The Independent Stitch

Okay, we're going to try this garden thing again (starting late, but not too late)

I grew up around gardens in the Midwest, and my mother and my sister both garden, and I didn't notice that I had trouble growing things in the Pacific Northwest and New England, but so far this semiarid bit of the West has not encouraged my efforts. I did manage a few tomatoes and herbs and asters and marigolds at the first house we lived in here, but the second house (which we are still in) still has one of those blank back yards, not because I haven't tried.

Last year, we put some containers on the deck and harvested tomatoes and basil. It was fun. We probably could have bought the produce cheaper, but it finally gave us a taste of success in this environment. I've spent some time and energy seeing if anybody wanted to take on this yard as part of a SPIN farming project, exchanging use of the space and of water for a small share of the produce. Although there's an active SPIN network in Boulder, an hour away, nobody here has been interested beyond conversation.

So this year, we're taking it to the next level on our own.

Here's part of the space, and some of the supplies:

Here's my plan, and a resource book I learned about through Twitter and Facebook (with both of which I am only moderately acquainted and active):

One of the challenges for me is that square-foot gardening is pretty rectilinear, and I prefer a more natural or cottage-y aesthetic. However, I'm telling myself that anything we do is going to be aesthetically more interesting than what we have now.

When I was browsing for ideas, I came across garden plan 18 at the bottom of this page. I really like that big maze, and we have room enough for it. However, we can't afford to buy the components or fill the beds with dirt. Plus it might be too much for neophytes. . . . Just maybe. . . .

I also like labyrinths, arbors, garden seats, shade. Those are not in the plan.

Moving right along. . . .

I did figure out an arrangement of simple square and rectangular beds that appeals to me for its slightly maze-y feel. Right now, we are only putting in the beds that are drawn more darkly on the graph paper, but we wouldn't know where to place them without the whole concept (which, of course, is subject to change). We'll see what happens after we get those going. There will be two 4x4 beds and one 4x2 one. They will be 6 feet from the fences, leaving room for 2-foot beds and 4-foot aisles on those edges, should we get even more ambitious in the future. Aisles between the beds are a generous 3 feet, but I want plenty of room to play with a wheelbarrow around the periphery, if we decide we want to do things that involve wheelbarrows.

One thing that's appealing about the square-foot method is that the book gives enough information but not too much . . . especially for someone who wants to do everything right the first time, if possible, by researching the heck out of it, and is already involved with many work projects involving masses of material and looming deadlines. Another appealing aspect is that the soil amendments (of which we need plenty, being perched here on clay) get applied in a focused way to exactly where they're needed. If I'm going to use items of limited global supply, like peat, I want to use them efficiently.

While I was looking at hefty bags of compost (our home compost isn't ready yet), my daughter wandered over to the seed section at the garden center. I hadn't planned to buy any seeds without thinking the whole project through a bit more: I just want the beds in place in time to have a place to plunk down the tomato and basil plants we intend to buy at the farmer's market on Sunday.

Here are the seed packets we bought yesterday:

My daughter wants a zucchini plant (which will consume most of one of the larger beds), broccoli raab, kale, the yellow beets, and several of those lettuces. I added the red lettuce, the red beets, and the chard (I sense a color theme in my selections that I hadn't noticed before).

What's missing? Two of my favorite vegetables on earth: carrots and sugar snaps. I'm contemplating those, while browsing the Renee's Garden online catalog. Carrots need more depth than our beds will have, so I am thinking about that. Sugar snaps require support, which is beyond what I can think about right now. So do the tomatoes, but we have tomato cages from last year.

What else is missing? Wood to frame the beds. Cedar Supply is cutting up rough 2x6s for us and we'll pick them up this afternoon. I'm trying to decide if we can get away without cutting away the sod if we lay thick strata of newspaper and cardboard, topped with weed barrier, beneath each of the beds.

And here's the primary garden helper, who loves raspberries and will pick them for herself:

We don't currently have any raspberries. She probably likes strawberries, too. We're pondering this situation: it's one reason we find the square-foot gardening concept appealing. Because of the modular nature of the beds, we could make wire cages to set over the plants to limit the self-sufficient tendencies of certain critters. Although this helper is quite capable, she would probably need to ask us to grant her access to the strawberry beds (she probably, although not for certain, couldn't lift the cover off herself). We don't mind sharing. She would, however, cheerfully and daintily eat every morsel.

