"It was the best of times, it was the worst of
times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was
the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season
of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it
was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing
before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the
other way." --Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Maybe I'm an emotional lightweight. The larger fiber festivals pull me back and forth, up and down. I was exhausted, wrung out, at the end of each day. So many mini-decisions, so many temptations to balance and weigh. Two vendors suggested that Rhinebeck has become Marylandized. The numbers of people trying to cram into small booths, into crowded narrow passages, carrying stuffed large bags, puffy fleeces...aren't you nodding your head by now?
It was a good festival. Each one is different in obvious ways: vendors, size, people. Each one has become different in more subtle ways. Our fiber community has grown. There are more bloggers. Ravelry provides an overlap between bloggers and nonbloggers. It's a HUGE group now. The fiber festivals absorb all that fiberlust and passion. However, the venues have not expanded, and the hand-dyers can only dye so much yarn and roving for each festival. It's a recipe for craziness. Communities (like cities) expand, fragment into suburbs, groups coagulate by interests, age, proximity, affinity. All groups follow the same dynamics, which is why Rhinebeck feels so fragmented to me now.
Three skeins of yarn made it past the Overloaded Stash Filters. My first Brooks Farm yarn, 100% wool with no mo, much more purple in person than my camera allows:
A booth in Barn A, across the aisle and down from Skaska, seduced with angora 80%, merino 20% softness. This will become mittlets.
The last skein to show you is my Rhinebeck coup. It is Yarn Art. It is Yarn Seduction. Those Briar Rose folks really know how to dye their merino 50%, tencel 50%. I initially thought it would be a good Clapotis yarn, but I love it to distraction, and may find more magnificent paths for it. Nothing my camera did to it could express its ethereal beauty. 1000 yards of laceweight s3x.
I came home to a reglued household (that which had been broken was now fixed). There were no pizza boxes in evidence. I did find a dead soldier in the form of an empty wine bottle. One must not begrudge those whom one has left behind. And I did not tell him of the magnificence of the pomegranite martini.
I did manage to knit with abandon, with a touch of recklessness added to the mix. No one told me HOW LONG each row of 300 stitches on a lengthwise scarf would take.
It's all good.