The Independent Stitch

The Unst bus shelter

The chronology of posts for this trip is interrupted now for a glimpse of yesterday's journey to Yell and Unst, the northernmost islands in the Shetland group.

Thanks to Jeni Reid for the photo of me knitting in the Unst bus shelter. The shelter has been decorated this time in honor of the North Atlantic Native Sheep & Wool Conference, which is what I'm currently participating in.

We enjoyed a pleasant stop en route to our more official duties, along with a short knitting spell. (I got a lot of knitting done on our bus ride: I completed two demo swatches while watching out the window.)

If I had ever made a lifetime "bucket list," visiting the Unst Bus Shelter would have been one of the items on it.

I look forward to visiting it again before too long.

Also from Jeni, a she-says "gratuitous photo of sheep":

They look like Duncan Gray's ewe lambs to me (mostly born in May this year), although I'd need to check my notes to be sure of that and of the spelling of his name. Apologies if any of that information is askew. I need to walk down to the museum now. . . . Today is the day of the North Atlantic Native Sheep and Wool Conference presentations, of which one is mine.

Dreaming of Shetland launches!

In February, friends came up with an amazing and unexpected idea to help me do the next phase of research into sheep and wool, which involves a study of Shetland sheep and their fleeces. Shetlands are really complex, even controversial, and consideration of their development and current situation encompasses many questions relating to fibers, regardless of type or breed. They're a microcosm of the wool world—physically, historically, and culturally. I wrote about "Why Shetlands?" in an earlier blog post, and that piece was initially constructed for and appears in the Dreaming of Shetland e-book that is coming into being through these folks' amazing and unexpected idea.

Their idea: to ask a selection of talented people each to contribute a pattern, an essay, or some other item to what would be combined into an e-book anthology, the sales of which would be used to fund my Shetland inquiries: essentially, a community fundraiser, operated informally (albeit rigorously) and in ongoing fashion. Here's the associated website.

The gist: They asked me to meet with them before lunch one day at an event we were mutually participating in. We sat down in the empty dining room. They told me that they had "an idea" and that all I would need to do was "say yes" and "have a PayPal account." Well, I do have a business PayPal account, which I use mostly to buy fiber and books (about fiber, surprised?).

So they gave me the outline: people within the knitting community who might have an interest in seeing what I would come up with in the way of research would be asked to contribute a pattern each to a collection. The plan was to have the whole project happen quickly, so that patterns that would be included would likely already exist—for example, a neat design that was still in the files because it had never found a public home.* The instigators (more on them both below and in a future post) would assemble, design, and set up an e-book collection through Ravelry (to keep this as simple as such an outrageously ambitious endeavor could be). All proceeds would go to my research.

* It only sort of worked that way. A lot of people got inspired to create original designs.

I was, and am, gobsmacked. I prefer to be stubbornly self-reliant and can be more independent than most cats. Yet I am also obstinate about my research, which was being implemented at about 1/1000 the speed that I envisioned, for lack of resources.

I looked across the table at their inspired faces. I thought about the sheep. I thought about the wool. I thought about knitters and weavers and spinners of the future. I thought about all of us now, and how much we appreciate knowledge that deepens our craft and our appreciation for life. I thought about how I am relatively reserved (yes, I can talk fine in public—when I'm talking about fibers) and that this would put me in a bit of a new spotlight—and I decided that the spotlight would be on the sheep, and I could just be a lens. And I thought that at this point in my life, I'm in a position to ask questions and know how to dig for information, if not answers, and to put together what I discover in ways that others may find interesting and useful. I thought about the sheep again—all the sheep, in addition to the Shetlands—and all of the lovely, dramatically versatile and dissimilar wools they grow, wools that we need to know better. And I envisioned that at the end of it all, lots more people would be connected to, and know the joy of, the sheep and their fleeces. And that it could be fun for everyone involved. (And a lot of work. I had no illusions about that. They didn't, either, although like all good things it has become more than anyone expected.)

I slowly nodded yes, making myself say the word out loud as well. I knew that, because of the people who were already involved and those who might be, this would be a big deal.

Yes.

For the most part, I was asked to pretty much stay out of it—to, if I had a spare moment, go research sheep and wool. So I was asked to write the "Why Shetlands?" piece and to review the sheep photos that would be on the cover (to determine whether they were of the Shetland breed, or simply sheep of other breeds in Shetland). While I've seen the photography for the projects (both the photos and the designs make me want to pick up my needles, and in one case I already have), the book is as new to me as it will be to those who choose to buy it. 

The scope: The project got quite a bit bigger and more complicated than the initial intention (doesn't everything?). As matters proceeded, the organizers needed to put a cut-off date on participation in order to actually make it happen within anyone's lifetime. They also decided to release the book in sections, in order to make the logistics (and the file sizes) manageable, although signing up for it once will, over the next several months, yield the whole thirty patterns and associated articles and photographs. 

In the interval between the idea's origin in February and the initial release a few days ago, two things became apparent to me. One was that without some practical help, it would take years, or decades, to accomplish anything toward this research, and the second was that the moral and psychological support of the idea alone has already been hugely beneficial.

A quick note: Even though the release of the e-book has been "soft," without a lot of fanfare and the "announcement" mostly by word-of-mouth so far, the initial proceeds have already enabled me to obtain resources that have previously been very difficult or impossible for me to access.

Whose idea was this?

The idea came from Donna Druchunas, and Anne Berk immediately stepped in to collaborate, enlisting her husband, Bill Berk, to do the photography. Donna's husband Dominic Cotignola provided invaluable, and mostly unheralded, technical help.

Sarah Jaworowicz supplied creative energy, organizational prowess, and graphic design skills.

Susan Santos coordinated the tech editing and kept everyone centered and optimistic.

But listing those individual responsibilities obscures the closely integrated teamwork that even from a distance I was fully aware of, as they nurtured a spark into a whole series of warm campfires to offer to the fiber world.

It says "for Deborah Robson," but I'm just the conduit here. Although yes, I have a dream that this research and our mutually growing efforts and knowledge will have a long-lasting and positive effect on our fiber activities and on communities' and individuals' and several landscapes' health.

Whose work is featured?

The designers and researchers and creative souls who have graciously and enthusiastically come forward to make Dreaming of Shetland a reality include:

• Deb Accuardi 
• Gladys Amedro (with some help from her friends)
• Janine Bajus
• Anne Berk
• Amanda Berka
• Cat Bordhi
• JC Briar
• Beth Brown-Reinsel
• Ann Budd
• Ava T. Coleman
• Linda Cortright
• Susan Crawford
• Jeane deCoster
• Donna Druchunas
• Priscilla GIbson-Roberts
• Ann Glassley
• Franklin Habit
• June Hall
• Sivia Harding
• Lynn (ColorJoy) Hershberger
• Shelia January
• Jennifer Leigh
• Lynette Meek
• Cheryl Oberle
• Cheryl Potter
• David Roth (elusive online) got involved, too, with his camera
• Betty Salpekar
• Susan Santos
• Kristi Schueler
• Myrna Stahman
• Jeny Staiman
• Meg Swansen
• Stephannie Tallent
• Nancy Powell Thompson (internetarily semi-invisible, and a wonderful designer)
• Gladys We
• Jill Wolcott

Take a look at the kinds of work they've packed into the e-book here.

I'm looking forward to seeing and reading it myself! One of the reasons it took me a few days to put this post together was that when I got the preview section last week, I read Donna's dedication and had to compose myself. I always see the shortfalls of what I do: I want to do more than any day permits, and I want to raise all of our boats together. Donna's words let me see that even when my reach exceeds my grasp, I may be getting a handle on some things in a way that's helpful.

