The Independent Stitch

A pilgrimage to see the Two Grey Hills/Toadlena weavings

On March 15, Penny Tschantz dropped a couple of comments on my January 17 post about recording the rare-breeds DVD set for Interweave. In one, she told me about a book, Dreaming of Sheep in Navajo Country by Marsha Weisiger. I now have a copy, although I haven't had time to start reading it. In another, she mentioned an exhibit of Two Grey Hills/Toadlena-style Navajo weavings that has been installed at the Wheelwright Museum in Santa Fe but is closing April 17.

It's amazing that this exhibit has been up for most of a year (since May 15, 2010) and I hadn't heard about it. That just goes to show how intense the book project has been. (Oh, yeah, I remember May 2010. And the months following. Sort of.) I guess I can forgive myself for having missed the news about the textile installation. And thank Penny for letting me know in time to make a quick, not altogether responsible, trip! (Not responsible because the undone work piled up here is deep and needs all the shoveling time I can give it.)

Last night I got back from a four-day trip that involved 1302 miles of driving (really? that's what the odometer says) and two days of visiting the Wheelwright. My brain got full both days. I had thought I'd go to the Wheelwright one day, and maybe see something else the other day. Nope. Had to go back and spend more time with the textiles.

What I can't show here is the weavings themselves. No photos permitted in the exhibit, and, alas, no catalog. I can talk about the trip, and give some hints about the rugs and tapestries.

First, Two Grey Hills/Toadlena weavings come from a certain part of the Navajo Nation, in its eastern portion. They emphasize the use of handspun yarn in natural colors, much of which comes from Navajo Churro sheep. Within an exquisite textile tradition, they are some of the most extraordinary works. They are associated with two trading posts, the Two Grey Hills Trading Post (about ten miles off US highway 666) and the Toadlena Trading Post, which is about six miles farther toward the Chuska Mountains. You can see photos of Two Grey Hills-style weavings on both posts' sites.

I've been fortunate to have visited both trading posts, more than once, and have seen work by some of the weavers featured at the Wheelwright. I even had the incredible opportunity to accompany trader Mark Winter of Toadlena on visits where I met two of the weavers and saw their work in progress. These were top-of-the-heap life experiences.

Second, I've woven a Navajo-style textile. A fairly long time ago, using information provided by Noel Bennett that reflects the teachings she received from Tiana Bighorse, I made an upright, Navajo-style loom, warped it, and beat the weft into place. Some time I will write more about that experience. Mine is not, of course, in any way a Navajo textile: and as always when I work to learn with my hands the ways of traditions that are not a direct part of my own heritage, I designed my rug (it's a rug, not a tapestry) in ways that make it clear that it's neither a copy of a Navajo work nor an attempt to imitate one directly. The colors are different and the ways my patterning goes together are different. No one would mistake my work for a "real" Navajo textile, even though I wove it on the appropriate type of loom; it has four selvedges; and so on. By making it, I learned the techniques and developed an intimate understanding of the interplay of work and creativity in the creation of masterpieces like those that the Navajo weavers produce.

Third . . . I just had to go to Santa Fe. Even though the trip made no rational sense. I remembered my experiences from my travels within the Navajo Nation in the mid-1990s. I thought about timing. I calculated fuel costs. I researched inexpensive lodging, and the presence of a hostel began to bring the trip into focus. Then my friend Susan Tweit forwarded me a coupon that allowed me to book a stay at the Sage Inn for just a bit more than the hostel would have cost and with a superb location. The Wheelwright is open both Sunday afternoons and (very unusual for a museum) on Mondays. I cleared a space from a Saturday morning through a Tuesday.

Here's part of the sunset on the drive down:

It's only appropriate that the place where I stayed was enhanced by relatively very simple, yet still warming, Navajo (rug) and at least Navajo-influenced (pillows) textiles.

There was even room for yoga, which might have been iffy at the hostel.

(My yoga strap dates from about the same era as my Navajo-style rug, which my mother now owns. The strap is cardwoven, from 5/2 perle cotton.)

While I was planning the trip, I located a wonderful bikeways map of Santa Fe in PDF form. Its only drawbacks were that it is LARGE and the color is absolutely essential to using it. My printer handles 8.5x11 sheets of paper and prints in black and white. I wrote an e-mail note to "Project Administrator, Bicycle and Trails Committee," asking how I might be able to get my hands on a printed copy of the map.