Our gardening assistant is ever-so-fond of the back yard even without anything other than grass to nibble on, and even though she can no longer get up the stairs by herself (that's why she wears a harness, so we can give her a little extra support when she needs to climb). She will be happy if we spend more time in the yard, even if we don't grow any berries for her this year.

Moving to and from an off-site workspace for The Project

I haven't been posting much lately, having been slammed by deadlines from all sides . . . not including the deadline for The Project, on which I recently spent a blissfully concentrated week. I have a few additional photos of that endeavor.

Easily amused, I enjoy the pictures of how the car looked, coming and going. Rotating around the doors, beginning with the front passenger side:

Of course, that's the spinning wheel on top (Lendrum folding, single-treadle). Yes, it's belted in. Its top end rests on the box of reference books that went with me. Its lower end sits on one of the boxes of fiber. The blue sticky notes mean the fiber came to me clean. The green notes mean it came to me in the grease. A black checkmark means the fiber is clean and ready for me to work with. A big green dot means I've put it through all the necessary steps. Big green dots are good. They don't mean I'm done, but they mean I'm about three-quarters of the way there. My Cowichan-style sweater is tucked into the gap, along with an old blue towel. Old towels come in very handy on The Project. The white thing next to the towel, right under the dash, was probably my lunch, wrapped in a paper towel.

Moving to the next door, the rear passenger side:

The red bag in the distance is my suitcase. It also went to Maryland on this trip, so it held enough for ten days away from home. The wood-and-metal structure is my daughter's high chair/toddler seat, which makes an excellent stand for wool combs and is friendly to have around. But I wouldn't pack it if it didn't do the job better than anything else I could imagine having access to. Within its frame is a cardboard box of labeling materials for wool at various stages (sticky notes, adhesive labels, string tags, index cards, old business cards, and plastic ziplock bags in quart and gallon sizes). On top of that is a small blue plastic box of food: cereal, soups, Teeccino, along with brewing supplies, and tea (Good Earth Original, black, green, and Celestial Seasonings' Fast Lane.

On the floor is one of my knitting/crochet bags, with a bit of stray (clean) wool in a bag above it (I try to avoid stray bags of wool: this is clean wool bits left from combing, that I'll use to stuff something with). The atlas is just behind it: within reach of the front, if needed (there are also maps in both of the front doors' pockets). The black-with-blue bag on top is Computer Central Backpack.

Moving to the back of the car:

This is the core of the work. I can fit 12 file boxes in the back and still have full rear-view mirror scanning available. The green boxes contain the final record files. The white ones contain samples and clean wool ready to be processed (I didn't transport any boxes that were not ready for this step). That top box on the left in the row that can be seen was a bit overfull, but there was no room to put the excess in any other box. Tucked into the right side are my yoga mat and my rain jacket. There's something under the yoga mat, but I don't remember what it was. Behind them, aligned with the 6 white file boxes that aren't visible, is a case with two pairs of Viking combs (one-row and two-row).

Along the rear bumper on the left is the open toolbox, with three sets of carders (regular, fine full-sized, and cotton), spritzers, C-clamps, sample-size niddy noddy, four spindles, and Louet mini-combs. The cardboard box contains the master file of fiber inventory (index cards in a plastic box—I also have electronic records, but this is often handier) and more labeling and packaging materials. Oh, and I see the tip of the Eucalan bottle. I'm using Unicorn Power Scour, Unicorn Fiber Rinse, and Eucalan unscented at various stages of this project. (My daughter's aversion to lavender influences some of my choices.) Next to that: hand vac. I travel with a hand vac, specifically chosen to handle dog hair and fiber decently (although cleaning the roller is not my favorite job).

Moving to the rear driver's side door:

The suitcase (already seen from the other side) and an essential cardboard box whose contents I don't remember right now—oh! I'll bet it was the lazy kate and three extra bobbins, among other things, both above the pile of reusable shopping bags (wrapped around a few more groceries that needed some insulation). I think there might have been a small cooler under that pile. And on top, a planter (which made it home safe and sound)—thanks, Susan! The suitcases and boxes kept the planter upright and kept it from being crushed. The load was packed so nothing would shift en route.

And finally:

Room for a driver, with unimpeded visibility and movement options. Along with the green travel cup (containing tea or water), there's probably an apple or two. Just the other side of the console is a tiny space on the floor with CDs, although I usually drive without any additional car-noise input. Camera and purse are nearby, for easy access during stops.