So if you are inclined (with all those incredibly talented people involved, I don't know how anyone could resist, even if this were "just" a regular book), there's information on the website (of course they put together a website {wry grin}).

Meanwhile, I need to get back to the quest. As soon as my eyes quit misting up and I can see clearly again.

Thanks, all. I'll bring back sheepy and woolly information and share it.

Photos © Deborah Robson

Dreaming of Shetland cover design by Sarah Jaworowicz

Types (and groupings) of wools

On Apr 9, 2013, at 12:48 AM, A. N. Mouse wrote:

Subject: Types of wools from Craftsy, and Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook

Hi Deb,

I just watched your Craftsy class last night, thanks so much for doing that, it was excellent for a new spinner! I just have a question regarding a comparison between that and your Sourcebook.

In the Craftsy class, you talked about four general classes of wool and some of the major representative breeds in each class. Do you use the same general division in the Sourcebook, so that I would be able to tell which class various breeds fell into? Or, alternatively, I assume there's enough parallel information that I can bridge from the type description at Craftsy, to any classification you might use in the Sourcebook?

I find I want to spin All The Things, but at the same time I want to have some rationality about what I'm doing while I'm doing it!

Many thanks and best regards
A. N.

__

Dear A. N.:*

Thanks so much for your note, and I'm delighted that you enjoyed the Craftsy class!

You ask a very interesting question, and it doesn't have a simple answer. However, it does have a workable one.

The Craftsy class was very simplified, and its primary audience is both knitters and spinners, with a slight bias toward knitters (also crocheters, weavers, and so on). The wool-type groupings I used in the Craftsy presentation are aimed at people whose primary contact with the fiber is in touching the yarn (usually by squishing the skein!) and who want to then knit, crochet, or weave something that doesn't disappoint them (too soft or too harsh to function well in what they decide to make).

The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook has not been "distilled" to the same extent, and its groupings are different—they reflect a more comprehensive view of the sheep and their wools, and were developed in large part because I wanted to be able to consider related groups of wools together—and, most importantly, to help myself (and other people) more readily differentiate between sets of breed names and types that get confused. Fleece & Fiber covers a lot more territory, in a lot more depth, and its information is more nuanced.

The key to connecting the types of concepts in the Craftsy class and the information in Fleece & Fiber is on pages 34 and 35 of the book, where you will find "A Starter Guide to Breed-Specific Wools" (it was co-author Carol Ekarius' brilliant idea to include this in the book, and I made up the categories and put the breeds in them).

The categories there are a bit different than the ones from the online class, because when I was developing the Craftsy course I came up with the (more memorable?) catchwords to be used in a video format to describe a smaller number of types of wools, and those groupings don't relate directly to the four lists of breeds in the book. Yet the Fleece & Fiber lists on those pages should give you the rationality in approaching the wools that you're looking for.

The study of wool, like wool itself, is not static. One of the things I like so well about learning more all the time about wool is that there are so many ways to organize and understand it. I hope the systems and terms I'm coming up with continue to help others. They're rough maps, based on my travels, to help guide others' explorations.

I'll have more ideas about how to think of wool groupings to throw into consideration in the future, as my understanding evolves. Don't take any of them as the last word: they're all sketches from a particular perspective, and they can all exist simultaneously. Use what is helpful. Skip over what is not, and instead find a different angle from which to examine what you want to get a grasp on. That's what I do. It's endlessly amusing.

With all best wishes, and happy spinning!
Deb

Deborah Robson
http://independentstitch.typepad.com

* A slightly revised and expanded response. With pictures. I like pictures. And links. Links can be useful.

_____

Congratulations to Joanne Seiff on winning the copy of Ann Kingstone's Born and Bred! I made up slips of paper and folded them and put them on the living room table and my daughter walked by randomly and snatched one out. It had Joanne's message on it. Both my daughter and I said later that we really wanted to pick EVERYBODY. But we couldn't, so thanks to everyone for throwing your names into the circle of chance. It's a wonderful book.

Ann Kingstone's "Born and Bred" Yorkshire-based designs

Those of you who, like me, enjoy books on the order of Clara Parkes' The Knitter's Book of Wool and Sue Blacker's Pure Wool: A Guide to Using Single-Breed Yarns have a new collection to check out: Ann Kingstone's Born & Bred: Yorkshire Sheep, Yorkshire Style (the extra links go to Ann's other collections, also good to peruse).

I'd describe Ann's accomplishment here as succinct, sweet, and a little bit sassy—while well seasoned with elegance. She published this collection in conjunction with yarn shop baa ram ewe, from which all the yarns are said to be available. (I also found some kits. Nose around the site and see what you discover, too.)

I love the way Ann has designed for a variety of styles and situations and yarn weights, producing nine projects, all of which I find appealing enough to cast on for. I found myself wishing that I'd had the hooded jacket pattern to knit for my daughter when she was small. I knitted her a hooded jacket that she wore for several years (handknits seemed to fit for longer than commercial knits did), so we didn't miss out, but what a sweet garment that is (lower right on the cover, above).

Among other things, I greatly enjoyed the connection Ann made between a number of sheep of the area (of course!) and the designs. The sheep she talks about, and some of whose wool she uses in her patterns, include Wensleydales (both white and colored), Swaledales (those are the sheep at the top of the contents page, just below), Whitefaced Woodlands (a really old breed), and Mashams, which are a traditional crossbred (composed often of Wensleydale × Swaledale, or very similar breeds). Yorkshire is where the annual and famous Masham Sheep Fair is held (it will be September 28 and 29 this year). Both Wensleydales and Whitefaced Woodlands are rare breeds.

Because this is how I think about collections of knitting patterns, here's a summary of the patterns, with quick notes about the designs, the yarn weights, and the specific yarns Ann used:

• Wetwang, a pullover sweater (jumper) with graceful black swans around the yoke and lovely, subtle detailing - DK weight, Wensleydale Longwool yarn from the Wensleydale Longwool Sheepshop
• Roseberry, the wee one's coat - bulky weight, Rowan Purelife British Sheep Breeds Chunky Undyed in the shade "Light Masham"
• Betty, a tea cosy named after some tea shops I've been told are wonderful - bulky weight, baa ram ewe's "Rare," which is Whitefaced Woodland (yay!) combined with Hebridean (lovely stuff, too)
• Ilkley Moor, a tam - fingering weight, from baa ram ewe "Titus" (Yorkshire fibers: 50% gray Wensleydale, 20% Bluefaced Leicester, and 30% alpaca—yes, the alpaca connection is explained)
• Baht 'At, fingerless mitts - fingering weight, from baa ram ewe "Titus" (same as Ilkley Moor, above; the two designs are related in concept as well as yarn and patterning)
• Hild, a pullover hoodie - aran weight, "Jarol Pure British Wool Aran" from Masham sheep
• Wharfe, boot toppers (not just pretty but practical: keep the wellie tops from chafing legs!) - bulky weight, from baa ram ewe's "Rare" again (Whitefaced Woodland and Hebridean blend)
• Little Tyke, a color-patterned vest for small people - DK weight, Wensleydale Longwool Sheepshop yarn
• Swaledale clogs - aran weight, felted, from British Breeds "Swaledale Aran" (which may later be in stock at baa ram ewe, but I can't find it right now although I did find this)

The names of the designs come from places, a saint, a song (okay, DON'T miss that link! it's just over a minute, and goes really well after the longer clip at Baht 'At above), and more, all with Yorkshire ties. Even though the accompanying text is short, it strikes me as perfectly suited and it's personably informative.

