The Independent Stitch

Gove City Yarns

So I was driving along I-70 eastbound, headed for the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy's annual meeting, looking for an excuse to get off the big highway and onto the two lanes, but arguing with myself that I needed to make tracks. I had some hope of getting to a place with free wifi for a phone conference that would be happening that afternoon, but this wasn't an essential phone conference and I wasn't at all sure where the free wifi might be available, although I'd researched both libraries and coffee shops that might be available at the correct times. (In case you ever need to know, the Salina, Kansas, library would apparently have let me come use their connection. The Wichita, Kansas, library wouldn't let me use it without a local library card.)

Yet my impatience with mile after mile of smooth, fast road ticked upward when I saw a billboard that advertised QUILT SHOP (with yarn), accessible from an upcoming exit. That didn't quite do the trick, because while I do like quilts and quilting, I already take on more than I can handle and I didn't need to open up yet another temptation that I'd have to say no to. Yarn was the subtext, not the focus. So I stayed on my steady course eastward. Yet not long after, another billboard offered YARN SHOP (with antiques or buttons, I forget which). The emphasis on YARN and the relatively short distance—10 miles—from the highway in a direction that would continue to take me toward Wichita, my required destination by the end of the day, created the necessary magnetic pull toward the ramp at exit 93 and highway 23, southbound toward Gove, Kansas.

It's a small town. Here's what the Gove City Yarns building looks like looking east from the west side of highway 23:

I had to watch my timing to get a vehicle into the picture. Mostly there wasn't much traffic. Here's the center of town, looking south down highway 23 from the corner right by the shop:

A truck! That's downtown metropolitan Gove City, and here's a view of 3rd Street, which runs just south of the shop and turns into county road 452 after a few blocks, as seen from where I parked my car:

No, it's not paved. It was obviously not an area of high-density population. (I learned later that the 2000 census reported 105 residents of Gove. The 2010 census counted 80 people.)

So what sort of yarn shop would I find?

WOW.

My first interesting observation involved the book section, right inside the front door, which included multiple copies of a large number of books, including the most recent publications from Interweave Press, both magazines and special issues.

That's only part of the publications section. Note the multiple copies of titles, neatly stacked (but recently perused) on both the racks and the shelves. More:

That issue of knit.wear on the table is brand-spanking new, as was the Jane Austen Knits in the previous image. Again, the shelves are packed with more-than-just-one of a lot of knitting publications. (The table was also loaded with unusual buttons. The place is a treasure-trove of exceptional buttons.)

Someone here is serious about knitting, and has a clientele that is, too.

There are a lot of rooms in that little building, and they are crammed with well-organized yarns. There's a room for wools and sock yarns, another room for acrylics and baby yarns. This is a small portion of the wool realm, of course my primary interest:

Yarns are carefully selected and not boring:

I even found a little bit of local roving (although spinning is not the shop's strength):

By this time the other customers were browsing happily elsewhere and I began talking with the shop's proprietor, Betty McDonald. I learned that she's had the shop since 2003, that it draws its clientele from a 100-mile radius (which is easy to believe for all sorts of reasons). There are no huge population centers within that 100-mile range, which looks like this and extends into eastern Colorado and southwestern Nebraska:

(The highlighter marks my routes to and from Wichita. I missed a turn in Great Bend on the way back—a hazard of being both driver and navigator—thus the odd dip to the south. Interstates are for when it's already dark out and I want to get to the location with the cheapest motel that has a decent rating before I quit driving for the night.)

I also learned that Betty endeavors to have a broad and deep selection, some portions of which, like the combination skeins shown below, are unique to the shop:

G.C.Y. is, of course, Gove City Yarn.

I asked if I could take Betty's picture, and she was a little hesitant because she was in her work clothes. The reason she was in her work clothes is that she and her husband, who rehabbed this formerly falling-down building and then filled it with yarn, are currently rehabbing another building that's a short distance from the back door so they can fill it with more yarn. "Work clothes" say to me "we're getting things done around here." As they obviously are.