The tricky part, of course, was that I would be arriving in Santa Fe about 8 p.m. on a Saturday night, and would want to bike Sunday morning, well before the museum opened for the afternoon. I learned that the map is available at bike shops, but much web-surfing revealed to me that almost all of Santa Fe's bike emporia are closed on Sundays. Robert Siqueiros, Projects Administrator of the Engineering Division of the Public Works Department, came to my rescue and helped me connect with the right map at the right time. Because of his help, my car rested at the motel from the time I checked in to the time I checked out.

I could not have done the riding (or car-resting) without the help of the map. It got battered because I kept having to pull it out of my back pocket and unfold it to read it under what were pretty windy conditions.

I got lost a number of times, but because of the map I got found again quickly enough and could continue on my way, whether I was just exploring or whether I had a destination, like the museum, the entrance to which looks like this if you bike up Camino Lejo just past Corrales:

The museum itself isn't visible in that photo. Here's how I knew I had reached my destination:

Open at 1 on Sundays. I arrived at 1:03, without really intending to . . . I'd taken the long route, simply setting out on an exploration and still with half an idea that I was going to drive the car to Museum Hill, because it is uphill, and I wasn't sure how I'd deal with the wind, the extra 2,000+ feet of altitude, and the wrong turns I took on the trails ("Bikeway ends" and "No access except by government employees" required backtracking). Yet one mile after another, I kept going, and then . . . I was there! At exactly the optimal time!

The docent who was serving as gallery host, Judith Beery, is knowledgeable and enthusiastic, and we had a great conversation. Then I spent two and a half hours in the exhibit before I needed to take a break.

There are 37 textiles (I counted on Monday; Sunday I was just too enchanted to be analytical), representing 31 weavers, including:

• Bessie Manygoats (c. 1900-1964), 4 weavings
• Daisy Taugelchee (1911-1990), 3 weavings
• Clara Sherman (1914-2010), 2 weavings and a video of her spinning process

And one each:

• unknown (weaving from about 1910)
• unknown (weaving from about 1910, a second one)
• unknown (weaving from about 1950)
• Blind Man's Wife (? - 1914)
• Mrs. Police Boy (1865-1965)
• Frank Gould (? - 1944)
• Mary Yanabah Curley (1877-1977)
• Yellow Moustache's Wife (c. 1885 - c. 1955)
• Esther Silentman (1903-1991)
• Susie Tom (1903-1985)
• Helena Taugelchee Nez Begay (1904-1965)
• Katherine Nathaniel (no dates; weaving c. 1950)
• Yazzie Blackhorse (1913-1965)
• Cora Curley (b. 1916)
• Elizabeth Billie (b. 1920)
• Rose Mike (b. 1925)
• Virginia Deal (b. 1926)
• Mary Ann Foster (b. 1926)
• Evelyn George (b. 1928)
• Julia Jumbo (1928-2007)
• Rose Curley (b. 1929)
• Margaret Yazzie (b. 1929)
• Elizabeth Mute (b. 1932 or 1933)
• Salina Dale (b. 1935)
• Emma Benally (b. 1938)
• Mary Louise Gould (b. 1935)
• Barbara Ornelas (b. 1954)
• Angeline Silentman (b. 1955)

I have listed the weavers in the "one each" group not in the order their work was presented in the exhibit, but according to recorded or approximate birth dates. I took down their names and dates when I went back on Monday.

I could have spent many more hours examining these works of art, which were hung and lit in ways that made them glow like stained glass.

With the time I had, I looked closely at the weaving techniques, and admired the absolute mastery and individually inventive ways of approaching the geometry of the loom: the right-angled intersection of warps and wefts, and each weaver's intensive discovery of how to work with that geometry, doing Olympic-level backflips and perfect landings with pattern elements, and in some cases to also create curvilinear forms that adroitly escape the grid.

And I explored the use of color, mostly the natural sheep colors (with only occasional, very small, accents of red or turquoise). Some weavers chose to blend the colors completely, smoothing out any variations within particular color areas. Others, of equal technical skill, chose to blend more roughly, but then used the varying shades in ways that create an exceptionally lively quality. The approaches were equally breathtaking.

Of course, I also looked intently at the quality of the wool and the spinning. Some of the yarns, and I think this is characteristic of Navajo Churro, have a silk-like shine and seem to glow. I know the resulting yarns are durable as well as beautiful. The sheep produce an exceptional type of fiber, and the weavers whose work is on display at the Wheelwright have worked over generations, as a lineage and as individuals, to create an evolving and inspiring body of work that depends on, and makes the most of, that material.

I sat on the floor and looked and looked.