Born & Bred is available in print and digital editions (Ravelry link for the digital version, with more photos of the designs). I am utterly charmed by it.

I haven't done giveaways much before, but Ann tells me we can do one and I opted for the digital edition. If you'd like your name thrown in the hat (probably a hand-knitted cap, actually), let me know in the comments. I'll figure out how to do a giveaway. I'll probably make my daughter do the drawing, so: (1) all names in by April 2, (2) drawing the weekend of April 6 and 7. Please remind me if I forget (see note about the days getting away from me in the post from two releases ago).

Oh, and I almost forgot. Yes, I did already cast on for one of the patterns and it's a fun knit. This one still needs finishing of the ribbing around the hand (in process) and on the thumb opening. I'd hoped to have it done in time for this post (well, I'd hoped to have a pair, but I always want to do more than is quite possible), however . . . I got most of the first one completed!

Baht 'At (check out the song, or Ann's book, for the meaning of the name):

Not entirely off-topic:

While I was finding links for this post, I discovered Moorland Pottery, which has a number of items I enjoyed looking at, some of them relating to sheepdogs, Herdwicks, other Lake District sheep (which look a whole lot like the Scots sheep, but then we're not talking representational art here), and what caught my eye first, the chickens in the wooly jumpers. . . . And yes, Yorkshire-themed items, including some that are "born and bred," which was how I ended up on the site.

A workshop on Peruvian knitting, mostly of puntas!

Last weekend I took two textile workshops. This is remarkable. Mine is one of those lives where if I have time for a workshop, I don't have the money to do it; and if I have the money, I don't have the time or I'm in the wrong part of the world. I've been at more festivals and events than I can count or remember, but I'm most often the person behind the registration desk, the one driving the staff rental car into town to buy food for the participant who forgot to mention she was vegan and allergic to nuts, or the one teaching the class.

In 1990-something, I sat in on a half-day workshop at SOAR with Ed Franquemont, on a couple of Andean handspindle techniques. In another 1990-something, Stephenie Gaustad sat in a hallway during SOAR, when we both had a few moments, and taught me to spin cotton on a charkha (it was, I think, at Snowbird, which would make it 1996). In 1986, shortly before I moved to Colorado to work at Interweave Press, I took Celia Quinn's comprehensive spinning workshop under the sponsorship of the Boston Area Spinners and Dyers. What fine and memorable occasions. Most of my other recent learning has come through testing out the instructions that were about to be published in Spin-Off magazine or various textile books.

But last weekend Nilda Callañaupa Alvarez was teaching within easy reach of my home at a time when I wasn't out of town and when there was a bit of money in the bank that could be diverted. Wow.

Saturday was a knitting workshop. The only thing the workshop description mentioned was puntas, which I had learned to make from one of my editing projects, but I thought that Nilda would likely have different approaches to the process, and in any case I wanted to get to know her a little better: I've been following her work for years, and we'd met in passing at a number of fiber events but never had an actual conversation.

Puntas: literally "points," or in this context a type of edging, with many variations possible, used to begin the knitting on some Peruvian hats, bags, and other textiles. Think of them as cast-ons and picots that have grown up and gotten advanced university degrees.

The sum of my weekend experience: if you ever get a chance to take a class with Nilda, do.

Saturday we did learn to make puntas. All day. It was very cool. The varieties are endless, as are the techniques. Although I "got" all the ones Nilda showed us, I don't have a lot of faith that I'll remember how to make each of them without some refreshers. I heard a rumor that in the week after our workshop (the one just completed) Nilda would be at Interweave recording video of how to do some Peruvian knitting techniques. I trust the result will be a replacement for, and expansion on, the notes I didn't have time to take while I was learning, or the energy to jot down after I got home. Nilda is a superb teacher and her handouts are excellent. Still. These are tricky little processes.

Life is pretty crazy around here right now, so I won't do justice to the workshops in this blog post, or the next one. But I want to get something set down before yet another idea I want to share is gobbled by the press of deadlines and doesn't get into the blog at all.

This image shows my trial versions of the puntas we learned to make (plus an inspiring little hat that was tucked into the second bag of yarn Nilda gave me to work with: we each got one, all different).

Top right are the three-color puntas that we started with (#1), and bottom right are the five-color puntas that followed (#2). As I went along, I got better at putting the color joins where they were supposed to be. 

Top left is a deceptively simple little rickrack-like punta form (#3). These are the ones about which I woke up the next morning thinking, "I'll never remember how to do those!" (At the moment, I can still remember how to do all the others.) Bottom left is a relatively easy form of puntas that Nilda taught us at the end of the afternoon (#4). I think it was a reward for working the others.

She also talked about handling multiple colors of yarn, both tensioning and securing. These are things I know how to do, but now I have more options. Options always come in handy. The more I learn about textiles, the more there is to learn.

Now, here are puntas in use. Note the yarn above, which was about worsted-weight, very tightly twisted, two-ply handspun that Nilda provided for us. It's a lot bigger than the yarn used to knit the puntas on the pieces below. She thought it would be nice if we could easily see the stitches we were forming. We agreed.

Those are the #4-type puntas around the bottom of that hat.

Here's another type of puntas:

I'd need to look at them more carefully than the resolution of the image will allow to figure out which kind they are. Possibly a type we didn't cover.

The edges of this hat definitely display a punta variation we didn't do:

But the top of this little bag displays those sneaky little #3 puntas:

That's an interesting knitting technique on the bag, too. Nilda gave us a glimpse of how it's done, but there wasn't enough time to do more than enjoy it vicariously. We were too busy getting to know a few puntas.

Now one of the questions that arises is why does learning this stuff matter, either to me or to human civilization in general? For me, it's an opportunity to wonder at the number of things that people have devised to do with a material as simple as yarn: what we can fashion with, in this case, wool or alpaca fiber. For another, it's a chance to marvel once again at the astonishing ingenuity and endless creativity that people express through textiles. Especially the Peruvians. Throughout the history of the world, they have been the most prolific cultural group at devising amazing ways to construct and decorate textiles. Their accomplishments seem to me to be on a conceptual par with the greatest of modern inventions. All with very simple tools and materials.

Nilda and the Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco (Centro de Textiles Tradicionales del Cusco) have been doing a lot to keep this body of cultural knowledge and these ways of thinking alive and vital, while providing sources of income to the weavers and knitters that are allowing them to, for example, send their children to school.

It was an honor to participate in that process in a small way.

And a friend who saw me there said, "I'm not used to seeing you this happy!"

When I'm home, I'm normally content and satisfied and interested, and also a little bit (or a lot) too busy. Simply "happy" is, therefore, apparently not something my hometown friends usually perceive. (I think I probably look pretty happy when I'm teaching; when I'm off somewhere quiet researching and spinning and knitting and weaving and writing; or when the dogs make me laugh; but for most of those times there aren't hometown witnesses.)

For the course of a weekend, though, I was able to enter a "beginner's mind" part of the textile world and discover new depths of creativity in fingers and fibers. That definitely made me happy.

Here's Nilda, checking Handwoven and Weaving Today editor Anita Osterhaug's punta progress.

There's always something new to learn.

Anita's vest is one of the products of CTTC weavers. It's handspun, naturally dyed, and handwoven. It's stunning, and it will last nearly forever. As the techniques have and will—as long as people keep learning and practicing them, even if it's just for a delightful day that ends in appreciation for the skill of the experts.

____

How to easily buy CTTC textiles in North America? Cloth Roads.

