The Independent Stitch

Wolves: Meeting and spinning with them

Wow, have I been anticipating having time to write up this particular post. I think my responsibilities for The Project have been completed for at least the next few hours, and I don't leave for my teaching time in Scotland until next week, so if I work fast maybe I can get a post written. . . .

Isabeau

At the end of May, fellow spinner Kris Paige found an afternoon when I could tear myself away from The Project and suggested an excursion to the W.O.L.F. sanctuary in the mountains not too far from where I live. The sanctuary is not open to the public, but Kris has provided some volunteer vet-tech work for the animals and I'm a donor/member of the organization, so with advance arrangement we were able to visit.

Here's part of the road to the sanctuary:

I need to note at the start here that, despite the impression given by some of the photos I'll include in a moment, wolves are not just big dogs. They are wild animals. They make lousy pets, although some of them (those who want to) make utterly charming, if strong-minded and independent, acquaintances. My experience at the sanctuary gave me a deeper understanding of the theory of domestication that I first encountered in The Covenant of the Wild: Why Animals Chose Domestication, by Stephen Budiansky. The misperception that wolves are, or can be, domesticated or treated as dogs is the reason the sanctuary exists. They can't. Even wolf-dog crosses exhibit enough wild characteristics that they don't make good household members. Yet thousands of years ago, according to the theory Budiansky presents, some wolves may have chosen to collaborate with humans and by doing so set in motion the long evolutionary path that gave us dogs.

Wolves themselves are still an entirely different matter.

We met only with the individual animals who wanted to meet with us. The sanctuary enclosures are built into both sides of a steep canyon. The wolves who enjoy contact with humans are in the lower spaces, near the road and the buildings, while the wolves who prefer solitude hang out in the upper spaces. The exceptionally secure enclosures have been built so that they provide the animals with a varied environment that they can (and do) customize for their own comfort, although (as you'll see below) some items for their amusement are also added by the humans.

Here's one of the more reserved wolves—not as hard to find as a few of the others who appeared only as ears poking up from behind, say, a boulder or a down tree:

Their camouflage works quite nicely.

Most of the enclosures contain two wolves who have demonstrated that they enjoy each other's company; in a few cases, three wolves have chosen to "bunk" together. Assigning buddies requires intuitive and practical evaluation by the sanctuary humans. The wolves need company, but they have strong opinions about who they'll hang out with: energy levels, ability to share food and to play together, and likely percentage of wolf genetics (pure or crossed with dogs) all factor into good matches.

The first wolf we met with was Isabeau. She was bred and sold as a pet, but only lasted four months in her original situation before her desperate "owners" were looking for a way out of their commitment. Fortunately, there was space for her at W.O.L.F. (There is nowhere near as much space as is needed for the rescue occasions that arise; the sanctuary is currently full, and all wolf residents, once situated, remain for their entire lives.) Isabeau "earned" her space by being a potentially compatible buddy for a wolf already in residence named Shaman.

As we arrived for our visit, volunteers were finishing modifications on Isabeau's new wading pool. She loves water, but the new pool (a stock tank) was too deep and she was afraid to get into it, so they had been building steps for her inside it. While they worked, she was confined behind a fence in the back part of the enclosure, but as we got there she was released into the front again to check out the new water-access point:

Isabeau

It seemed to meet her approval.

Isabeau is quite sociable with humans, and the space she now shares with Nashoba is right by the caretaker's cabin. (Shaman unfortunately died last year at the age of ten, having lived at the sanctuary since he was a few weeks old; his spirit continues to infuse the sanctuary in many ways.) Isabeau's current buddy is Nashoba (behind her here), who arrived at just over a year old and initially was in with Shaman (to whom he was submissive) as well as Isabeau (in whom he found a playmate). Isabeau is a little over four years old and Nashoba is now three and a half.

Isabeau (front) and Nashoba (back)

When I first approached Isabeau, I held my hand out for her to sniff in a way that a vet had taught me years ago, a position designed to protect fingers if the dog being approached happens to bite. The sanctuary's founder, Frank Wendling, told me to change positions: palm up, fingers open. He said that Isabeau and the other wolves would see that gesture as friendlier. He continued, "If she wants to take your hand off, it won't matter how you're holding it."

Okay, then. Palm up and fingers open!