On Monday morning, I went back again and spent more time with a handful of rugs, sketching motifs to remind myself of some of the details. I had to leave far too soon, having done only a scrap of the observing and note-taking and sketching that I wanted to do, after having been in the presence of these 37 works for a total of four and a half hours. Not nearly enough to be "done" with seeing them, but as much as I could physically handle in the available time and plenty to reward the decision to get to Santa Fe while the exhibit was accessible to me.

Outside the museum's entry is this sculpture, "Heading Home" by Allen C. Houser.

Here's how I felt about the trip (one of a long series of painted walls seen from the the multiuse path as I rode my bike):

And here's one of my favorite buildings on the highways I took back north:

It's located in La Jara, Colorado, between Antonito and Alamosa.

Thanks, Penny. It was an absolutely amazing trip. And I never would have known to take it if you hadn't told me. Thanks, Susan, for the Sage Inn. It's right across from the bike path, next door to a healthy grocery store, and a few blocks from Body, where I ate my only Santa Fe restaurant meal, and a fine (and reasonably priced) choice it was.

Wow.

Now I need to deal with some of that piled-up work. It waited for me (and multiplied a bit while I wasn't looking).

For Richard, from Santa Fe: rocks on the move

I made it to Santa Fe. The unlikely trip proved well worthwhile, and I'll have more to say about it. First, though, I want to share something I saw that reminded me of my friend Richard Cabe. Richard makes wonderful granite sculptures, some functional (sinks that smell delightfully like wet rock when the water is running) and some that don't need to incorporate functionality to express qualities of earth either solo or in conjunction with other elements, like fire.

While riding my bike around Santa Fe, intending to get to a particular destination, I got lost (the first time) and discovered this:

Here's a closer view of what's written on the paved multiuse path:

It says "STUMPED?" and indeed there are a lot of small stumps nearby.

Here's a closer view.

But wait. Some of those stumps are a little unusual.

They're rocks, walking along on sturdy legs.

They've got places to go and people (or something!) to see.

They're located at the juncture between two sections of the multiuse path, and they're headed toward the Cerrillos Road portion. This is pretty much right behind the campus of the New Mexico School for the Deaf, in an area with a lot of artwork that you could miss if you're moving too fast.

The heavy blue lines show some of my bike ramblings. The star shows where the sights above were recorded.

And this is the nearby trail marker:

It says "Acequia Trail, mile 0.5."

I offer the location details so Richard can locate the spot, if he wants to, the next time he's in Santa Fe.

There's a lot of rock in Santa Fe. I saw a bunch of it, even in a short visit. Because of the humor here, and because these guys obviously have a mission and are on the move, they're the ones that most reminded me of Richard and his view of rocks as what he calls "ambassadors of the earth."

Teaching classes about rare-breed wools

Start by saying that I love teaching people about the different types of wools, both for people who spin and for people who start their fiber pursuits with yarn.

Within the past six months I've gotten requests both to record the DVD set about spinning rare-breed wools that Interweave recently released and to teach some classes for spinners about rare wools, at the Conference of Northern California Handweavers (CNCH) in May and at the Spin-Off Autumn Retreat (SOAR) in October. These will be survey classes, in which we'll all get our hands on a variety of different types of rare wools.

By definition, these wools are rare. For an individual person looking for wool to spin, finding these fibers is do-able. Yes, you can locate them! Especially if you don't have a deadline. But finding enough to supply a group of people (who are convening at a particular time) is a whole different quest.

Presenting these classes would not be even remotely possible without the help of Beth Smith, at The Spinning Loft, and Jennifer Heverly, at Spirit Trail Fiberworks. They're helping me gather fibers. Because, indeed, we need to obtain (and wash, and package) enough fiber of enough different breeds to supply all the participants in the workshops.

Overall (this is scary), in order to teach the CNCH workshop in May, plus SOAR's three-day and one-day workshops as well as four retreat sessions, we need to come up with 996 spinnable portions of wool representing at least 15 rare breeds of sheep.

There are no typos in that summary.

The workshops and classes have varying numbers of participants, and will include different numbers of types of wool, depending on how much time we have available for our explorations. I want the wool ready to go and easy to divide fairly, so we spend as little time as possible distributing materials and as much time as possible playing with them. Thus the massive prep work.

• CNCH: Maximum 15 participants x minimum 12 breeds (during 12 class hours) = 180 packets.
• SOAR three-day workshop: Maximum 16 participants x minimum 15 breeds (during 18 class hours) = 240 packets.
• SOAR one-day workshop: Maximum 18 participants x minimum 8 breeds (during 5.5 class hours) = 144 packets.
• SOAR retreat sessions: Maximum 18 participants x minimum 6 breeds (smaller quantities per breed than in workshops) x 4 sessions (of 3 class hours each) = 432 portions.
• That does add up to 996 portions of wool. I've recalculated three times because I had a hard time believing it.