The context is as thoughtful as the stock, with a great mural behind the desk.

Yes, there are also antiques, and quilt racks in the front room with beautifully selected and displayed old linens—crochet work, embroidery, and other treasures. Overall, it's an environment that simultaneously values past accomplishments and nurtures future creativity.

Gove City Yarns is a good reason to visit Kansas. I'm already looking forward to my next trip in that direction. I'll also look forward to visiting again with a former stray now named Casanova, who has never harmed a skein of yarn . . .

. . . and thus now has a permanent home.

It's true that I didn't get to the phone conference. But I didn't care at all.

On the road, on the road, on the road

That's where I've been. And then my laptop (my primary computer for everything except book design and layout) spent a week at the Apple store in Denver (quite far from home) going through diagnostics. I have an even longer than usual backlog of posts, but figured I'd get at least some random photos from the road out here to share.

On my birthday, I drove across South Park, in the Rocky Mountains, which is one of my favorite landscapes on earth although part of the reason it still looks like this is that it's a pretty challenging place to live. This is the view to the southwest across South Park, from the road up to Kenosha Pass.

On the way back through Denver on that trip, I stopped off at the 2 Million Dogs annual gathering, to support cancer research in canines and humans and the interactions between the two. (It took me a while to find the park, so I missed the march part of this year's event.)

I was home for a few days (do laundry and bills, restock the car with food, pack the materials needed for the next piece of the schedule) and then headed for Kansas. I traveled by way of Denver, which is, indeed, on the way, and so I was able to do some errands. I caught sight of this bush full of birds when I was stopped at a light on York Street.

I was on York Street all the way from north Denver to the center of the city because I managed to get off I-25 at the wrong exit. When I saw the birds, I was glad I'd taken the unplanned detour.

If life doesn't intervene too severely again, I'll have more to post about Kansas, but here's a view of one of the roads and the landscape.

That's just south of Gove, Kansas, and I have stories and pictures of Gove to share soon. Population reports vary between 60 and a few more than 100. Including a mighty fine yarn shop. Discovering it got me off the interstate, and I'm a much happier traveler when I'm not on the interstate (which has its uses, although enjoying the trip isn't usually one of them).

Here's a historic marker at the only rest stop between the exit that led to Gove and . . . well, I don't know between where and where, because it was the only rest stop I saw between exit 93 and Wichita. The stop was, as I recall, at the intersection of Kansas 23 and Kansas 156. The sign gives some information about Beersheba, the first Jewish agricultural colony in Kansas.

Traveling non-interstate roads gives a whole different picture of the surrounding territory. Even without much extra time or effort, bits of history pop up like this. I didn't have a clue before that Kansas is a location of major salt mines, which I passed on my way back west (also minimizing my time on the interstate, although by a different set of two-lane highways). Next time I come this way maybe I'll be able to take a tour of the underground museum.

I think I scribbled a note that the following display was on the west side of Mullinville, on highway 400. There was a lot more than I could get photos of: the lineup went around a corner and onto another road (this is looking west-northwest).

Here's a closer view of what parts of the folk art assemblage looked like:

I was, of course, running a little behind schedule, so I didn't have time to look closely at the items in the roadside show. And there were a LOT. I did pull over to take a couple of pictures and could see, even in my quick perusal, that some of the constructions are whimsical, while others feature political figures in strange ways. Later, I was able to locate information on the artist. He's M. T. Liggett, and he's controversial (not a surprise to discover): some of his imagery is charming and fanciful, some disturbing and potentially offensive (although an interview indicates that he doesn't see that latter component in what he's made).

This is definitely not the countryside seen from the interstate. And, while Kansas offers at most slightly rolling terrain and more frequently horizon-to-horizon-to-horizon-to-horizon unimpeded views, it's also potentially surprising. Especially if you get off the high-speed through-route.

