rain, rain, go . . . oh, whatever

I wish it would quit raining.

We've had enough rain that we could skip every drop for the summer and still be OK. I must admit, though, that it's a good excuse to sit by the window and spin.

The blue yarn is a silk/merino blend two-ply. I have more to spin, but couldn't wait to get this plied and washed to see what it looked like. It is incredibly soft and mooshy and although I forgot to check the wpi's, I judge it somewhere between fingering and DK weight. There's 522 yards there and it will make something someday that I'll love.

This one you saw on the bobbin--a merino and colonial blend batt in gorgeous colors of yellow, deep grape and brown. The yarn turned out kind of wonky, since I started it on a new wheel I bought myself for Christmas (thank you again, self!), then realized one of the 3 bobbins the seller sent from Holland with the wheel (it's an old one) doesn't fit well--too tight, and another doesn't have a small enough whorl. You can spin all you want, but the yarn won't wind on.

I was a little disappointed. I bought the wheel on eBay because I so loved it's small compact size and the configuration. It is a beautiful wheel. The seller said there was only one original bobbin, but 2 more had been made to fit. And that's true. They fit, they just don't work. I'll have to find someone to make me a couple different ones, and it doesn't diminish my love for the wheel.

So anyway, I spun some on that new-old wheel I'd never used before. It is really spun tight. Then I spun some on my Ashford and it's not so tight. The singles were all a little different, so the final yarn's a bit uneven, but it was a good learning experience. And I love the yarn anyway, and have already picked out a pattern for it. It's a DK weight, about 370 yards.

Learning experiences are what I need. I've only been spinning for about 5 years. I had wanted to learn forever, and years ago took lessons from a woman in a neighboring town. She was wonderful, but we finally decided that I would get much more from it if I had my own wheel.

What a dunce I was. She finally gave me a Navajo spindle and sent me on my way. (And a couple years later I took a dyeing course from her, too--still without any spinning wheel or wool to call my own. But my God, what a fun way to spend a beautiful Fall day--running around collecting marigolds and purple onion skins and cooking them up in big cast iron cauldrons over camp fires in her yard. I felt like a Druid and couldn't get enough.)

Finally D gave me the Ashford the Christmas before I quit work, and it came with a huge amount of really bad wool and a how-to-spin DVD. I tried to spin that stuff for a year before I finally signed up for a 2-hr class at a local fiber shop. And started instantly spinning. It just clicked all at once.

So except for the watching Betty, my teacher, and that one 2-hour class, I'm self-taught. And like most crafts, the more you learn the more you realize you don't know anything. I want to spin long-draw. I want to learn more about plying and twist and grist.

I'm studying now. I just scored Mabel Ross' Encyclopedia of Hand Spinning on eBay, and bought a few books on Amazon. And today I started this:

Silk roving that I dyed in peaches, pinks and chocolates last year. I'm going to ply it with a beautiful champagne colored angora I bought at a fiber fair last year (or maybe baby alpaca). A three ply if I can spin the angora fine enough and there's enough silk. Or a two-ply if not.

What fun.

worth it

Today I went outside on my continuing mission to get our yard cleaned up. We had some ice storms this past winter, not as bad as the year before, that left a lot of mess out there. We have about an acre, not much--but it is covered in huge trees. While I would never give them up, and miss the ones we've lost, they do make a big mess.

Some of them are shingle oaks (I don't know what their real name is, but that's what I've heard them called) that don't lose their leaves until Spring. Like me, they try to keep a tight hold on the previous summer and don't let go until they are convinced that the new Spring is finally here. So no matter how much clean-up is done in the Fall, there's always another round in the Spring.

I have a big-boy tool I bought for myself. It's called a Barracuda ~ and man, did I feel strong and independent when I bought something with such a macho name. And it sucks--leaves, I mean. So yesterday I raked leaves into small piles all over the yard, and today I vacuumed them into the grinder in that thing. And my back is killing me ~ but probably not as much as if I would have tried getting all those leaves into big trash bags.

And you know how when you're doing some mindless job your thoughts wander? Your brain goes on auto pilot and wanders freely around in all your memories and random thoughts? I like that sort of quiet thoughtful feeling you get then. So today, I started thinking about the seeds I planted this weekend, and somehow I wandered to the reasons I plant those certain ones every year. Sure, they grow well here, but I feel a much deeper connection to them than just that.

It's people. The people and memories I connect to just those flowers.

My father-in-law was a brusque, plain-spoken man who thought about half the people he met were fools; he did not suffer them gladly, and let them know it. He lived a Hemmingwayesque early life and was rough around the edges, but had fought his way from a poor childhood to a very comfortable life for his family. His soft spot, his family. Inside that gruff exterior was as tender a heart as you're ever likely to meet. I adored him.