And that's how The Project travels.

Impromptu drying racks for sample skeins

Last week's samples, made when I was in an artist's residency away from home, dried in many locations:

The chair held a bunch of skeins, but I had to watch the paint with the white ones; they wanted to pick up flakes of it and hang onto them. And . . .

This watering can was especially good for singles, which I wanted to have dry without twisting but not under tension. And . . .

and . . .

I love the way the bulky two-ply is backlit. It almost looks like an x-ray image.

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Here's a bonus view of the highway on the drive home, just east of Kenosha Pass. Visibility was about half as good by the time I got to Conifer. I needed gas, and if I hadn't already known where to find a gas station I wouldn't have been able to locate one. It was a little challenging even so. . . . as was getting back on the highway, which I couldn't see from 50 feet away. But the pavement was clear and most people on the road were, for a change, driving sensibly.

There wasn't a lot of condensing moisture. If there had been, it would have been nice of it to pop over to the other side of the mountains, where it was so dry my skeins only needed a couple of hours before they were ready to label. . . .

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I've got more things to post. I'm short on time. In addition to the press of deadlines that I'm working on, I'm planning to attend the Artposium this weekend sponsored by Colorado Art Ranch, with which my residency last week was associated. An "artposium" is a conference that "explores the intersection of the arts with social and scientific matters." I haven't been to one before. I've been told they're terrific. So. . . .

Suffolk and gray not-Suffolk, revisited

A gray Suffolk fleece would be a curious and remarkable thing indeed. So when I saw "grey Suffolk roving" advertised, I had to order some.

("Gray" is the U.S. spelling; "grey" is the U.K. spelling, and the way the fiber is labeled. I'll try to be consistent in my usage, but I'm not copyediting right now, I'm writing. So.)

Why would natural gray Suffolk wool be so interesting? Suffolks are grown primarily for meat. The wool is a byproduct, sold primarily to a wool pool for industrial processing. Suffolk wool, while it can be truly lovely for handspinning, may not even be mentioned by growers, even those who are aware of wool for the handspinning market.

Non-white fibers are anathema in that marketplace because they reduce the value (low-end in the first place) of the whole batch. Normally a breeder would not want an off-color fiber anywhere near a clip that's intended for a wool pool.

So where might this "grey Suffolk" be coming from, and why?

And why do I care so much? The fiber itself is just fine. It would work great for many applications, including the making of rugs, bags, and other sturdy textiles, and it looks like it's a good candidate for felting.

But people will buy and work with this wool thinking they are getting to know what the Suffolk breed of sheep grows, and they're not. I don't think the misleading information is intentional. I just think the labeling is not accurate and it's being passed along without being questioned.

The not-Suffolk that's labeled Suffolk

I began working with this "grey Suffolk" wool in March, and it was immediately obvious that it wasn't Suffolk. I have some previous posts on the topic. Below is a revisited photo. The gray is the "grey Suffolk," and the white is a bit of real Suffolk that I had about four locks of, for comparison.

Here's a closer look at the fibers: different fiber length and diameter, crimp pattern, everything. Lots of kemp (very coarse fibers) in the gray—another disqualifier for a wool pool.

Sources for this particular fiber on the internet (found by searching "grey Suffolk roving") show photos of what are, indeed, Suffolk sheep. Somebody clearly thinks this wool was grown by Suffolks.

(Rowan has a grey yarn called Suffolk in its Purelife series. Nice-looking yarn. Here's the description: "Rowan British wool is shorn & blended from 4 classic British sheep breeds (Jacob, Black Welsh, Bluefaced Leicester & Suffolk). Then the beautiful undyed wool is spun into 5 natural shades capturing the beauty of each breed's fleece."

The five shades are called Bluefaced Leicester (white), Black Welsh (black), Mid Brown Jacob (brown), Dark Grey Welsh (dark gray), and Steel Grey Suffolk (light gray). For these yarns to work together without having radical texture differences—a consistency question that would be essential for marketing the wools as a line—they have to consist of the same blend, shifted slightly to produce the natural colors, which would be coming from breeds other than the Suffolk. The Suffolk would be used to, among other potential reasons, smooth out the differences between, say, the Jacob and the Black Welsh.