What we'll accomplish during each class will be modified to fit the time available. Of course, I also want to make sure that we have diverse types of fibers, so each survey really is a survey and people come away with a broad enough perspective to feel comfortable when they encounter the breeds we haven't covered, as well as those we have.

We started this whole process on December 22, as soon as the need became apparent. We do have a few extra months to obtain and prepare the SOAR supplies. For CNCH, we need to jump-start the season. As shearing begins, we are collecting fleeces (that we've already put in requests for) as they come off the sheep.

Above: Samples of North Ronaldsay wool.

It's pretty exciting.

It also requires some detailed spreadsheet work, and a lot of e-mails back and forth. As of a few minutes ago, we've almost got the CNCH requirements covered. We need to fill in one more breed. We have lots of possibilities, but no wool-in-hand (or even in transit yet).

The gist? Although I'm likely to be teaching workshops now and then (and here and there) on breed-specific wools, and I will always include rare breeds in a class line-up, I'm not at all sure how often we're going to be able to pull off events that include only rare-breed wools.

Huge thanks to Beth and Jennifer for making these focused workshops possible.

While I'll give an overview of the world of wool at the start of each workshop or class, I'll give provide more detail on the breeds we'll actually be experiencing firsthand. Before I can get ready to do that, I need to know what they are! Now that we're (pretty) certain what eleven of the twelve CNCH breeds will be, I can start preparing my slides.

Happy spring! (Happy shearing season!)

Possible (probable) blog tour

It looks like we're going to be doing a blog tour for the release of The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook. The publisher, Storey, will be coordinating it, and it will probably start June 1. If you have a blog or podcast and would like to participate, let me know and I'll pass your information along to the folks who will be managing the schedule.

What I'm spinning

It's not a sample. It is a rare breed: Gulf Coast Native roving, sourced, processed, and hand-dyed by Jennifer Heverly, at the previously mentioned Spirit Trail Fiberworks.

 

Tracks in the snow

I recently spent two weeks in the mountains, mostly attempting to re-calibrate my brain and body after the multi-year push to get The Project's book aspect completed. There are more Project activities in process, but having this huge piece of it go to press has left me in need of some restorative time, which, of course, I need to catch on the fly.

During my first week up there at 8700 feet, I saw lots of tracks and scat in fresh snow. I took pictures, although I could only identify a few of the creatures who left the marks. During the second week, despite more fresh snow, I saw very few tracks and only a little scat.

As I took my walks (slowly during the first few days, while adjusting to the increase in altitude), I tried to imagine who shared the landscape with me and what stories their traces told. I came up with more questions than answers.

Here's a sampling of what I saw during the third week in January. The only mammals I actually saw (for sure: I had glimpses of others) were a moose and her offspring. I'm concentrating on mammal prints, because the birds showed up at the feeders and let themselves be identified by sight. (Bird feeding in the area needs to stop in the next couple of weeks because the bears will be waking up, and they like bird seed, too.)

Tuesday, January 25

This is the view from the window of the bedroom that I was using during this trip, so these tracks were right next to the house.

Above: Photo 1. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts with Deb's responses: "Did you see individual tracks in the larger wallowing pattern? It looks a bit like snowshoe hare 'dancing' on their hind feet." Deb: "Yes, individual tracks."

Those patterns are absolutely fascinating!

One afternoon, about 4 p.m., one of the other writers who was there with me saw a feline creature dart across the front porch, on the opposite side of the house. We're guessing bobcat. Its tracks disappeared at the edge of the porch, so we think it ducked underneath. That may or may not be related to these tracks.

We also know there are lots of coyotes in the area (more on that later in this post).

The type of landscape can help with identification of tracks, and here's one view of where I was. One set of vehicle tracks appeared each day, likely made by a truck that drives the area to monitor things. Human boot tracks were either mine or those of one of the other writers who most often share the space.

The snow was deep enough that in some cases the pattern of impact was evident, but the shape of the feet that created it was not.

Above: Photo 2. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts: "Looks a lot like a bounding snowshoe hare."

Wednesday, January 26

This was moose day. I came to the top of the drive to take my walk and realized I was about 75 feet from the moose pair, mother and largish offspring. They were slowly moving north, browsing as they went.

