Etherknitter

R is for Raptor

I am a second-generation daughter of European and Russian peasants.    I am not the bastard great-great granddaughter of French or English kings.  There is no rational explanation for my love of falconry.  When my Burgundy group (Les Chevaliers du Tastevin) had a weekend event planned in Vermont, I flew into a tizzy at the opportunity. 

The Equinox Inn hosts the United States branch of the British School of Falconry.   I knocked Mr. Etherknitter to the floor in my rush for the phone.  "Me me me me!!" I shouted into the receiver.  "Of course, Ma'am.  May I also take your name?" 

It was early on a damp, chilly spring morning.  A young man gave me a pair of Wellies, a Scottish coat, and a leather glove.  We trekked out to an apple orchard, past sleepy cows, through misty meadows, Harris hawk on left wrist.  It is always the left wrist. 

She weighs virtually nothing.  It's all feathers and hollow bones. 

Hawks do not develop relationships with humans the way cats and dogs do.  All behavior is driven by hunger and hunting.  The hawk is not flown unless she is hungry, as the lure to bring her back to the hand is food.  If the hawk isn't hungry, she doesn't come back.  Period.  Her weight is tracked carefully.  She is taken out to fly only when she is several grams below her fed weight. 

The lure is a tiny piece of raw chicken meat.  Harris hawks have quarter-mile vision, so a square centimeter of lunch works.  Mr. E was a great photographer, and caught Miss Piggy responding to the lure. 

Knitting?  Oh, that.  Next post, I promise.

Q is for Quaff

Once a month, eight enophiles meet for dinner.  We each bring a bottle of wine, meeting the criteria of a predetermined theme.  It might be grape varietal (shiraz, merlot)  specific region (West Coast pinot noir), winemaker (Guigal), or year (1990 Bordeaux).   This date is kept free, and few other obligations are allowed to invade this commitment.  August was Chablis.

This shot is from my seat, camera on the table.

This shows a contemplative Etherknitter, sitting in front of the Boston Common backdrop.  Mort, on the far right, is evidently caught in mid-mouthful.   

Wine and fiber are similar passions.  They each involve stashes, a hunt for special examples, the promise of future pleasures, and the joy of sharing one's excitement with others so inclined.

The good news?  I'll be driving to Rhinebeck, so there will be wine.  The bad news?  HA!  There is no bad news.

Life is good.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to Webs we go!

I don't think there is a dwarf named Tardy.  That would otherwise be me, and this post.  You know where we went, and you know who was there. 

I lay claim to the Doc moniker.  Beyond that, well, I'll let the others be who they will:  Julia, Kellee, Cheryl, Pumpkinmama, Beth, and, of course, Cate.  (Had to include Cate to make the seventh dwarf.)

Does this woman look drugged to you?  Fiber seemed to have that effect on this group.  We each had a shopping basket.  Webs is missing an important marketing point:  we each shopped until the basket was full, and then stopped.  (Julia brought her own Large Canvas Bag, and was not encumbered by rigid geometry.)  If you were Webs, wouldn't you build a bigger basket?

I brought some handspun bobbins so I could match cones of silk and wool to the colors.  (Ply it on itself, and there isn't enough yarn for anything other than a swatch or a scarflet.  Plyed with silk or Zephyr?  Lots of possibilities open.)  It was no accident that I wandered into the warehouse and got snagged by Noro Cash Iroha.  I stumbled past some K1C2 angora on closeout.  The screaming Etherknitter color screamed loud enough for me to pay attention.

The angora is obvious.  The cone to the right is Zephyr in dahlia, to match some Foxhill Farm cormo/alpaca.  And the bottom cone is emerald silk, to ply with Lisa Souza's BFL.  There may have been a stray sock yarn skein in the mix, too.  I can't get a true picture of the Noro.  It's deep dark shiny silky soft teal blue green sumptuous fiber. 

I've been intrigued by knitters talking about patterns to which one must pay attention.  It's a universal description that everyone understands in just those two words.  I see pitfalls,  frogging, and sighing when I look into the future of such a pattern.  That fails to scare most of us away, as an imagined rocky road seems quite navigable JUST BEFORE you start the journey.  The phrase is from the latter 1700s, and is defined here in some careful detail, to which you may pay little attention.

I'm more behind on blogging than I am on knitting and spinning.  It's the time of year that I break in a new resident, and the veritable life gets sucked out of me each day.  I'll be done a week from tomorrow. 

P is for Pest

It's a really good thing that the climbing rose 'Blaze' blooms mostly in June.  This rebloomer endures a dreadful fate every summer.  After the first of July, when beetle grubs become adults, I'm faced with destruction and damage in the garden.

Meet the scourge of the Northeast.  Popillia japonica Newman, AKA the Japanese beetle, demonstrates a voracious and undiscriminating appetite.  You can read about the disgusting little suckers at either link.

There are some flowers that are just not worth growing because of the beetles.  Dahlias never have a chance to preen before their petals become the snack before sex.

I'll leave you with a picture of a flower they don't seem to like.  (Trial and error is how most gardening proceeds.)  I chose the catanache because of the blue.  It flowers freely in the heat, unlike many that shut down and sulk until cooler temperatures return. 

Bind off, Block and Blog

The casting-on ritual of starting a knitted object ends with the ritual of binding off and blocking.  Only the fiberblog-obsessed extend it to include the posting rituals.  Pictures.  Attempts at pictures.  Sometimes, the yarn and the pattern and the camera don't hit it off. 

The best attempts so far, for December 30th of the Perpetual Stitch a Day calendar, Wavy Rib, right side:

Wrong side:

Caught in the early morning of a mid-90 degree day before the 100 degree day,  Mr. Etherknitter multitasking while he poses in the scarf.

50% cashmere, 50% merino, Karabella Boise.  Yes, it's worth the $$$.

No cane, lots of PT, back to work in two weeks.  Yipppeeeee!