In this case, "Suffolk" is just an identifier given to the marketing color, because they used the name of one of the component breeds for each of the five colors and "Suffolk" was left over at the end of the naming, since Bluefaced Leicester had already been used for the white.)

My concern is that people will buy this roving and spin it thinking they have Suffolk in their hands. NO WAY. The wool may have been grown in Suffolk, but it did not come from sheep of the breed known as Suffolk.

Now, THIS is Suffolk wool

I recently acquired a beautiful sample of Suffolk. I don't think it's from a spinner's flock, but it shows the delightful qualities of Suffolk wool at its best.

The unwashed fibers measure about 5 inches (12.5cm), which is long for a Suffolk (often closer to 2 to 3 inches (5 to 7.5cm), but otherwise the characteristics of this wool—fineness, crimp pattern, and so on—are right on. The length just makes a good wool better. There are no specifications for staple length in the breed standards for U.S. Suffolks (because it's a meat breed).

After washing, the crimp contracted and slightly reduced the apparent (but not actual) fiber length. The tips washed clean. The fiber contained quite a few tiny bits of vegetable matter (VM), but with wool this long and a pair of wool combs VM of this type is not a big deal (two-row St. Blaise Viking combs from The Spinning Studio of Vermont).

Lashed on and ready to comb:

Is this gorgeous, or what? (The top, ready to spin, is up in the locks photo at the beginning of this section.)

On the left, true Suffolk. On the right, might-have-been-grown-there not-Suffolk.

The true Suffolk would make great socks or sweaters. It's on a nice balance point, for wools, between softness and durability. The not-Suffolk surpasses it by miles in durability, but would drive most people crazy if worn next to the skin.

To get a gray true Suffolk, you'd need to add a dyepot to the processing sequence.

Wool: A bit more on North Ronaldsay

Linda thanked me in the comments for offering a photo of a North Ronaldsay lock. I'd only shown one lock, and that's not the whole story by a long shot, so I'll supplement here. I have a selection of five different samples (thanks to Jennifer Heverly at Spirit Trail Fiberworks . . . one of my allies in this Massive Project I'm working on). Why and how they are different makes a fascinating story for another time.

Interesting, isn't it?

More or less double-coated, and dramatically so. The undercoats on the double-coated fleeces (the ones with the long, coarse guard hairs, second and fourth from either left or right) are similar to the fine fibers of the single-coated fleeces (first, third, and fifth, also from either direction).

So if you have been interested in North Ronaldsay and haven't been able to get your mind around the wool, this is why. The story is in the history of the breed.

I have another post to prep, on the Suffolk and the not-Suffolk discussion that started in March. So off to it. . . . Oh, and I have work to do today, too. I'm doing a week-long artist's residency through Colorado Art Ranch and need to make as much progress as possible during this time when I can actually concentrate.

Bummer about the Soay sample; North Ronaldsay's truly fascinating

Soay: sample not looking so hot

Here's what you don't want in a fleece, especially from a rare breed: sunburned tips that snap off. Sometimes sunbleached tips on a fleece are just fine—the color has lightened or gone brown without weakening the fiber very much. Sometimes the damage goes too far. Especially bad when it's a hard fiber to get, like Soay, a breed that's been around since the Stone Age (that's before the Bronze Age and the Iron Age) and doesn't fit the industrialized agricultural model in any way. It's far from impossible to get Soay, but when you do get it and it falls apart . . . that's a problem.

The top lock is the original form. The bottom two locks show what happens when I pull—not even very hard—on those crispy, brown tips (they feel like pencil shavings).

Also, at the bases of most of the locks is a bunch of scurf, or skin flakes, that can be removed from a fleece but the fiber needs to be able to withstand extra handling, which this wool won't. If just the tips were damaged, I could snip them off. But the rest of the staple feels crispy (therefore fragile) as well. Hmmm. What to do? I don't know yet.
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North Ronaldsay

North Ronaldsay's another very old breed. Most writings say Iron Age, but recent DNA testing says it goes back farther.

Working with this sample was slightly challenging, too, because the breed's fleece has a tendency to form matts at the bases of the locks (an incomplete transition from naturally shedding to needs-shearing types of sheep) and the tips of the locks were stuck together.

However, the tips didn't break off and I was able to flick both ends of each lock on a fine-toothed hand carder and separate the fibers, which I then spun on a hand spindle. It made quite a blissful yarn--not much of it, because I have to move on, but I could feel the North Ronaldsay's close relationship to Shetlands as I spun. (Some North Ronaldsay fleeces feel closer to other relatives.)