When I spotted them, I went back toward the house and loaded some firewood from the storage stack to the wheelbarrow on the porch, talking to the moose as I worked, so they'd get used to me and realize I wasn't a threat, before I returned to the end of the drive to take my walk. I usually walk north, so my route will be downhill on the way back, but I took my walk that day to the south, so as not to disturb (or be disturbed by!) the critters.

Here's the "little" one:

The camera setting was off, and I didn't stop to check it, so this next one, showing both of them, is blurry.

As I mentioned, the birds were not shy. Especially the Steller's Jays, which were quite energetic about spreading the birdseed from the feeder onto the ground and then demanding a refill.

Thursday, January 27

I have many photographs from this day, so I'll limit myself to the most intriguing. This is another aspect of the landscape, one that makes me think of mountain lions.

Indeed, there are mountain lions in this area. They are pretty much anywhere around here where deer are also present. However, the lions are mostly neither seen nor experienced directly, except by people who have small dogs and let the pups be outside without close supervision and a leash (very bad idea not to have both in place). Mountain lions are a reason I generally carry a hiking stick, and I do know how to behave if I meet one (a bit of preparation I hope never to need). Mountain lion tracks might be found here, although not likely scat (like other cats, they bury it).

But moving forward to some of what I did see on this particular day. . . .

Here's another view of the back side of the house, with what looks like a series of intersecting thoroughfares.

Above: Photo 3.

Sorry about the lack of scale indicators. I'm guessing this was deer.

Above: Photo 4. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts: "Definitely deer."

Canine, due to the indentations indicating non-retractable claws by some of the toe prints (and the shape of the back pads). I'm guessing these were made by a coyote, and a fairly large one.

Above: Photo 3.

There's a story here, leading off the side of the road and heading straight up the hillside, but I don't know how to read it!

Above: Photo 6. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts: "Coyote hearing a mouse or vole beneath the snow and pouncing on it (partial digging). Probably the same with photo 7 and 10."

And another story in the scallop-shaped digressions from the road, fairly evenly spaced along it for about an eighth of a mile.

Above: Photo 7.

Here's a different sort of roadside scallop pattern:

Above: Photo 8.

And I started taking pictures of scat this day. Later on, I thought to put in my foot for scale (real students of animal sign do things like take plaster casts and use more precise measuring systems; I will always just be an amateur in this department).

Even without a guide, I figured out that this was likely from a coyote, because of the mix of fur and seeds:

Above: Photo 9.

I got better at scat photos in the following days, so we'll skip ahead on that, but here's another story I wanted to be able to read:

Above: Photo 10.

And I love the large/small contrast here—who wrote these?

Above: Photo 11. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts: "The small tracks were probably a shrew, because of their size and direct course. And they probably were not laid at the same time as the larger tracks!"

Friday, January 28

Encouraged by my deductive identification of the coyote scat, I started looking beyond tracks (which I still find more interesting, but additional information is always helpful).

I'm guessing this is deer, and welcome help in increasing my accuracy. Note that I have large feet.

Above: Photo 12. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts: "Definitely deer scat."

Then there's this:

Above: Photo 13. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts: "Looks like weathered domestic dog to me (very consistent texture and color, which usually means some kind of manufactured food)."

Beats me.

I went back to looking at tracks, this time in some mud as well as snow.

Above: Photo 14.

And, of course, writing my own bit of story on the surface (which in this case was really soft mud, the kind that can catch a car up to its axles):

Above: Photo 15.

Saturday, January 29

The beginning of a gorgeous day.

It stayed clear.

And I took a lot of pictures of critter poop.

Two pretty big piles, near each other. The moose pair, synchronized?

Above: Photo 18. Added 3/21, 9:40 pm — Susan Tweit's thoughts (for both 18 and 19): "Most likely moose scat, unless each pellet had one concave and one convex end, in which case it was elk. Fun stuff!" Deb: Nope, not different ends.

Somebody with a large capacity, that's for sure!

Above: Photo 19.

Do I really want to know who this was?

Above: Photo 20.

Yes, but maybe not face-to-face. I was so puzzled that it occurred to me that it might be mud dropped off the once-a-day truck, but the texture and shape and many other qualities aren't right for that.

By the way, while I have seen a horse corral about a half-mile away on one of my walks, I have not seen a horse in residence. During this week in January, I was also not aware of a dog in the neighborhood, although there might have been one. If so, track patterns indicate that it was not being walked by a human (which is a scary idea in this environment, for any size of dog and for multiple prey/predator reasons).

There is a dog who is sometimes at the cabin with us. He is very sweet and very large. He was not there that week.

Size and other attributes like a Pyr, personality of a Newf, bone structure and upper-body coloring of a Golden retriever.

