following salivations might inspire you to seek out a wheel. For the sake of the diminishing space available to your stash, you might want to consider this your last warning.
This humble little pile is half of what I bought to spin. The other half is at the bottom of today’s entry. Here, you can see all the creamy finesse of the pound of Blue-Faced Leicester from Indigo Moon Farm which I bought for the roving dying orgy I plan to have once I finish reading Deb Menz’s book Color In Spinning (which I also picked up this weekend). And those bullseyes of colour are 4 ounces each of Corriedale from Grafton Fibers, whose incredible booth was so looted by Sunday that Linda, the fiber artist who makes these batts so luscious that I have a hard time breaking them up to spin, Linda actually had time to sit down and spin some herself. She and her husband also make the most desirable rare wood drop spindles, crochet hooks and knitting needles.
They also had darling little drop spindle pendants for sale, (you can see them at Linda’s blog here, about halfway down the page) but they were gone by the time I got there. I did manage to snatch up another batt like this one but with some black in it, but it is currently waiting on my wheel to be navajo plied.
And that last little bag is Llama down. There was quite a stir over Pygora goat and Llama down this weekend. On Saturday morning, spinners found little baggies of llama down deposited in their baskets overnight, like some fiber Santa had been there, and we discovered the culprit: the guy in the felted cowboy hat, Lars Garrison of West Mountain Farm in Stamford, Vermont. He was carrying a big bag of the stuff around later that day, handing out more to anyone who asked. He’d break off a piece with a big smile and say "The first bit’s free, but I warn you, that stuff is powerful." He’s right; I spun mine up that night and had to have more. Lars was quite a presence all weekend, carrying about all manner of strange looking contraptions like electric spinners and something that looked like a medieval rack. Should anyone say "what is that thing?" Lars would plop it down next to the inquisitor, and show them how to use it, and then leave them alone with it for about a half an hour. Our own personal Candyman.
And finally, one of the two Indigo Moon’s signature Brushstroke batts I came home with, made up of 50% Alpaca, 25% Merino, and 25% Silk. On the left in all its feather heathery tea with milk creaminess are a couple of ounces of Icelandic lamb and silk from Frelsi Farm that I hope to spin into laceweight for an Orenberg lace scarf. Icelandic doesn’t want a lot of twist, so should I get it down to laceweight without a lot of twist, it will be a great leap forward for me, but the Icelandic is also very accomodating because of its nice long staple. Yep, I’m nuts, but I had to think of a justification to buy this little pouf given that I had already so much colour screaming my name. The insidious thing about spinning for me, all of you daring knitters who were
foolish brave enough to continue reading in spite of my best advice, is that yarn has a limit: it’s clear when you buy yarn what you might make form it. But with fiber, it’s not so clear. Fiber is infinite, and the potential for stash overload is ever present. I have no plans for any of this stuff except the vague notion that somehow it will all be spun by Rhinebeck, and I’ll somehow have room for more by then. So take this as a moralists’ tale, or follow me if you will, but don’t say you weren’t warned.