The wee two-ply sample skein is drying (in this photo, it was still singles).

A clean, unprepared lock is on the bottom and one of the prepared locks is on the top. It's a Magpie spindle.

One little surprise on this sample was that when I checked it into the tracking system I wrote "light gray." Obviously, it's pretty darn white. It's amazing how the dirt in a fleece can shift the perceived color of unwashed wool. Spinners find this most disappointing when they think they've found a light brown fleece and it turns out to be cream or white.

Part of what I learned today is why the matting forms at the bases of the locks within this breed—which gave me more patience in dealing with it. I also wrote up most of the material on North Ronaldsays, with all sorts of additional information that I, at least, find really cool.

One breed a day? Oh, I hope not! This project will take forever, and I have until the end of summer.
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Hat from the booth of El Centro de Textiles Tradicionales de Cusco at Maryland Sheep & Wool

I promised a more accurate photo:

Isn't it lovely?

And as a bonus here's a better photo of the breed-specific skeins I bought at Maryland:

That helps me keep my perspective about things like disintegrating Soay wool.

More license plates from Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival this year

I don't go out of my way to find these license plates at Maryland. I just notice them as I go about my business.

I find them in both the vendors' and the attendees' parking areas. It's interesting to note the states they're from and the types of vehicles . . . from very workhorse to very upscale.

People who come from far away may have snap-worthy plates at home, but they're stuck here in rental cars or came in chartered buses (there's a specific parking area for the buses, but I haven't found any license plates there that I needed to photograph).

I followed this car out of the fairgrounds when I went to get the things I left at the hotel.

I love this one:

Lots of the vehicles are set up to haul sheep. You'd be amazed what can be fitted into a minivan (which this, of course, isn't).

This is the sort of minivan that is not leaking hay. It probably holds a bunch of skeins, though.

The weavers were well represented this year.

I'd bet the owner of this car can fit more than one skein in it.

Might be pushing it to get six alpacas even in a relatively big truck.

And my two favorites this year:

And. . . .

That's all until next time.

One perfect day at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival

Is it worth traveling about 3,600 miles round trip for one day at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival? Under normal circumstances, it would not be. . . . Oh, well, yes, it would, but I could never rationalize my way into taking such a trip. However, this year the universe conspired to make the trip work out for me—even financially—and yes, it was. It most certainly was worth it.

The morning started with a bit of rain, but the weather soon was perfect: not wet, but also not swelteringly hot. I've learned over the years to go to Maryland Sheep and Wool prepared for both downpours and extreme heat. On Saturday, I only needed regular clothes and shoes. (It was raining this morning when I left the hotel, so I can't speak for today's conditions at the fairgrounds.)

For someone's first visit to the festival, even an hour can be overwhelming, and a whole weekend is hardly enough and yet feels like way too much. Fortunately, I've attended Maryland Sheep and Wool more often than I can remember—most of the time working a booth—and I started going when there were far fewer people (although still impressive numbers). I know the layout and the feel of the event. That helps a lot.

Yesterday morning, I arrived early with friends who had a booth and I got a good parking spot and enjoyed a little visiting with other vendors before the festival officially opened. Then I realized how many items that I needed were still in the hotel room. After some deliberation, I decided to improve the quality of the rest of my day by driving back and getting them. This included things like an important phone number or two . . . and my checkbook. A significant number of Maryland vendors don't do many shows and therefore don't take credit cards. So I sacrificed my parking spot and about 45 minutes of festival in order to be relaxed through the rest of the day. (I'm not usually so scattered. Editing until 11 p.m. the night before departure might have had something to do with my absentmindedness.)

So here are a few photos from my day on the fairgrounds. Tomorrow I'll have another set of license plates.

This first photo makes me amazingly happy. On the left is Pat Slaven, whom I've known for about twenty years and not seen in way too long. She was walking across a field and I called out her name and we had a great visit, during which Joanne Seiff, on the right, showed up. Joanne is running around the northeast signing copies of her new book, Fiber Gathering. Which includes Maryland, of course.

Seeing these two folks (who did not previously know each other) sets up so many links through spirit and time and space . . . the SOAR spin-in where we spun a yarn that went all over the room, the dinner in the back room at the Italian restaurant during the Estes Park Wool Market . . . more. (Pat's sweater is handspun and handknitted; Joanne's and mine are handknitted from commercial yarn. All of the sweaters have stories.)