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After visiting a bit with Lakota, an optimistic eleven-year-old who has been in sanctuary since he was just over a year old and is in treatment for mouth cancer (I was too close to him to get any photos), we went across the road to see Rajan, a wolf-dog who is about four years old, and has been at the sanctuary since he was just under two. He's shown here with Michelle, whom my daughter and I know from our work at a local independent bookstore. Michelle is now full-time at the sanctuary and was kind enough to show us around and introduce us to a number of the residents. Rajan is the perfect companion for Kiki, an Alaskan wolf who chooses to keep her distance from humans she doesn't know. Like Lakota, she's eleven and has been at W.O.L.F. since she was a little over a year old. We saw a hint of Kiki way up in the enclosure, while Rajan came right up to us for rubs.

Rajan

The sanctuary trains the most willing animals to act as ambassadors, going out in public to help with educational and fundraising programs. Shaman, Isabeau's former companion, was one of the best ambassadors. Rajan has been stepping forward to do some of the ambassador jobs, as has Sigmund, whom we met shortly thereafter:

Sigmund

Sigmund is another wolf-dog. He's part collie, and mostly wolf. (Like our Border collie, Ariel, was part something else—probably spaniel—but, as we always said, 100 percent Border collie in personality and brain.) He doesn't like riding in the car, but he's pretty much okay with the other ambassador responsibilities.

Sigmund came from California, and went through a number of homes (from which he repeatedly escaped) and a couple of periods of determinedly uncatchable independence in the mountains. He is almost five and has been at the sanctuary since he was two and a half. At W.O.L.F., the initial thought was that Sigmund would join Isabeau and Shaman, but that didn't work. Shaman would have none of it, and the two males even fought through a fence.

However, it turned out that Sigmund and Tunyan, a full wolf, began playing through another fence. It turns out they were meant to be best buds.

Tunyan

Both Sigmund and Tunyan (TOO-yawn) have strong inclinations to be sociable with humans. Tunyan is eight years old and has been at W.O.L.F. since she was one month old. At the time, she was described as "a typical wolf pup. In other words she was a holy terror." We were warned that Tunyan, whose name means "brat" in Lakota, steals things. Like cameras.

I asked what she does with them.

The answer was, "Takes them into her space and chews them to bits and buries them."

Doesn't sound like a good dietary supplement for a wolf, plus I like my camera, so I kept it especially well secured while visiting with Tunyan.

Tunyan

She apparently also likes shoelaces.

Big paws. . . .

Tunyan

Sigmund and Tunyan live near the cabin, and are occasionally given access to the deck, in alternation with another wolf who doesn't get to be there at the same time that they are prowling around.

Sigmund and Tunyan

Two at once, starting to tussle, is a lot of critter in a small space:

Tunyan and Sigmund

Sigmund has long, soft fur: his probable collie heritage shows up in the fiber.

I was also fortunate enough to be given a sample of Shaman's fiber to spin; Shaman was pure wolf.

 Shaman's fur was mostly very soft, with some quite flexible and delicate guard hairs that could be pulled out of the finished yarn, or left in to add texture.

W.O.L.F. is looking for ways to use the fiber to support fundraising efforts for the animals' care, which is top-notch and requires significant amounts of resources. We're talking with the sanctuary organizers about the feasibility of making sample quantities of fiber available to spinners. There may also be opportunities for spinners to have access to fiber and make items that they would donate back to W.O.L.F. to be auctioned off at special events, like the recent Waltz for the Wolves. I was out of town at the time or I would have been there; my daughter attended.

The two scarves that Kris spun and knitted from Shaman's brushings, mixed with silk, topped the evening's auction results, earning $600 each for the wolves' benefit. That's spinning a whole lot of good.

Fence, part 5 (second span, completed)

Here's the final installment of our journey along the fence in Port Townsend, Washington. We've turned the corner and gone most of the way up the hill along the second span.

The next panel combines milled, stained wood with bamboo in a pattern that is balanced but not rigidly ordered:

It's kind of amazing that pieces of wood as irregular as those in the next unit can be combined into a pattern that feels like it was constructed from precise bits:

Were those leftovers? Maybe! If so, they certainly provided appropriate inspiration.