Penny Straker's knitting patterns

There's a Kickstarter project going right now to fund converting Penny Straker's knitting patterns into digital format. Since every little bit helps, I've kicked in my contribution. There are lots of reasons why, even on a slim budget any spare bits of which tend to go toward the acquisition of out-of-print books about sheep or wool, it took only a few minutes (deciding which level) to commit to this endeavor.

Penny Straker's designs are described as classic, and that certainly applies to garments I can put on twenty-five or thirty years after making them as if they'd been finished yesterday, and still get compliments on as soon as I walk out the door.

Penny Straker's designs also taught me a great deal of what I know about careful planning and construction of knitwear: the fine points of the craft.

What major contributions they've made to my life!

It was fun to go to the Kickstarter page, when a friend told me about it, and see a video of Penny Straker herself talking about the project. That link's the same one found in the first paragraph, and here's another that talks about the history of the Straker designs, although I'll skim across a few high points in this post.

First, though, as soon as I heard about the project I went to my closet. I pulled out the Straker designs that I still have and wear. Then I thought about others I'd made: the child's Owl sweater in lavender Harrisville sportweight yarn for my daughter when she was a toddler (when she outgrew it, I hope I sent it along for her cousin to use; it's not here; both daughter and niece are adults now); the Staithes guernsey that I made for my sister in natural dark brown alpaca; and more.

The fact that I could immediately locate or recall so many projects that owe their origins to Straker designs is a big deal. I've knitted a lot. I made all of these garments in just a few years when my daughter was young. I didn't take notes, except on the patterns themselves, so the details come from my brain cells. The experiences were remarkable, and entirely in good ways.

And when I look at the array of Straker designs, I want to make even more of them.

Second, I wondered how many of the original leaflets I could find in my rather full box of single- and small-collection paper patterns. Without as much effort as I expected to invest—like, in about four minutes—I came up with fourteen:

The copyrights are all 1981 and 1982, which means they were new when I discovered them. I've knitted most of these designs. Ten are Penny Straker's own. Four are by her mother, Janice Straker. Where links are not included below, the patterns are out of print and thus not currently available in any format. Which is a bummer. I hope and trust that it's a temporary bummer, because of Kickstarter.

These are, top row, left to right:

• Jennifer Cardigan (Janice Straker), #770—sportweight, "intermediate" level—I have this one, and will show it to you in a moment; a penciled note says Borgs yarn—a reason it would have lasted well! Although I also see that I swatched for it in Briggs and Little, which would also have been a good choice. I'm dating myself with both the patterns and the yarns, and that's okay! It was splendid stuff.
• Gretel Pullover (Penny Straker), #876—worsted weight, "intermediate" level—I have this one, too; you'll see it.
• Staithes Guernsey (Penny Straker), #796—worsted weight, "seasoned intermediate" level—my sister has this.
• Owl Cardigan (Penny Straker, more recently updated with a charming hat), #C818—sportweight, "intermediate" level—knitted for my daughter in, I see, size 4.
• Blackberry Jacket (Penny Straker), #746—another one I have.

Middle row, left to right:

• Tuckernuck Jacket (Penny Straker), #799—and yet another I still wear.
• Becky Pullover  (Penny Straker), #737-P—light bulky weight, "beginner" level—made and given away? Size 42 notes in place.
• Mercedes Pullover (Janice Straker), #101—for Elite's Manhattan mohair (an unusual, because yarn-specific, design, but yardage and weight are also given)—made and given away? Size 34 notes, and a two-page letter from my mother, on blue paper, tucked inside the flap.
• Potomska Pullover (Penny Straker), #740—worsted weight, "seasoned beginner" level—toward the top of my list yet to knit, along with Inverness, a candidate for the digital project that I don't own in a hard copy.

Bottom row, left to right:

• Jamie Cardigan (Janice Straker), #837-C—sportweight.
• Boater Pullover, adult  (Penny Straker), #841—worsted weight—I made the child's and liked the project well enough to buy the adult pattern; I may have knitted it, too.
• Rigby Vest  (Penny Straker), #802-V—sportweight, "seasoned beginner" level.
• West Bay Pullover (Janice Straker), #735-P—sportweight.
• Boater Pullover, child's (Penny Straker), #C841—worsted weight, "beginner" level—made for my daughter in size 6.

I'm sure there are a few more hiding in the pile. If the patterns were digitized, I could locate them without digging through a box.

I love these originals. I love their consistent and clear formatting; their gray borders; their black-and-white photography (described by Penny Straker's own website as "outdated," although the neutral color left this knitter's imagination free to fill in with favorites).

Yet the information itself, more even than the presentation, is what's magic about the Straker patterns. Here are some of the things that have been unique, or way ahead of the pack, about them:

• They are nearly all written for generic yarns, with yardages and/or weights given instead of the number of balls of a specific manufacturer's product. For handspinners, this is great and it was very unusual for the time (still is, to some extent), although I also used commercial yarns—and I'll say I chose well, as you'll see in the garments to come.
• The back of each pattern contains essential basic information on how to measure, how to choose a size, basic washing instructions, and metric/American equivalents for needle sizes. The pattern overflap often contains information on yarn qualities to help the knitter choose good materials, as well as guidelines for checking gauge, and sometimes additional technical points.
• Even the "beginner"-level designs are intriguing.
• Pattern stitches join and flow together impeccably.
• There's an abundance of technical information: techniques are clearly chosen, described, and illustrated.
  • From the Jennifer Cardigan description: "The Mock Cable decorates the yoke and cuffs giving the knitter the opportunity to become familiar with the pattern stitch before beginning the Raglan decreases which shape the armholes. These decreases steadily break into the Mock Cable pattern. This section of the cardigan requires a working understanding of the stitch. At the beginning of every right-side row, the knitter has to calculate exactly where to resume the all-over Mock Cable." In the "old days," we discovered these things on our own as we worked the patterns. It was fun, but it's nifty to be warned in advance. More on this in a moment, when I show you my Blackberry Jacket.
• They teach excellent design practices, and are reliable guides in their execution. 
• Each size was test-knitted, so the detail work designed into one size carries over to the others. (Read that again and marvel.) The patterns have also been very carefully edited and proofread. If not perfect, they're extremely close to that.
  • I don't recall having found an error. Ever. My notations indicate that sometimes I altered the construction to eliminate side seams, but not that I found any problems. The Straker website has one pattern with errata, from a 2010 version of the child's Staithes sweater. It's always good for me to find evidence that other people who seem to be able to accomplish perfection—which I keep aspiring to, working hard to reach, and failing at—are actually human, too.
• They're printed on cardstock in a weight, size, and format that can hold up to the challenges of being stuffed into a knitting bag repeatedly.
  • With the ability to print out new copies of a digital pattern for each use, this is not as big a deal as it used to be, but it's still worth noting. The fact that those patterns in the first photo have been used says a lot for the physical objects. Although I didn't keep many records on my knitting projects, I can tell a great deal about what I did with these patterns because I jotted notes on them and they've held up well.
• The typographic design and layout are clear and easy to follow.

Other knitting designers and writers who followed have built on these foundations, but there are aspects of the Straker patterns that many could still benefit from studying. Now that some of the pattern descriptions are on the website for Straker Designs, there are a couple of plusses we didn't have with the printed versions:

• Degree of difficulty is indicated. There is also now enough information to allow the prospective knitter to understand the philosophy of the piece and its design components. Interesting that I type "philosophy of the piece," but yes, that is a big part of the simple explanation that accompanies each pattern in the digital presentation, and a philosophy definitely underlies the design process that informs these pieces.
  • Here's a portion of the description for the Becky sweater, a "beginner" piece: "The directions are threaded with caveats, pointers and illustrated techniques to help all knitters enjoy the knitting process of this pullover." Again, we found this out by using the patterns.