Spinning Lincoln wool in the sunshine

It's a crisp day in the Rocky Mountains. I'm tucked into a bright space warmed by sunshine. I've been spinning Lincoln, which is one of the English luster longwools. They're called lustrous because they're brilliantly shiny. Yesterday I spun singles. Today I began combining them into a two-ply strand.

The three wraps of thicker, more matte, yarn on the right are part of the leader, or the length of yarn that stays on the bobbin as a starter. When the early morning sun came through the window at just the right angle, the contrast with the Lincoln was so dramatic that I stopped spinning and got out my camera.

The more Lincoln, the more the bobbin gleamed:

Lincoln is listed as a rare breed of sheep by both the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy (North America) and the Rare Breeds Survival Trust (British Isles). The realization that Lincolns were among the endangered breeds was what initially pushed me into learning more about the conservation of livestock.

The wool is long-stapled: each Lincoln sheep grows a lot of fiber in the course of a year. These sheep are sometimes shorn twice annually to keep the lengths manageable.

For the yarn I've been spinning, I combed the locks on my two-row St. Blaise combs. Sometimes people complain that there's a lot of waste from combing. There can be, depending on the fleece you're using and your techniques. But here's the waste from my combing of this Lincoln sample:

1 - A second cut.

2 - A bit of wool that didn't get completely clean (stuck together).

3 - Some short bits.

I could have salvaged 2 and 3, except that I'm spinning for a deadline. Most of the fiber in the batch ended up in the top that I pulled off the combs and spun into the bobbin shown above. Yet it's true that a fair amount was left in the tines, too short or tangled to be included in the top. I set those clumps aside each time I had pulled a length of top. When I was done preparing the top but before I set about spinning it, I picked the "leftovers" well to loosen any jumbled bits, and then I turned them into a small randomly textured skein, shown below with some classic Lincoln locks: shiny, gently waving, strong, and long (these are 6 to 7 inches/15 to 18cm).

Lincoln comes in a magical array of grays, too, but that's a story for another day, one without a pressing deadline.

Deadline or not, though, spinning Lincoln transforms ordinary moments into bright ones.

Mini book tour, with slush

Last May, I began the process of scheduling a mini book tour this week. It's all set up and announced. It's "local," which means "in the same state that I live in." For a Westerner, quite a bit of ground can be covered by that definition.

Last night it started snowing (again), with a prediction for 6 or 7 (more) inches (12.5 to 14 cm). By morning, that much new white stuff was on the ground, and I was scheduled to drive 200 miles across some mountain passes that I know well enough to be very cautious about when the weather is bad. I've driven them in fog, sleet, rain, and snow—experiences I prefer to avoid, if possible.

After less than an ideal night's sleep, I optimistically dug out the car and cleared the driveway and sidewalks, poked at the tree branches again to knock off as much snow as I could, and then signed onto the excellent road-conditions website sponsored and maintained by the Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT). The CDOT map is most useful and gets updated frequently. Road conditions are color-coded, so it's really easy to see what the surfaces are like. There is, however, no topographical information, so "icy and flat" and "icy with 7% grade" look the same. This is where it's good to have experience with the roads you're considering.

I noted that parts of I-25 and I-70 were closed, although not the parts I planned to use. Highway 85 north of Greeley was black (adverse conditions = in my words "you'd be really stupid to drive this road right now"). Most of the roads I would need were bright blue (icy = "cars are going off the road and being wrapped in yellow caution tape until the weather clears and the tow trucks are less busy; expect to see on average one abandoned vehicle, many of them 4WD, every half mile").

Highway 285, a crucial part of my route, was decorated with at least a half-dozen of the red circle icons that mean "restriction." The detailed information on those locations indicated that trucks, and along some stretches smaller vehicles, were being required by law to use chains. The highway wasn't closed, but when chain laws are in effect wise people don't join the melee unless it's an emergency, they have a bit of extra time to spend, and their tires are in great shape. Maybe they even have chains (and use them) themselves. The two sections of road that can be particularly ugly to drive (although spectacularly beautiful) are Crow Hill and Kenosha Pass. Those were, of course, included in the restricted areas. So was Turkey Creek Canyon, which is sometimes a clear part of the road even when the rest is not so good.