That panel's close-up reveals the crowning baseball bat . . . and a white rock nested at the center of the wooden diamond:

Next door, we have another regular/irregular rhythm—these panels offer interesting, while comparatively restful, contrast to the earlier, busy collections of parts:

And here's the final panel, with lines that feel almost scribbled, abutting the concrete-and-chainlink establishment, part or all of which almost certainly existed when the fence we've been looking at was conceived:

That final panel looks quite simple, doesn't it? It is.

Or is it? Here are some close-ups:

As the job was completed, did the tools become part of the assemblage they'd helped build?

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We ended our journey to Port Townsend, our former home, in the downtown area, at the Silverwater Cafe. This restaurant didn't exist when we lived here, but its owner is a long-time friend, even a member of the extended family, and I had heard about, but hadn't seen, what he'd accomplished. Back in the day, he was a really good cook (an exceptional lefse maker, among other things, and that's both art and craft). He still is. It's the sort of place where they have ongoing discussions about how the coleslaw should be made (I'd say exactly as they've got it now), and whether it appropriately complements every other menu item that it finds itself next to.

Sort of like building the panels on a fence.

Here's a photo of my sister and my mother outside the cafe. Along with the flowers in the window boxes, rainbow chard is also growing.

I can recommend the lentil burger. It's rightfully famous.

As we traveled back toward Seattle, most of the traffic was going in the other direction. The ferry ride was, as usual, smooth and prompt. While the weather had cleared up a bit, the gray skies still provided a subtle backdrop for a downtown landmark.

And that's that. The next post will talk about something entirely different. I have some ideas what that will be, but I'm not certain which of the alternatives will bubble to the top and get written up. . . .

I'm hoping it will also include news about the rediscovery, and completed delivery, of three much-missed packages. . . .

Fence, part 4 (second span, begun)

Okay, it's going to take two more groups of photos to show the final span of the fence in Port Townsend, Washington. We've turned the corner and the fence is climbing the hill. This is a repeat of the final photo in the previous post, to keep us oriented to where we are in the progression.

 

Here's the first panel—complete with bird house, biplane, and piece of plywood with a circle cut out of it (among other contributions):

I love the way the flowers, both wild and intentional, interrupt or participate in the fence.

The biplane is a lead-in to a collection of toys, mostly wooden and well-weathered. . . .

 

. . . although there's a fuzzy musk-ox next to a daintily painted wagon . . .

 

After that cacophony of toys, we get an open but helter-skelter (almost) collection of sturdy branches that seem like they're in the natural relationships of a tangled thicket, but don't make much of a barrier:

Lots of extra items found homes on the tops of the primary posts and on the crossbeams.

And look what's tucked down in the corner:

That collection is followed by another simple arrangement, reminiscent both of its predecessor (the thicket) and a panel on the previous span, where the same type of wood formed a sunrise shape—now the sun's fully risen and casting down diagonal beams:

Now we get a big gate that will allow any necessary equipment into the inner garden. . . .

See how the fence steps up the hill? With intent, but without being too obsessive about it.

Here's the next panel, which relates to one on the first span (without in any way repeating the earlier methodology):

And another sweet, wild collection . . . it echoes, but in no way repeats, panels in other parts of the fence.

I hadn't intended to comment so much. I meant to just put up the photos and let you discover them for yourself, but I began to realize exactly why I like the fence so much as I began to write.

Isn't this next one magical, with the stained and milled wood showcasing the slender trunks, branches, and twigs?

There's a lot of logging in this area, and I wonder how much of the gathered wood might have been salvaged from the slash piles that are left after clear-cutting. They would otherwise have been burned, just as the worn-out wooden toys and kitchen utensils would likely have ended up in a landfill.

I've got one more group of photos to complete this span and reach the end of the fence.

Fence, part 3 (around the corner)

Continuing with the fence in Port Townsend, Washington, here's the first jog of the corner:

That elegant stretch of vertical bamboo lives next door to a jumble of gathered wood—one of my favorite sections, and one of which I didn't get a specific photo because I was too busy looking with my eyes instead of the camera lens:

The fence jogs again and we have two more corner panels:

At this point, I was beginning to marvel at how the consistency of some materials gave the entire construction a sense of unity, while the components were never used in the same way twice . . . and even though the theme was established, there was always room for an inventive, seemingly random, idea to achieve wild abandon within one of the frames.