I can't say enough nice things about these patterns, nor can I adequately credit the benefits they have given me as a knitter. So I'll show you a few of the things that I made from them.

Here's Gretel: decades old, and much worn. Good yarn. Great design. Lots of fun to knit. I did slightly modify the heart design (giving it more height), because I'm long-waisted, always need to add length, and wanted the hearts themselves to be very open. My graph-paper notes are taped inside the pattern, one of them bearing the inscription "shoot on black backdrop, larger photos." (That would have been film I was shooting. I have no idea why I needed the images.)

It was a yarn called NZN in a color called orchid. Although I don't know what wool it was spun from, it behaves like a fine-micron Romney. Thus it has very, very few pills, despite advanced age and wear, and yet isn't itchy.

Here's the Blackberry Jacket.

Aside #1: I had that wonderful tweedy purple yarn, from Candide, but not enough of it to make the jacket. I'd probably gotten the skeins on close-out. I worked at Webs at the time, both helping customers and filling mail orders. (Webs was not then located where it is now. It was behind the post office in an old Victorian house, the third location that I know of: (1) Elkins' basement, (2) behind the police station, (3) behind the old post office.) I wanted to use the yarn for this jacket despite the scant supply. Fortunately, I realized in advance I would run short. So I found the two other colors—the navy and . . . hmmm, I think that pink may have been a leftover bit from Gretel . . . and planned how to combine the colors so it would look like I'd meant to do so from the start. I actually think the addition of the pink lines just above the ribbing are what turn it from "doing the best I can" to "yes, I absolutely meant to do this."

Aside #2: Thanks to Penny Straker, I did shape the neckline, the sleeve openings, and the set-in sleeve caps in blackberry stitch (also known as trinity and a few other names) while keeping the pattern intact. The stitch count varies from row to row, so working increases and decreases that don't interrupt the texture is an extremely interesting technical challenge. I haven't encountered a stitch pattern since where I didn't think, "Well, if I could do refined shaping in blackberry stitch, I can sure do it in this stitch."

Aside #3: I did modify the pattern to eliminate side and sleeve seams. That's just my preference. I do it routinely.

And now for the Jennifer Cardigan, one of Penny's mother Janice Straker's designs:

I bought more of Janice Straker's patterns than I knitted: I love their delicate detail work, so I use them for inspiration, but for the most part they don't fit my sturdy style as well as the other designs. It's nice to be able to dress up in the Jennifer cardigan. However, I usually need sweaters that are a bit more robust.

Like this one, which will get its own full post some day (possibly soon, but you never know):

It's a variant of the Tuckernuck jacket. It's handspun. I'll tell its bigger story later. It's another "need to make up a yarn deficit" one, with some wrinkles.

But for now, a snippet of a digression: in 1986, when I flew from Massachusetts to Colorado to talk with Linda Ligon about whether I might come to work at Interweave Press, the two sweaters I wore were the jackets shown here, Blackberry and Tuckernuck.

The Kickstarter project aims to digitize forty-four Straker patterns, beginning with a first round of fifteen. Although only one of the patterns I want sooner rather than later is in that first round (the Inverness Pullover), I look forward to having access to the full range of Straker designs, especially the Shalor Cardigan, Galway Cardigan, Jim Vest, and Eye of the Partridge Pullover. I've admired a number of the others for years (decades, now) and would be delighted to be able to pick them up easily, as needed.

The thing is this: Even after more than forty-five years of steady knitting, I know I can still learn a lot from Penny Straker's patterns, and that I will have a good time (and produce timeless garments) in the process. I'm really glad I chose good yarns for them. I design a lot of my own garments now, and have for years. One of the reasons that I do so with confidence and a sense of adventure is because of the experiences I had with these patterns.

Go check out that Kickstarter project, if you feel so inclined. If you do decide to support it, make sure you do so at a level that gets you some of the wonderful patterns for your own delight.

The Shepherd and The Shearer

I'm taking a break from my efforts to sort out the Norwegian spaelsaus (short-tailed sheep) to highlight a wonderful project that is right in line with the celebration of wool known as Wovember. It's The Shepherd and The Shearer, and if you want to be part of it here's the sign-up page, which I'm posting at the beginning since in the first twenty-four hours after the announcement at least half of the available two hundred spaces sold out.

Now I'll back up and give you part of the story, with links later to more details.

 

The gist:

1. Shepherd grows wool.

2. Shearer shears.

3. Special yarn is spun.

4. Two exceptional designers develop patterns for the sweater you just naturally wear all the time for work, play, and comfort.

5. A limited number of people, who have signed up in advance, get the results of all this next fall: special pattern booklet, enough yarn to knit one of the sweaters (they're thinking about an add-on for enough yarn to knit both), and, at the end,

6. Knitter knits: a classy, classic, year-in/year-out, wearable sweater (maybe two).

Oh, and there'll be a bag with that fantastic logo on it.

This is the sweater that inspired it all, on Susan Gibbs, one of the initiators of the project (and a shepherd):

The shearer is Emily Chamelin. She specializes in shearing sheep these days, and has to refer out to other shearers for alpacas, llamas, and goats because just doing sheep she has about four hundred shearing customers in a season. She works hard. She does fine work.

There aren't enough shearers working these days, and one of the side benefits of this project will be the establishment of a scholarship fund to get women to sheep-shearing school. Learning to shear doesn't involve huge expense, but it takes physical, psychological, and intellectual strength, as well as a love for animals, and folks who have that combination of attributes may not have the resources to get themselves over the hurdle of training, for one reason or other. In addition, women may not think of this as work that's open to them, and there's (obviously) no reason they shouldn't. This scholarship idea embodies focused encouragement to solve a few problems with just one of the extra goodies wrapped up in The Shepherd and The Shearer.

Moving on to the exceptional designers of the patterns:

Kate Davies, who has produced (among other things) Sheep Heid and Rams and Yowes and Deco and my particular favorite, Sheep Carousel, and a new book (available in about ten days)

Kirsten Kapur, whose Fractured Light mitts and hat are in a new Knitty, and check out Washington Square and, if you like mitts as I do (they're super for testing yarns), Twizz and Genmaicha.

If you'd like the back story, check out these links:

Susan's announcement

Susan's additional information

Kate's blog post

I'm looking forward to following the progress of this super idea! A whole year of delicious anticipation, and sweaters that will warm next winter in the knitting . . . and probably decades beyond in the wearing, because of the care with which the fibers have been grown and processed and the yarns have been constructed.

 

 

 

 

 

I love yaks (and their fiber)

Yesterday I had the great good fortune of visiting Carl and Eileen Koop (and their yaks) at Bijou Basin Ranch. It was a 263.5-mile round trip and worth every bit of the journey. Here's part of why:

The yaks charmed me completely.

Backing up just a bit, here's a sign along the last bit of paved road (state highway, in this case) on my trip to the ranch.

And here's what that sign said:

West Bijou Creek. It's important in the story of this year on the Colorado plains to note that I didn't see any water in the creek. We've had a drought that's been affecting all sorts of livestock, including the fiber-producing types, like sheep and goats and yaks. I'll touch lightly on this again later.

Here's a view of the type of landscape in that part of the world.

And here's the type of wide county road I turned onto from the highway.

A number of miles later, I took the second right onto this narrower type of county road.

Over the years, there's obviously been enough water along that line running perpendicular to the road (likely a currently dry creek) to support the growth of those trees. It's good that they're well-enough established to withstand some dry times.