And not present at the time, nor even since the most recent snow established a clean slate for my observations.

Yet I saw more canine-style tracks.

Above: Photo 21.

Sunday, January 30

Sunday was the day to clean up, pack up, and head back down the mountain, so I didn't get more animal sign recorded. But I did catch a pale facsimile of that morning's dawn with my camera:

Knitting Daily TV segments

Last fall, I flew to Cleveland for a day to tape two segments for Knitting Daily TV (KDTV). I just had a chance to see what we did! (It's very strange to see myself in makeup. This is not normal at all.)

Yesterday the folks who put together the TV series released a blog post that contains some of the information I posted here after I got back from Ohio. What I wrote has been edited for length, but the KDTV blog post includes both of the segments that I was involved with, in their entirety. I hadn't seen them before. Considering how brief the segments are (five minutes each), I was pretty surprised at how effectively we covered some territory that most folks may not be aware of about wool and mohair.

In the segment I did with Shay Pendray, part of episode 612, we talked about how many different types of wool there are, and how they behave differently. 

Those skeins across the front of the table appear in The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook (which is currently on press). From left to right, and from finest to strongest, they are Merino, Cormo, Dorset, Bluefaced Leicester, Romney, Coopworth, Wensleydale, and Leicester Longwool.

I collected the skeins during a one-day trip to the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival a couple of years ago. At the time, going out to Maryland for a single day seemed absolutely frivolous, but it was a fantastic trip, one of the best of many wonderful trips to Maryland. I not only saw friends but collected a number of items that became extremely important parts of the book project.

In gathering those skeins, which I did from a number of locations throughout the festival, I was looking not only for a variety of breeds but for colors that would look good together in photographs. The three light blue skeins were intentionally similar in tone, because I intended for us to photograph them to show differences in luster and to capture whatever tactile differences could be represented visually (which we ultimately did; they're the Cormo, Bluefaced Leicester, and Wensleydale).

***

Speaking of the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival: It is always held the first full weekend in May, which this year means it's May 7 and 8, at the Howard County Fairgrounds, in West Friendship, Maryland. The big news around here is that The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook will be launched at this year's Maryland festival. True, the book does not officially release until June, but advance copies are being shipped to Maryland. Both Carol Ekarius and I will be at the festival. We're thrilled. This will likely be when we'll get our first glimpses of the finished books, and we'll get to celebrate with friends old and new.

There will be a reception on Saturday night, in conjunction with the becoming-traditional party hosted by Guido Stein and friends. There will also be a signing at the fairgrounds on Sunday.  We'll have a short slide show about the book on Saturday, and on Sunday we'll have our pens with us to add our autographs to books.

***

Back to the business at hand.

The segment I did with Eunny Jang, part of episode 603, delves into the transformation from raw fiber to finished textile, paying special attention to cleaning fibers without damaging them. There's a lot more to be said on that topic, but we covered the basics for folks who haven't had fleeces in their bathtubs, with, I hope, a few tips as well for those who routinely wash protein fibers like wool and mohair.

That shawl at lower right is by Jackie Erickson-Schweitzer, and you can't really see how gorgeous it is: the photography only hints at its qualities (for example, I'm not sure the beads show up on camera—they accentuate the mohair's shimmer). Behind it, moving toward me, are the yarn Jackie worked with and a sample of the raw mohair fiber from which the yarn was spun.

Many thanks to Jackie for loaning us the shawl! I've been so busy spinning samples (for several years) that I don't have anything other than swatches around (some of which show up in the segment with Shay . . . and some of those were knitted by my friend Dee Lockwood, because of the short prep time we had). Whatever I made would not have been as exquisite as Jackie's shawl in any case. I only wish you could see it in person.

___

Let me tell you something about the makeup. It's really weird to see myself in makeup, as I've mentioned several times. What's even weirder is that Mac's iPhoto has a "faces" function, which identifies people's faces in photographs, making the labeling of who's in which image far speedier than it would be otherwise. The software "learns" identifying features, and while it's learning those it picks up a lot of family resemblances, initially suggesting, for example, that my sister, my daughter, my niece, and I might all be the same person.

Yet iPhoto's "faces," which by now has a lot of data in its reference base through which it can readily identify and distinguish the people I just mentioned, didn't recognize me in these photos. I was "unnamed person."

Anyway. You can now watch the two five-minute segments and see what we did, even if you (like me) don't have much television reception.

Pondering that exhibit in Santa Fe. SO tempted.

Typepad has gotten a little too efficient. I thought I was posting a response to a comment, and the system made it a new post, which I can't figure out how to delete. However, I can figure out how to expand what I said, so it makes sense without its original context.

