Etherknitter

Epidemic

Many in New England have been made drunk and euphoric by the spring weather this week.  Alas, my poor garden must cope with the winter hangover before rejoicing can happen.

The maladies are many. 

My poor tree peonies suffered compound fractures in all extremities.  The carnage was complete.  A good doctor seeks to understand the mechanisms of injury.  Wet snow fell, ice storms covered the wet snow.  All further snow storms added weight to the bent arms and legs, until they screamed and broke.

I'm a terrible peony-mom.  I didn't hear the screams until it was far too late.

A whole host of plants didn't live through the winter. Consumption got 'em.  Dead stems keeled over.   Pull at the stems, and the gardener-doctor is confronted with this.

Voles ate every single root on many plants.  Plants that winter over without stems simply disappeared, their previous locations marked by shallow depressions in the soil. 

Winters without snow cover kill plants from dehydration, cold, and exposure.  Winters with protective snow cover give rodents their shot at all the best entrees, desserts and appetizers.

Castor oil doesn't work.  Volebloc slows them down.  Maybe.  I'm planting in wire cages for now.  It simply sucks.  I asked one of my patients, a landscaper, what to do about voles.

He laughed, without humor, replete with irony.  "Feed 'em," he advised.

So I either put out food to decoy them briefly and help them survive?  Or feed them expensive perennials?  I think I'll go sniff some wool fumes tomorrow.  No matter what I buy at Connecticut Sheep and Wool, it will be less expensive than feeding voles.

I do want to end on a positive note.  If you aren't reading Sheepgal, you should.  Her descriptions of lambing and lambs bring it all home.  It is funny, amazing, joyous, and sad as Barb Parry takes you through her spring on the farm.

Lantern Moon sent me replacement needles for the incorrectly sized #7s.  They sent me ten to replace two.  I will email the customer service representative to see if that really is what was supposed to happen.  Right now, I'm feeling the warm glow of excellent customer service in response to the problem. 

G is for Golding

At Rhinebeck 2006, I missed my dream NH Norwegian wheel by fifteen minutes.  I got to the wheelwright's booth at 9:15am.  I thought I was 45 minutes early, but it was not so. 

Instead, I tried the NH Saxony.  It was there, and it was for sale.  I couldn't spin on it to save a Viking's life.  I left, knowing clearly that it was not the wheel for me, tail firmly between legs, to meet Lorrie at Barn A. 

I was weak.  Vulnerable.  She told me I had to try this wheel. 

I knew I shouldn't.  But I did. 

It was a lush, smooth, flawless spinning experience.  But it was too ornate.  Too expensive.  No and no and no.

Yes??

Lorrie and I made a field trip to Tom Golding's studio just after Christmas, 2006.  He was willing to work on a simpler design with me.

The center motif had to be modifiable to accommodate the footman attachment.  Several Celtic designs were rejected as either edgy, ornate, or difficult to modify without ruining the design.

Working with Tom Golding was wonderful.  He was cooperative, responsive, knowledgeable.  He made it very clear that he wasn't done until I was happy with the design and with the wheel.  He sent pictures at several steps along the finishing way.  We emailed and talked.

His workshop looks like a set from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  Every machine and tool is spotless.  (There were no Oompa Loompas the day I was there.)  His ventilation and dust evacuation system would pass any surprise OSHA inspection. 

His wheel construction is equally meticulous.  When he finishes each drive wheel, before he attaches the footman, he sets it to spinning, and times how long before the wheel stops.  He records the time in a notebook.  (The longest time was 19 minutes, shortest was 3 minutes.  Mine was 16.  I have no idea what this signifies other than less or more friction, and weight of the wheel.)  When the wheel meets his technical and aesthetic criteria, he gives it to his tester.  Diane, his wife, test-spins each wheel.  (She is equally gracious and warm.)  When Mr. E and I went up to Vermont in January to pick up the new wheel, she ran through the ratio changes with me, and answered all questions.

The wheel never needs oil.  Anywhere.  It spins just like you remember from trying it at the fiber festivals, only BETTER because now it is mine.  He signs each one.