A few more miles, a driveway, and a turn into the yard brought me to this view.

Closer up, even before I said hello to Carl and Eileen, here they were:

I was at this point just under nine miles from pavement and twenty-nine miles from the nearest grocery store (which was a Safeway, but a rather limited one; I wanted, but couldn't get, unsweetened black tea, either cold or hot; they do normally stock it). The roads, however, were clear and well maintained. As long as there wasn't a storm of any sort making it impossible to see where the edges were (which there wasn't yesterday, but there was last Saturday, when I'd planned to make this trip), it was a smooth and easy drive.

There are nine yaks currently in residence. There were quite a few more, but a number needed to be sold to other ranchers because of the drought. The Koops see themselves as stewards of the land as well as of the animals, and even though they use a lot of supplemental feed they need to watch the condition of the pastures, which have diminished in capacity with the recent lack of water.

These yaks are the spirit behind Bijou Basin Ranch yarns. They provide the motivation for the Koops' business, and token amounts of fiber. The Koops want to do more to get yak fiber into our yarns than they could manage by growing it all themselves. So they work with other people who have yak herds, both in North America and in Asia, to make that happen in pretty magical ways.

I'll talk more about yarn (and spinning fiber) at the end of this post, but let's get back to the yaks I met.

This is Napoleon, the Big Guy.

He's especially fond of treats, and thinks he should have them all. (That's his YUM tongue-move.) The Koops make sure that their animals are well socialized, and put a lot of effort into establishing trust between animals and humans (and, consequently, vice versa).

These are Tibetan yaks. There are two types in this group, Imperials and what are called either gray-noses or Blacks. Napoleon is an Imperial yak. He's solidly black, including his nose.

So are this year's two babies (that's Napoleon's comparatively massive flank in the foreground).

The babies start out fuzzy, and as they mature their coats develop the mix of hair and down that will keep them warm. The down is also what makes luxurious yarns. (The hair is also a useful spinning fiber, but Tibetans know more about what to do with it, or with a mix of the two fibers, than North Americans do. We don't make many yurts here.)

Here's a baby face.

The yaks tolerate, and sometimes harass, the barn cat. Even the little guys chase the cat now and then. The cat goes with the flow.

Here's a this-year baby snuggled next to one of last year's calves.

Last year's complement consists of Knit and Purl, and aren't they fine-looking beings?

They're a little hard to tell apart. One is slightly larger than the other; I think it's Knit who is a little bigger than Purl. One of them was slightly lame when first born, possibly because of a lack of room to stretch out before they were born, but is fine now.

My photos of Ruby, Onyx, and Jade all ended up fairly backlit. But let's see what I can do for them and Doc. They're all grey-noses (Blacks).

Here's one of the ladies: I need a bit more help to tell the three of them apart, although they have distinctive appearances and personalities. I was just trying to learn all nine at once while engaged in fascinating conversation and taking pictures! (The first photo at the top of this post is another of the ladies, the one with a crooked right horn. The one with the crooked horn is not Ruby. Ruby is one of the two adult females with regularly angled horns. She is the least interested in being patted or given an ear-stratch, but I think she warmed up with time, and treats.)

And Doc is in front here, with Knit and Purl.

I tried to get a good photo of each of them, but I may need to go back and try again. That would be fun!

Recently I completed a pair of fingerless mitts using the laceweight, natural brown yak yarn that I got for the KDTV segment on yak fiber that I did last year (it's on YouTube). I made swatches for the show, and am now slowly (between other samples, research, and deadlines) using the leftover yarn to make teaching samples.

The pattern is Miriam Felton's Gable Mitts, from her book, Twist and Knit. I was a little concerned about how well the pattern would show up in such a dark yarn, but I'm pleased. I put the thumb gusset on the side of the hand (one of the pattern's options), and would probably use the palm-placement alternative next time, although I'm perfectly content with these.  (I modified the thumb finish and cast-off slightly; the modification wasn't necessary, but I felt like it.)

The yarns. Ah, the yarns. That natural laceweight is, for me, the iconic yak-down yarn, but it's far from all there is to the inspiring and alluring array of Bijou Spun possibilities. When we went inside for more talk and a cup of tea, I almost disappeared into the yarns on the table. So much so that I forgot to take pictures. But let me tell you about some of what I saw there—and there are good photos at the link at the beginning of this paragraph.

There are both natural colors (brown and creamy-white) and dyed shades by Lorna's Laces. Weights range from ultrafine (a yak/silk 50/50 that Eileen is experimenting with but isn't satisfied with yet: it was absolutely delicious, and all I can do is trust that she has something even more exquisite in her mind) to light worsted (the yak/Cormo blend). There are also pure yak, natural and in dyed colors and in several weights; yak/bamboo; yak/Merino; yak with a tiny touch of nylon; and even more.

While any of these would make me happy at any time, my favorites are the yak/Cormo blend, the new yak/silk (a test run), and the sportweight pure yak (some in dyed colors). The yak/silk blend (Shangri-La) is a very slender yarn with enough twist to make it durable. It combines the shine and drape of silk with the warmth and body of yak. Note to the knitter who doesn't mind fine needles and has been looking for something extraordinary: check it out. In the right light, that gray is really silver. The other colors, not as intense as Eileen requested, are knock-me-down beautiful anyway.

Bijou Basin also has, for spinners, "clouds" of down, which are a far cry from the fiber I encountered in the course of a freelance spinning-and-knitting job I did about thirty years ago. An Ivy League professor brought back mixed hair and down from "the Himalaya" (his term: I was never sure exactly where). He wanted it made into yarn and then into a sweater. I tried to talk him into shifting his goal to a welcoming rug for his office, but he would not be convinced, even by my most compelling arguments about the potential disadvantages of a hairy garment. (I was, and still am, convinced that the people who sold him the fiber could not imagine that anyone in North America could or would be spinning the stuff, and so sold him what they didn't want. Yes, they do often use the fibers mixed. But the condition of these several pounds of fiber was beyond the line of simply alternative preferences.) I did make him a sweater, as he firmly requested (he was paying the bill! and I needed groceries), although I purchased color-matched Lopi yarn for the ribbings (cuffs, neck finish, and lower edge), in order to give the sweater a chance of being wearable. I still wonder if he ever put it on for more than a few minutes. I never met the man, and I doubt that I will ever know what became of the sweater.

We fiber folk—yarnies and spinners alike—have come a long way from those days, in large part because of Bijou Basin Ranch. Their down ranges from 15 to 18 microns; in fineness, that's excellent cashmere territory.

What a wonderful day. Thanks to Eileen and Carl! And to their irresistible yaks.

___

Why did I happen to take a trip to Bijou Basin Ranch at this time? I'm gathering materials for the second Explore 4 Retreat, to be held in Friday Harbor, Washington, March 10–15, 2013. Each day will focus on a different fiber. One of last year's participants requested that 2013 include yak, so yaks we shall have! If the retreat were closer to Bijou Basin Ranch, we'd be taking a field trip. As it is, I picked up information—and fiber!—to share with the group. (The event is full, with a short waiting list.)

Napoleon says I need to end with another photo of him.

He's very handsome. Also basically humble, if just a touch at-the-front-of-the-line-please.

Book review: Pure Wool by Sue Blacker

Sue Blacker is wise in the ways of wool, especially with regard to making high-quality yarns from special batches of fleece, including many from rare breeds of sheep that live in the British Isles. She has written us a lovely book that features single-breed yarns, specifically those made at her mill in Cornwall. If you don't know about these yarns, you will want to discover them.