So what I wrote was this: "Pondering that exhibit in Santa Fe. SO tempted. Turns out I need to be at a meeting that's about a third of the way there, and that there *is* a hostel in Santa Fe. It might actually work."

In a series of comments on a previous post, a kind reader told me that there is an exhibit of Toadlena and Two Grey Hills weaving (a specific style of Navajo tapestry and rug weaving) at the Wheelwright Museum in Santa Fe. The exhibit is up through April 17, which is not a whole lot longer. I have likely seen some of the weavings (I've definitely seen the work of a number of the weavers being featured), although it's been more than a decade, so there are probably new pieces. I'd need to check my records, but I think I was in the area in 1997 and 1998. Some of the work that I saw on looms when I visited that part of the Navajo Nation may be in the show. One tapestry in particular that I saw being woven was so exquisite that it seared a permanent image on my brain cells. How wonderful it would be to see those pieces, if they happen to be there, as well as what may be some "old friends" that I saw before—likely, because the sources of the work in the show are the same as the sources of what I saw when I was at Toadlena and Two Grey Hills trading posts.

Going to Santa Fe to see a museum exhibit is not something I would normally do. Yet it's possible, and this is not just any exhibit. The weavers from that area produce exquisite pieces, and are known for using natural-colored Navajo Churro wool.

Yes, I do have a meeting that requires me to do a good chunk of the drive toward Santa Fe. And yes, there is a hostel in Santa Fe that looks clean and is definitely reasonably priced. Weather permitting on the appropriate days, it might actually be possible. . . .

Proofing doesn't go on forever (or does it?)

When I started writing this post on February 25, I had recently finished reading the text pages for The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook for the third time. Co-author Carol Ekarius and I have been trading the full-read responsibility baton like relay team members as we have gone through these final pre-press checks. It's kept us both fresher for the task than we otherwise would be.

The second review cycle occurred over the December holidays and I had to travel with the large pile of 11x17-inch pages, so I built them a box, using the cardboard from the UPS mailer in which they were delivered. When it came time to send the pages back to the publisher, I couldn't find a large enough return-shipping box in my stack of shipping supplies. This was surprising, because I have an inconveniently large collection of shipping supplies. (I also had neither one of the supplied containers from the publisher's preferred overnight service, nor time to go get one.) So I taped closed my custom-made box and generated the label for its overnight delivery.

It figures, then, that the third set of pages would arrive when I had to travel again. So I built another box. Fortunately, it takes less time to build a box than it does to go to the office supplies store and discover that they don't have anything that will do the job, so I just skipped that errand and enjoyed the pleasant work of recycling what I had on hand.

Thus I carried the pages with me safely and was able to spend my "free" time at a wonderful conference in a beautiful location finishing up the proofing of the text. This time the pages had few enough changes that I could send feedback in an e-mail, so I didn't have to return the set of pages and I still have the copy here (along with my new box). It's kind of nice to have a physical representation of the work we've done, although if the past gives clues to the future then bound books are likely to be even better than the cumbersome proof pages.

I got to enjoy the conference (that's what I was there for), but I didn't get to take any walks in the beautiful forest until I'd met my deadline. I normally walk at least twice a day. At the end of a production cycle, though, every minute counts. (Yes, I still did my yoga. That's necessary for basic functioning, mental and physical.)

"Are we there yet?"

Nope.

___

Next we needed to review the acknowledgments. Carol did the heavy lifting on this one using the files we had both maintained throughout the years of writing, and then I reviewed and tweaked before we turned it in.

"Are we there yet?"

Nope.

___

While this was going on, we were responding to a flurry of e-mails, which felt at times like a four- or more-sided ping-pong game, about photos, permissions, rights, and credits. For some photos we'd planned to use, the photographer was not responding to permissions inquiries. For others, the cost of the rights turned out to be too high. The photo budget for this book is generous but not unbounded.

On one representative morning, here's a sampling of the types of e-mails that rushed back and forth between the authors, the photo editor, and the managing editor (without our responses, which your imagination can fill in):

• The stock agency for our {breed} sheep photo is not getting back to us for contracting. How about this one?
• Great, thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I think we have all of the high res now, so there shouldn't be any more nasty surprises.
• Do you have 2 {non-sheep animal} favorites from {stock photo source} that could replace the 2 photos currently in the pages?
• Thanks for tracking those down, Deb and Carol! Here are the two that I think will work best in the layout: {A and B}
• {another animal} Hopefully the last request....! Please let us know your favorites.