I met up with a lot of long-time and new friends, more than I can list, and when I'm visiting I tend to want to just visit instead of taking pictures  (although I love the photos when I have them). I've learned not to plan too many meetings. It's too chaotic at the festival to carry an appointment book . . . spoils the effect. Serendipity works well, although far from perfectly. I'd hoped to meet quite a number of specific people . . . so I still have that to look forward to, in another place or time.

I did browse a bit with friends. Joanne located and took me to a great new vendor-type treasure: Solitude Wool, which is producing small-batch, breed-specific yarns from nearby flocks. The Maryland grounds are large and busy enough that I might have missed this new resource. Joanne knew that I would love it and made sure I got there. In turn, I made sure she and Dina (a friend who was at Maryland for her second time, so thus was no longer burdened with the false hope that she'd see everything) didn't miss the wonderful Centro de Textiles Tradicionales del Cusco. 

I'm going to have to see if I can adjust the photo I have of one of the Peruvian hats. The pieces are much more beautiful in person than in pictures, and the photo I have needs a bunch of help to even be moderately adequate.

Then we went our separate ways until next time.

One of the ways I have learned to inhabit the Maryland festival comfortably is to pay attention to some of the non-fiber activities, like music:

Most of my shopping involved looking for an array of breed-specific yarns. There seemed to be lots more available than last year, which I think is superb. Because of the way I'll be using these skeins, I can't identify them yet by breed but I can say some of the places they came from were Solitude, Hill Farm, Spinning Flock Farm (can't find a website; great yarns), and Cobun Creek (also can't find a website).

Another good way to change the pace at Maryland is by watching the sheepdog demonstrations. They usually happen three times each day and last for about half an hour. Nancy Cox Starkey has been the commentator for years. She and Mark Soper were once again kind enough to bring smart dogs and opinionated sheep for festival-goers to watch in action. They had some young, eager, and learning dogs there on Saturday, as well as a couple of mature pros.

Usually I watch the Parade of Breeds, but because it's traditionally a Sunday event I missed it this year. However, there's also a Sheep Breeds Display that's ongoing in the new barn (the one with the fancy blue stalls), so I visited that late Saturday afternoon, when I was tired, and caught a shepherd introducing a Clun Forest lamb to some other youngsters. That's mom in the background on the left. She had a few things to say about the activities. (Clun Forests are a rare breed, currently listed with "recovering" status by the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy.)

And I've also figured out the best way to locate your car easily: stick around until the festival is closed for the day (6 p.m.) and then a bit, so almost everybody else has left. This field was packed solid an hour earlier.

Tomorrow: more license plates.

The day before Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival

This will be mostly photos: it was a long travel day, after a long work day yesterday, and sometimes pictures do better than words. Late this afternoon, the festival grounds were looking about 90 percent ready for the weekend.

For those so inclined: Norm Hall is here. I almost put a deposit on one of his spinning wheels about thirty years ago at the New England Weavers' Seminar when I was working a friend's booth. One of those missed opportunities. These wheels have got to be spun on to be appreciated. Then it's obvious that they are worth every bit of care Norm puts into them. They're labors of love. It's nice to just breathe the same air as his wheels.

Moving on. . .

The fairgrounds are full of cars and boxes and tents. Not so many people yet.

 
Some folks are preparing with beauty treatments:

There's been some wind and light rain today. . . .

But tomorrow will be just fine:

The usual interesting license plates are appearing. . . . There are a lot of these; I catch new ones every time. . . .

 
May in Maryland means trees are blooming. Each year it's a question of how much.

This year: lots.

Yes. Those are all flower petals.

And here's one for those of us who have been coming here for years. All the time I've been coming to Maryland (and that's a long time, although I'm too tired right now to figure out exactly how long) there's been a run-down, abandoned place on highway 40 called the Enchanted Forest. It was apparently an amusement park from 1955 through 1989. I don't know what's going on there, but as I drove past this evening on my way to the fairgrounds there were people working on refurbishing and painting the entryway. I stopped on the way back and snapped a picture.

The Forest Motel across the street, where we stayed on a number of occasions during the festival, is closed. Maybe it will be back. The diner and soft-serve ice cream shop are still open.

Time for sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day! The festival springs to life again.