Monday, April 17, 2017

Signs of spring

Cold morning sunlight pours in through the curtains.  I open the window for ten brisk minutes.  Mourning doves mutter outside in the maple tree, the school bus comes and goes, a big truck downshifts.  Outdoors!  It smells so lush out there.  So dirty and loamy and promising.  
Scarves, hats, mittens, cowls make their way through the wash and into storage.  I love this part of things.  I love taking care of these beautiful things I've made; hand washing them, folding them neatly, tucking them into bed for the summer.  I love unpacking them again, too, later, rediscovering them.  I am already anticipating that moment.  
I make yarn at my spinning wheel.  This is a mystery wool, bought as a bump [that's what you call a ball of carded roving] at a fiber fair last fall, unlabeled and unidentifiable.  Somehow I had it in my mind that it was alpaca, but it is definitely sheep.  That's about as specific as it'll get.  Brownish, natural gray, wooly, soft.  Probably DK weight?  I don't know.  Who knows.  My plying is improving.  There is so much to learn.  
 
My Warriston is finished, and I wear it with some weariness, looking out the window at the tattered but greening landscape.  This pullover is meant to be worn as an outer layer--a sweatshirt with style--so it is very roomy and very comfy.  I used Natural Wool DK 8-ply by Wools of New Zealand in "Cocoa".  What a smooshy, springy lovely wooly wool that is.  It totally looks like the perfect handspun, and I am so interested in that at the moment.  
Here it is, in action in the field, with squirrel skull, discovered on the ground underneath our big maple tree.  I can't say I'm one bit sorry.  Squirrels!  Ugh.  I hate them.  That up there is my very favorite kind of squirrel.  He lives to chew another hole in my barn NO MORE.  
The sock yarns continue to haunt.  Why are these handpainted things so utterly magical in the skein, and so utterly not magical when knitted into something?  So often the gorgeous, luminous colors just devolve into mud.  And yet, they are always in my stash, always in my shopping basket at the yarn shop, and always ALWAYS coming home with me from the fiber festival.  I can't stop loving them.  The Scarfy Thing they are becoming is just fiddly enough to keep me from getting up a good head of steam on it.  Many of my joins and seams look pretty terrible.  I'll probably knit the whole thing all the way to the end without having decided whether I like it or not.  
It won't be the first time.  A knitter's gotta knit.