Because I want you to appreciate the unique genius of Sue's Pure Wool: A Guide to Using Single-Breed Yarns, just released, let me begin by telling you about my major quibbles with it. If you are alerted to these at the start, you can get on with the business of enjoying the book's substantial benefits without wondering exactly how many small typos and other bothersome glitches have been allowed to slip through and get into print. The answer to that is: too many. The project would have been greatly improved if the publisher had paid closer attention to copyediting and proofreading. This applies to both the text and the patterns. These matters are important enough that I'd recommend that some ability to independently troubleshoot a pattern be considered a prerequisite for working the designs; that should be sufficient, and they are appealing, so if you have this, go for it. I plan to. The index is also rudimentary. While I generally like the unusual choice of doing color printing on uncoated (not-shiny) paper, in some cases—and this is one of them—crucial images, especially those with dark components (like black fabrics), lose all their detail. A number of finished products are shown for which the source patterns are neither included nor referenced. All these matters are significant; I suggest that you determine not to let them keep you from this book.

So now let's talk about the good stuff, of which there is plenty.

Sue's unique body of knowledge, and what that brings to this book

Sue Blacker began with sheep (Gotlands, which she still has) and then bought a fiber mill, called The Natural Fibre Company. Sue is a wizard at using the mill's equipment to make well-constructed breed-specific yarns, spun either woolen or worsted, available to people who want to experience these fibers without making handspun. Obviously, I'm a spinner. In a way, that makes me even more appreciative of the quality of the yarns produced by The Natural Fibre Company, especially those that are produced under the mill's own label, Blacker Yarns, and are featured in this book. (It's not necessary to have access to or to use Blacker Yarns to get a lot out of the book or its patterns.)

Sue knows a lot about value added: the multiple techniques available to shepherds through which they can increase the financial return they see from their animals' fiber. This is critical to the humans' ability to continue raising the sheep. Whether the value-added chain involves turning the fiber into neatly spun and packaged yarns ready to be worked on crafters' needles or the production of finished objects—blankets, socks, all-natural garden twine, and more*—Sue and The Natural Fibre Company help owners of small flocks in Britain increase their incomes. She also offers consultations to other small mills on how to process challenging fibers into predictable, practical, pleasant yarns.

       * Bookmark for the holidays!

For yarn-users, Sue provides a guide to enjoying materials that are not generic (I might add to my description "that are not bland"). She has an intimate understanding of a number of breed-specific wools grown in Britain, of their processing on the small-mill scale (the only way to keep the breed identities distinct), and of how to make good use of the resulting yarns, with their distinctive and sometimes challenging characteristics. (As a bonus, she lightly seasons her comments with her delightfully wry sense of humor.)

Here are some of Sue's observations on spinning single-breed yarns in small commercial batches [my comment in brackets]: "Where a wool is very rare or pretty good as it is [meaning not blended or dyed], we have suggested leaving well alone!" (p. 133) and "As the Wool Qualities and Yarn Types chart . . . shows, soft wools do not necessarily make fine or drapey yarns, and coarse wools do not inevitably have to be consigned to the Aran section. Also a luster wool will be considerably denser than a non-luster, so will make very heavy garments if used as a worsted-spun yarn, in chunky weight, or for larger items. In fact, it is better to use woolen-spun, semi-luster, or non-luster yarns for these" (p. 134).

Her appreciation for the fibers' individuality imbues every page. While other people may make other choices in handling the fibers, of course, Sue offers her experienced opinions firmly and with supporting reasons: "North Ronaldsay makes a soft 4-ply if de-haired of its coarse hairs but loses its character—better to use Shetland" (p. 135). From her viewpoint, based on having processed a more wool than most of us could imagine even seeing in a lifetime, she considers blending, yarn weights, and applications for unusual wools, as well as dyeing for good results on wools that have natural colors to start with. 

If you want to be convinced beyond a doubt that Sue knows what she's doing, order sample skeins of a number of the Blacker Yarns offerings and make swatches or fingerless mitts. I've got an ongoing project of doing just that, and it's always a pleasure to pull out a skein spun at The Natural Fibre Company and cast on. One of my favorite discoveries has been the Herdwick, overdyed. Herdwick is one of the least mainstream-familiar yarns to use. In Pure Wool, Herdwick gets equal time with the more familiar, and more pliable, Bluefaced Leicester. Thank you, Sue.

Breeds covered

For each breed, there is an introductory segment about the sheep and the wool. The sample shown here is the Hebridean.

These are the breeds in the book, with links to a few of the yarns spun from these breeds that are currently available through Blacker Yarns:

• Black Welsh Mountain
• Bluefaced Leicester
• Castlemilk Moorit
• Corriedale/Falklands (explained as a Falkland Islands–sourced wool with a lot of Corriedale in its genetic background)
• Cotswold
• Galway
• Gotland
• Hebridean (in blends)
• Herdwick
• Jacob
• Manx Loaghtan
• North Ronaldsay
• Romney
• Ryeland
• Shetland
• Zwartbles

Patterns

Following the breed information is information on using the wool, including a pattern—or two or three, if small. This is a pattern for a shoulderbag made with the Hebridean wool shown in the previous example:

The designs offer classic-but-interesting approaches to making useful items, with information on why a particular breed's wool was chosen for the project.

In many of the patterns, the introductory description covers variations: changing breeds, combinations of yarns, needle sizes, and structures to individualize the final results. This sort of creative approach to the craft may alarm beginners, but it's how intermediate to advanced knitters think. Any nudging in this direction is all to the good, and beginners will benefit from choosing one of the simpler projects and experimenting with customization.

At least eight photographs are included of items for which instructions are not in the book. The good news is that I've tracked down patterns for most of them (or for patterns that sure look like they'd produce the same or very similar results) by digging around on the Blacker Yarns website. In case other readers find the items shown in these images as appealing as I do, here are the results of my quest:

• p. 27: The Bluefaced Leicester vest was made with the Jester Waistcoat pattern.
• pp. 34, 60, and 125: The vests made from Castlemilk Moorit, Gotland, and Zwartbles appear to be variations on the V- or Round-neck Sleeveless Slipover/Tunic (vest) pattern.
• p. 91: The Manx Loaghtan cardigan is the Chevron Cardigan.
• p. 98: I kind of struck out on the North Ronaldsay vests shown on this page (and there is a North Ronaldsay waistcoat, or vest, pattern given in the book, but it's not like the vests on p. 98). Something relatively similar to the vests on p. 98, albeit with fancier patterning, could be made from the Diamond Cluster Fitted Waistcoat pattern.
• p. 111: The Ryeland pullover was the first item I went looking for, even though I'd probably draft my own version, and I found it (modeled as sized with a good deal more ease than in the book's photo) in the Cable Panel Unisex Pullover.
• p. 117: That Shetland kids' pullover is the Child's Henley Sweater pattern.

It would be very handy to have this information in the book.

For the designs that do appear in the book, the printing choices obscure the detail on photos of the dark-colored items, and the pattern instructions reside in a stylistic realm somewhere between British and North American conventions. Those with moderate familiarity with both systems will do fine. The sizing designations don't conform either to Craft Yarn Council of America standards or to so-called US standard clothing sizing, with at least one tempting garment (the Pucker Cable Tunic, from Galway yarn) having wandered closer to the vanity-oriented catalog sizing realm in which I am a 4 or 6, which is absurd, and makes me wonder what small people wear: size 0000? So ignore the so-called size designations and head straight for the body and finished-garment measurements; that's the only sizing that matters in any pattern, in any case. Some of the schematics don't match the knitting instructions, so either use those with caution or skim past them as well.