I am a very lucky grrl.

Age is just a number

Mrs. G is 89 years old.   She quietly listened to my explanation of general anesthesia vs two types of regional anesthesia for her operation.  I asked what she thought about what I had said.

"Well, general anesthesia is just too much for this.  I think that I would rather endure a tight band around my arm than have you fiddling with my nerves."

People half her age have coped less well with these abstractions and decisions.   I was impressed.

Her mind was sharp, her manner calm.  "What's your secret?",  I queried. 

"It must be the gardening", she replied. 

"Oh!  Of course."  (While, inside, I cheered and yahooed.)

On Saturday, I stopped off at the garden center after food shopping.  Mr. E had a book, which he read in the car while I got a soul-saving transfusion of cute little plants in cute little pots.   (CLPs in CLPs is the shorthand in our household.)

Johnny Jump-Ups in antique lavender for my soul, and mesclun seedlings for spring salads:

Remember all that startitis?  I'm 7/11 through the garter stitch portion of Wool Peddler's shawl.  The yarn is Judy's merino/silk two ply in the Atlantic colorway:

I'm thinking of starting a new feature on the blog called Wine of the Week (WOW).  It will be something good, or something unusual, or something fun, and it won't happen every week.  (That's too much pressure.)

1983 Guigal Cotes du Rhone - this was ridiculous.  It cost $6.50 when I bought it in the late 1980s.  It should have been consumed the day I bought it.  Instead, it hung around the cellar until it was twenty five years old.  It is a modest wine.  The juice used to make the blend came from numerous no-name vineyards, blended every which way, to make an inexpensive, buy-now-drink-now product. 

I expected it to have died a vinous death years ago.  Instead, it was ethereal.  Mushroomy, woodsy, gentle fruitiness, smooth, lush, we celebrated the surprise, and then mourned the passing of the bottle.

It's not just the swatch that lies

Must blog but tired don't want to complain have stuff to say been doing knitting some spinning no pictures of either must do something about that but tired hate complaining in publicblogging should do my G no not yet when did obligation to post get into the mix but i want to blogtouch my buddies tired should be doing yardwork no thanks should be doing expense report yech handed taxes to the big guy at least that's off my plate but need to write letter and clear desk and pay bills and why do I have to have a day job?

Monkey mind, indeed. 

Swatches are evil mind-twisters.  Every knitter knows this.  How about when it twists even further?  Sometimes, it may not be the knitter's hands that are the culprit.

Manise spotted this one from across the table.  I was swatching for Green Gable.  US #6 gave me 13.5 st/inch with Rowan Calmer.  I went up a needle size.  Manise pointed out that my needles were still US #6.  "You must have picked up the first set.  Looks small", she accused.

My Lantern Moons, purchased as US #7.  Two measure out as #6, three measure out as #7.  My record keeping isn't good enough to know where to return them. 

Just imagine what my swatch WOULDN'T have told me about Rowan Calmer for Green Gable.  (Many thanks to Manise, whose eyes are as sharp as a needle gauge.)

BMFA Sheep to Shoe (Lapis)  is on a wheel.  Strip the roving into three equal lengthwise parts. 

One reassessment and reallocation yields 87.8 gms/82.2 gms/93.8gms.  I wring my hands.  Is it even enough?  Most people don't have drug-dealer scales.  Most people eyeball it.  Isn't that good enough? 

As I inspect the color changes, it becomes clear that the roving will not spin out into clear color transitions.  The weights are fine.  I'm 50% into spinning worsted technique, a good amount of twist (Goldilocks and the Three Bears: not too much, not too little, just right), planning three ply from three bobbins.

Startitis has continued.  There really has been a point to it, which became clear when I cast on for Green Gable, and then the Wool Peddler's shawl.  I finally found WIPs that made me want to knit again. 

The barbarians came on Thursday and blew the leaves away.  It is shocking to see lawn.  Of course, the lawn that has been revealed is in shocking condition.  I hope that is temporary.

The croci have stretched, reached up their tiny arms, yawned, and are preparing to smile.  At LAST.