And he loved me. Probably because he knew how I felt about his son, but still ~

I never had seen cleome, spider flower, until I knew him. It was his favorite flower. And now one of mine. I think of him every year when it comes up.

Each one of my favorites has a person behind it, I realized, breaking my back outside today. The bachelor buttons and petunias from my childhood home. Memories of summer nights catching fireflies and stopping to smell the petunias and Mother sitting on the porch watching. The bachelor buttons always, every year, next to the giant swing Daddy built for me.

The tulips because of my son, who saw some when he was little and thought they were so pretty. We planted them together when he was three, in front of the picket fence at our old house.

My sweet Nannie, who could have grown a plant from a 2 x 4, is responsible for the coleus in big pots everywhere. And the morning glories.

And wise Grandma gave me the garden plan. Her entire yard a wild profusion of flowers, back and front ~ mine is the same, just not the entire yard, though if left to my druthers I'd have it that way. It has no formal plan, and many of the flowers I grow 'walk' all around the garden. Coming up here one year and showing up there the next. I love them and have never been known to pull one out because it seems in the wrong place.

It's exactly where it is supposed to be.

how sweet it is

Not hard to guess what I've been up to today!

We've had a long, cold, rainy Spring. Not what I'd pick if I was the Goddess of Seasonal Weather. In fact, there's been flooding all around this area and all the lakes in southern Missouri and northern Arkansas are full to capacity. I saw a picture of the bridge at Kimberling City on Table Rock Lake where I lived for several years, and the water is up to almost the bottom of the bridge. I've never seen it like that--with no possible room for a boat to squeeze under.

But today, the weather is glorious and I spent most of the day outside. First weeding and then planting flower seeds. I call it planting, but that's probably not what someone watching me would call it. It looks more like I'm feeding chickens. I've gardened enough years here to know what flowers like the soil and the conditions and really want to grow in my garden. And I just walk out there, pick out a spot and throw seed around. It usually does fine.

That's with tiny seeds. The bigger ones--like the morning glory seeds that are now on the kitchen counter soaking in a little bowl of water--get a little better treatment. I'll take them out by the trellis tomorrow, trowel a little trench in the ground and throw some dirt over them. They're always gorgeous. Nasturiums are treated the same way.

I know--this isn't a nasturium. It's an apple blossom. But I don't have a nasturium picture and the cherry tree was so gorgeous today I had to take a couple pictures. The color is delicate and very fragile looking. If I had any dye on hand, and some wool to use it on, I would be dyeing this color right now. Or else the shell pink of the tulips that are blooming in back.



And during all that rainy weather, I've been busy inside, too. There's been some knitting on this:

Another lace scarf.

I love the colors in this--very pale and washed out. Unlike a lot of hand dyed yarn, this color doesn't fight with the lace pattern. It's 'Spring Frost' from Cherry Tree Hill, one of my favorite colors of theirs.

I'll take a better picture after it's blocked. And find the pattern name, too--I think it's a free one from Interweave Knits.

And during all the inside activity because of the rain, look what I found cleaning out the closet!

This filet crochet that I've been missing for years. Up on a top shelf of the linen closet, hidden away in a little box.

When we lived in the big Victorian where the kids grew up, there were two funny little windows that I wasn't sure what to do with. One was on the lower stair landing overlooking the front porch, and one half-way up the stairs overlooking my neighbor's driveway.

The stairway was dark, and I didn't want to curtain those windows. So I put louvered shutters on the bottom half and made a little valance out of filet crochet for each one.

Several years ago, when I first remembered these and looked for them, I convinced myself that I must have left them in the house. And after looking a couple more times (you can tell how often I clean the linen closet) I just gave up. And kicked myself that I'd spent hours making these and then left them for a stranger that probably threw them away, or at least didn't appreciate them. And now they're back. I'm going to soak them in lemon juice and lay them in the sunshine and find a use for them.

Oh, the one in the middle? I got so enamored of filet lace that I made more stuff, too. The butterfly I converted from a little needlepoint picture I saw. It was attached to a pillow top. And I had more--the open shelves in the kitchen sported a little narrow border of lace, too. I haven't found that. Perhaps if I clean more closets, who knows?

And I recovered these, too. The fabric you can barely see hanging underneath the filet crochet is my first quilt. Made for my dolls, and a very creative piece it is, too.

And finally this--a blanket top made by my first love--Grandma. Why it wasn't finished (or maybe it is--there's a blue binding all around it, but it's a very lightweight cotton) I just don't know. But look at those vintage, true vintage, fabrics (click to make bigger). Vintage like me.

It is crazy. The inordinate amount of joy it gives me that I found this again. Made by Grandma just for me, years ago.

A sweet day, and sweet memories.

Have a great weekend!