And on the same day from another editor. . . .

• Hello – this is just a heads-up that hopefully sometime tomorrow we’ll send you a pdf of the maps, as they look now. They are coming along but there are a couple of things on which we need your input.

And then:

• Subject: I thought we were done. . . .
  We are having trouble getting in touch with the guy who provided {breed} sheep photos. Will this one work?

"Are we there yet?"

Nope.

___

Ah. The maps. They've been back and forth several times.

Here was an earlier version:

 
We've moved forward by steps. Here's part of a map at another stage. Some of the stars and the type still need to move to slightly different locations:

"Are we there yet?"

Nope. But we're getting closer.

____

Next, in an extraordinary move, the publisher sent me what's called loose color to review.

Whereas the pages we were reviewing earlier were printed in color, they were not generated on equipment that can accurately represent the colors that will come off the press. We went over those pages looking at all the component pieces while ignoring the color reproduction, which was generally too dark, too yellow, or both.

Loose color is provided by the printer who will produce the finished books, and, while it may not be printed on exactly the same equipment and paper that will do the print run, it is carefully calibrated to represent what will show up when the cartons of bound books are unpacked. Loose color consists only of the pages that include critical color (for this book, that is most of the pages). At this point, the person reviewing the proofs—generally NOT the author, who is presumed not to have any knowledge of color printing—ignores all matters of text and pays attention only to the quality of the images. Are the colors clear? accurate? as intended?

For a number of the photos, the in-house staff was not sure whether or not the images of fibers had, perhaps, turned too yellow, or green, or otherwise shifted from what they need to show. They also knew I've spent decades evaluating color proofs. (I've actually done this job through several generations of technology.)

So they sent me, overnight, the box of loose color. This particular batch wasn't especially loose: the photos had been printed on 30x40-inch sheets, with tissue paper interleaved to protect the printed surfaces from damage.

These are not small sheets. That dog weighs about 40 pounds. (She's wishing I'd pick up the blue toy by her nose and play with her.) I had to work on the floor, because I don't have a table big enough.

Because this sort of review is always at the last minute, the goal was for me to peruse, comment, and return the box the same day I got it. So I did, lifting the huge sheets one at a time from the "start" stack to the "end" stack, working to keep the corners of both the printed sheets and the tissue-paper protectors aligned, so I could roll the bunch neatly again when I was done and get it back into the return-shipping box.

 
It's good to have a box of fine-point Sharpies handy for marking necessary changes in the margins of the proofs, in places that don't obscure the photos but are easy to find for the person at the other end who needs to make sense of what's being communicated.

The yellowish cast on some of the images was not a problem: grease locks are yellowish, and in one case the yellow-orange color indicates weather-related damage to the wool, a situation that is discussed in the text.

A few of the fiber photos, though, had an inappropriate greenish cast to them, which can be adjusted in Photoshop by the prepress expert. Sometimes I could describe the necessary shift in printing terms. For one off-color photo, though, I resorted to pulling a tiny lock of the real fiber out of the reference boxes and taping it to the proof.

I wonder if this is a "first" for prepress? Probably yarns to match have been supplied before, but I'm guessing not fiber. The writing on that page is from the folks at the publisher, asking me whether the color here was okay. Obviously, it wasn't.

"Are we there yet?"

Nope. But we're getting really, really close.

____

Finally, on Thursday a week ago, this message:

• Subject: FB has left the building! 
  The pages are in the UPS truck, on their way to the printer!
  Three cheers all around!

"Are we there yet?"

YES!

____

We haven't reached perfection, but we've gotten as close as is humanly possible. There will be things we'll see in the final product that we'd have changed if we'd had infinite time. If we took infinite time, though, there would never be a book.

Once the book entered its final phases, and especially after the message saying it had gone to press, I found myself very, very tired, which is the reason this post has not previously made it onto my blog. Carol and I worked up the proposal for the book in early to mid 2007. Sustained for nearly four years by the research, acquisition, washing, spinning, and writing, I feel, now that it's gone to the printer, both relieved and like I've run into a brick wall at a hundred miles per hour.

This is normal for a major project. Still, acknowledging that it's normal doesn't soften the effects. My job now is to jump-start the rest of my life while treating myself gently, so recovery happens as quickly as possible. That's the lesson to share with anyone else who gets involved with something as big as The Project: one of the necessary phases is R&R.

____

And now to answer the question in the title of this post. On any single project, proofing only seems to go on forever. Once the book goes to press, you've done what you could do. Time to sign off and move forward.

In life, however, I don't think the need for proofreading ever does end.