The huge strength of the patterns is in the coordination between the qualities of the individual wools and the items designed to be made from them. The comments on how the items were designed are worth reading, even if you never knit any of these things—although I am strongly drawn to:

• the Scallop Shell Top by Rita Taylor (Bluefaced Leicester),
• that Pucker Cable Tunic by Amanda Crawford (Galway) (the one with the down-skewed size designations),
• the Long Cardigan with Hand-Warmer Pockets by Myra Mortlock and Sue Blacker (Gotland, although for such a great winter-jacket design I'd use the optional buttons or a zipper),
• the Fall Leaves Beret by Rita Taylor (Gotland, and the photos miss the design's most interesting aspects—which I figured out by reading the pattern, those being the leaf forms at the juncture between the crown and the ribbing),
• the Hebridean Handbag by Sue Blacker (guess the breed!),
• that Ryeland pullover noted above in the missing-patterns section,
• the Ryeland Child's Hooded Jacket by Myra Mortlock and Sue Blacker (another breed-guessing occasion), and
• the Climbing Vine Cardigan by Sian Brown (Zwartbles, but there's a much clearer photo of the design, knitted in Jacob, on p. 82).

For me, that's a huge number of patterns having immediate appeal in a single book. And on another pass-through six months from now, I might come up with an entirely different selection. There's a Guernsey pullover by Sue Blacker (Romney) and a color-pattern vest by Sasha Kagan (Shetland) that are already exerting a certain amount of pull.

Supplementary sections

The front and the back of the book contain general information, called "Pure Wool Basics" in the front and "Pure Wool Practicals" in the back. The information in the back is meatier, giving insight into the breeds covered from different angles and incorporating three charts that consider wool characteristics and qualities from the small-mill perspective, and a visual representation of suggested substitutions between breeds for the patterns in the book. The dark red indicates the breed suggested in the book; other breeds Sue considers as appropriate substitutions get progressively lighter with their decreasing suitability.

There's also a chart on natural colors along with general thoughts about dyeing these fibers. It does not include information on using any specific types of dyes, but the overview and way of thinking about dyeing apply to any type of supplementary coloring.

The "Wool terminology" and "Yarn terminology" (front of book) and "Knitting know-how" (back of book) sections appear to have been put together quickly and could have been made more useful with appropriate editorial guidance.

In sum

There's a tremendous amount of unusual and intriguing information in Pure Wool.  If you like breed-specific fibers and yarns, it will be a fine addition to your library, despite the shortfalls in the editorial processing and production. Although I was provided with a review copy of the book by the publisher at the author's request, that obviously has not influenced (and never would affect) what I have to say. I would have happily purchased a personal copy—and would have paid significantly more than the US$19.95 cover price for a book that had been edited more thoroughly.

There is excellent material here. I would have liked to have seen it fully honored in its presentation.

Forewarned, do seek out Pure Wool for all that it does provide.

Researching sheep (still), and miscellaneous semi-related comments

When Carol Ekarius and I wrote The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook, my responsibility focused on the fibers and hers on the animals. While I got into research and writing on some of the species and breeds where I'd already done a lot of digging and thinking (notably Soay, Boreray, and unsnarling a few of the Cheviots right at deadline), for the most part she handled breed definitions and history. We both worked to our strengths and backgrounds. It was an excellent division of labor.

Now that I'm teaching, and don't have the book deadlines pushing me so hard, I'm building into my life opportunities to study additional breed history to increase my understanding of how the fibers we have to work with have been, and are, influenced by social, political, economic, and geographic forces.

At the end of next week, I'm teaching a new two-day workshop at The Spinning Loft, in Howell, Michigan. It's called Three Ls and Three Cs: Two Clusters for Spinners’ Delight and Edification.

Each day will focus on three breeds that are related historically and very different to spin.

The "three Ls" include Leicester Longwool, Border Leicester, and Bluefaced Leicester. These three breeds from the British Isles all have lustrous longwool fleeces that differ from each other in enchanting ways, and examining them will give us an opportunity to look at the shifts that came with early understandings of genetics, along with changes induced by human population growth.

The "three Cs" are Corriedale, Cormo, and Coopworth. These three come from the Pacific nations of New Zealand and Australia. They link to the classic European breeds but take them to different places in the fiber spectrum, again pushed by social and economic forces that are related to, but not at all the same as, those that produced the British wools we have today.

Every time I research a breed, I make amazing discoveries that apply directly to my fiber work and that also compel me to read and think more.

What I'm trying to figure out now is how (other than workshops and classes, because I can only do a few of those each year) to present the material I'm coming up with—and wondering whether (and how many) other fiber folk may be interested in examining the topics at this depth. I know some are. I don't know how they might want to access the information. In the "old days," I would have written another book (although I'm not sure it would ever have gotten finished). In these "new" days, it's tempting in many ways to throw it out on the internet for free, although I have no idea how I could afford to pay the bills if I did that. (I'm not willing to put ads on my blog or elsewhere).

At the moment, I don't need to solve those problems. At the moment, I have a workshop to teach next week and will be able to spend time with people with whom I can share these insights I'm mining and collecting out of a variety of sources. I'm pulling together disparate bits of information with the help of graph paper, pondering, and some computer programs. (Right now, I'm using Illustrator to make timelines and breeding charts and other graphics that pull together what I'm seeing in ways that I can present to others. I've been dipping into Tinderbox for collecting and organizing thoughts while they're still at the "scrap" level. I need to learn to use DevonThink, into which I have been throwing resources for a while but from which I haven't figured out how to retrieve stuff. I need a few months just to learn the basics of the software that I now need to use because the scope of my work has exceeded the previous systems.)

This morning, I spoke with Carol at The Spinning Loft (another Carol) about the wools we'll have to play with while we talk about how the breeds came into being. We'll have in our hands the tangible evidence that goes with the history. It doesn't get better than that.

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Meanwhile.

I bought one of my calendars for next year. I happened across it at the Tattered Cover on a visit a couple of weeks ago, thought about it at length, and purchased it at the Colfax store on Wednesday when I needed to be in Denver again. I was glad to find that a copy had waited for me to return.

It's not a sheep calendar. The only sheep image is this one Suffolk. I looked across the internet for the possibility of getting a print of this piece, and while they exist they're nowhere near affordable for me. Artist Beth Van Hoesen is unfortunately no longer with us, although from her 84 years she left a splendid legacy. I'm captivated by her sense of graphic design as well as her ability to dance between the unique and the universal.

The other images in the calendar also appeal to me, but yes, the Suffolk hooked me. People talk about sheep as stupid. They are not. The relationships between humans and animals are complex, and far from one-sided. Beth Van Hoesen captured that here, and the other art selected for this calendar speaks to the conditions of some other inhabitants of our world. It is, as a whole, a celebration of individuality and diversity.

I can live with that on a daily basis for 2013.

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Speaking of 2013, my teaching calendar is penciled in. Because of my mother's stroke, I haven't had time to finalize the arrangements for several events and I need to get on that soon. One of the things that's in the works for late 2013 or some time in 2014 is another trip to the British Isles, for both research and some teaching.

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Unexpected postal delivery:

To whoever sent me this surprise package from The Loopy Ewe, thank you! I have not been able to determine, and the elves won't reveal, the source.

Very sweet. A special set of coordinating colors dyed by Lorna's Laces. Something fun and lovely will come of this.

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But not until I finish prepping for next week. Well, I could probably wind the yarn into balls. . . .

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Note: Because I got 25 spam comments in one day this week, I've notched up the requirements for commenting on this blog. I'm trying to keep them at the minimum reasonable level.