There is an alternate route, taking I-25 farther south (bright blue/icy all the way) and then angling over toward Penrose and crossing Wilkerson Pass, instead of Kenosha. Wilkerson has less precipitous grades and doesn't have Crow Hill east of it. The roads through that area were a mix of bright blue (icy), blue (snow), and green (wet, rain, slush), and there were no restrictions in place.

Yet Kenosha is southwest-facing (it would get sun, if there was any) and the plows would be out. It's the shorter route. I know it better. So I waited a couple of hours, and the chain-law restrictions were lifted and more of the road became blue, and some of it even green. "Rain" and "slush" mean "the stuff's melting."

The familiar route won. And it was all fine.

Here are some Crow Hill photos:

There was some slush. This wasn't the worst of it. I was glad I'd bought, and installed, new front windshield wipers yesterday. (I got strong wiper blades: on a previous trip through this area, I'd had to find an auto parts store mid-journey and get sturdier ones.) I need to put a rear wiper blade into the budget for next month. The biggest difficulties occurred when the slush kicked up and instantly froze on the glass. The new wipers handled that just fine, though. (At times, I had about 10 square inches (65cm²) of back window free of ice.)

Kenosha Pass was dry and clear, with the usual view-to-almost-forever. You can't tell, though, that there are 14,000-foot (4250m) peaks out there because they're covered in clouds.

Toward the south end of South Park, the day got brighter, with some sunshine breaks coming through.

On the drive, I saw two splendid herds of pronghorn. There were about a dozen stunning ones standing in a cluster just north of the Buffalo Peaks turnoff. If there hadn't been a semi right behind me, I would have found a place to pull off (not much trustworthy shoulder today) and snapped a picture. There was a smaller group not far from Salida.

Tomorrow night, I'll be part of Dies Librorum (the day of books) at The Book Haven independent bookstore in Salida. RSVPs are required, and there will be music, a couple of authors, and good food. Oops, when I went to retrieve the link, I learned that the event is FULL! Well, that will be fun! I'll be interested in seeing who turns up. Party!

Anyway, you can see how nice the day was when I reached Salida in the late afternoon. Perfect.

On Saturday afternoon between 1 and 3, I'll be at Serendipity Yarn and GIfts in Buena Vista. Buena Vista is a few miles back toward home, and on my outbound trip today I took a side jaunt to pick up some yarn (because I didn't have enough, right?).

Liz Gipson will be at Serendipity on Saturday, too, and we'll likely be playing with fiber in the upstairs. There's a whole lot of yarn in that yellow house, and an amazing selection of gift items, too. No advance planning or RSVPs needed. If you're in the area, come visit with us. Bring your knitting or spinning or weaving (if it's portable, as Liz's often is) or your questions about fiber. We like to talk about fiber.

I have a spinning wheel with me, and a couple of deadlines to work toward while I'm doing this. However, I also plan to enjoy a little quiet time when I'm not at an event.

Like now.

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Oh, two other things:

Today's Spinning Daily newsletter is called "Tools for Writing a (Rather Large) Fiber Book." It's about The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook, as regular readers of this blog might imagine.

And some folks have decided that this month is Wovember, not November, and are dedicating the time to raising people's awareness of how wonderful wool is. Yes! Natural fibers! There are great sheep photos on the website. I keep opening the page I linked to, seeing that Herdwick, and smiling. Thanks to Valerie for letting me know about this.

A good friend of mine would like me to remind folks that llamas also produce delightful, practical, and warm natural fiber. She's right.

And we can't forget the yaks, mohair and cashmere goats, musk oxen. . . . (See The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook for the remainder of the list I just started.)

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Stay warm. I am.