You've probably noticed the reason for the L-shaped corner: massive, beautiful boulders that were probably just there and needed to be taken into account.

Here's the second major span of fence, which I'll show in the next segment of this sequence.

Fence, part 2 (first span)

This fence in Port Townsend, Washington, enchanted us. It starts at a modest, weathered wood gate (on the left in the photo below). Then it moves into some vertical salvaged wood, likely driftwood pieces from area beaches. From that point on, the vertical posts are consistent but each panel has a unique construction and personality.

The first two panels are only shown in these first two photos.

Check out the movement and contrast between adjacent panels. . . .

In the previous photo, this is the panel that my mother is standing in front of and admiring:

Here's a closer detail:

Salvaged crafted wood in the last section, and salvaged natural wood in the next one:

. . . followed by lattice work and rectilinearity, and some straight, smooth, cylindrical limbs . . .

I love the stubby little thick pieces near the top.

Next come curves produced primarily (but not entirely) with straight pieces of milled wood:

Then we get a variation emphasizing bamboo—probably gathered locally. Bamboo grows abundantly here . . . I still have pieces that I pruned from someone's garden when I was working in landscape maintenance:

Then a spider's web combining the milled, stained wood and the natural, gathered variety:

. . . and we need some close-ups of the web's inhabitants . . .

The final panel along this side creates both an invitation to the garden (in its center, ladder-like area) and a sense that the space is private (in the diagonals on the sides). . . .

The next entry in this sequence of photo posts will turn the corner.

Fence, part 1 (introduction)

I've had many ideas for posts that haven't gotten written. It's been a busy time around here. I'm distracting myself from an unfortunate event (which I do trust will involve a transient set of circumstances) related to The Project* by writing at least one post. The topic I have in mind is very photo-heavy, so although I think of it as a single post I'm going to break it into several parts. Even though I reduce the sizes of all my images to make the pages quick to load (or that's the plan), there are enough photos here that . . . well, you'll see.

* Last week we shipped 13 boxes containing Project materials to the publisher, in preparation for photography. UPS has misplaced 3 of those boxes, adding up to 23 percent of the samples I've been spinning. I trust UPS and its bloodhounds will locate those boxes soon (I hope UPS has bloodhounds available for second-level tracer action, which is where we are on this search, although they may not—the customer service people didn't request scent items). Right now I am finding it mentally stabilizing to think about things other than tracking numbers and the word "Exception," which means "the item(s) you sent are in our system, but we don't have a clue where." Certain types of other things. Like the fence I will be showing you in detail in a moment.

Last week I was in Seattle working together with family members on a huge group endeavor. By Friday we needed a break, so we took the ferry to Bainbridge Island and drove over Hood Canal Bridge onto the Olympic Peninsula. Our destination was Port Townsend, where my sister and I both used to live.

I love the ferries. They've gotten more crowded (especially in the summer, on weekends, and near holidays), but we beat the July 4 weekend rush by leaving early. The morning in Seattle was gray and drizzly. We weren't sure it was the best time for an excursion, but it was definitely time to change our scenery.

When we got to Port Townsend, we drove around and looked at things, took a walk in the park, and had lunch and a short visit with a friend from long ago that I hadn't seen in a decade or two.

But we started by stretching our legs with a stroll in Chetzemoka Park. It's wonderfully diverse, with views and play areas and nooks and crannies and a wonderful, extensive arbor. Here's just one vista from the park:

See those white things? It's a line of little boats, all precisely arranged. No, there are no people in them. We were curious about, but have been unable to discover yet, what their story is.

Here's part of the arbor or pergola:

The day had brightened up as we reached the western side of Puget Sound.

We rambled around the streets looking for places we used to be familiar with, and found a surprising number of them unchanged . . . while we could not locate others at all, although our wanderings jogged our memories enough to figure out where they used to be. The city is twice as large as it was when we lived there. Dogs no longer dare sleep in the middle of the streets.

My sister remembered a particular fence that she'd seen on a previous visit, and shared it with us. I'd like to share it with you. This will require many, many photographs.

I don't know who built this wonder. It goes along one street, around a corner, and up a hill.

Here is how we encountered it:

In the next post, I'll start at the end by the house (toward which my sister and my mother are walking) and begin a tour of all the panels.