The Independent Stitch

Iceland 5 - Ullarselið

After our visit to Ístex, we drove north to Hvanneyri and the Agricultural University of Iceland (AUI), which combines strong research with a mission of teaching. Thanks to Google for the map.

Through this year's North Atlantic Native Sheep and Wool Conference, I was delighted to be able to meet Emma Eyþórsdóttir, who is on the university faculty, has written a number of papers pertinent to my research, and has been kind enough to guide me to resources I wasn’t able to obtain through normal channels.

AUI appears to be one solid reason that a number of young people are going into farming in Iceland, and are being well prepared to do so.

During part of our time there, the sky cleared up enough for us to appreciate the setting. It also rained a bit, and the mountains played hide-and-seek.

The campus in Hvanneyri is also the site of Ullarselið, a wool center with a shop and workshops.

Those of us who were itching to cast on with the wool we’d been given a couple of hours earlier at Ístex found knitting needles, along with a selection of Ístex and other yarns, which hadn’t been available for sale at the factory. Pattern books, too. That was all on one side of the hallway. On the other side, we discovered a big room graciously stuffed with finished textile goods: sweaters, mittens, kits containing specially dyed wool (tempting), and other delights.

The packaging for purchases consisted of re-purposed newspapers, with edges reinforced and seams joined by zigzag machine-stitching.

I bought test balls of several Ístex yarns. The newspaper container held together for most of the day: for normal travel, it would have been ingeniously fine. For the rather rough treatment that our travels involved, it wasn’t sturdy enough. Fortunately, I had a lightweight shopping bag with me to catch the contents.

The agricultural museum was in the process of being moved from the building that houses Ullarselið to another structure nearby, so some exhibits were in place, some were missing, and none had multilingual interpretive signs (most places we visited did). Fortunately, our group consisted of people who could figure out what they were looking at, and it was fun to be in the middle of so many solvable mysteries. The topics included all types of agricultural history, but of course we focused on the textile-related items.

This motorized device was made to wind yarn onto spools. (The skein winder/swift underneath needs to be pivoted outside the frame in order to work.)

The abundance of braided utilitarian cords would have been overlooked by most viewers.

Finding them turned into a bit of a treasure hunt.

(And what’s that fiber? There are hints later in this post.)

Some time I’ll gather all the spinning wheel photos that I took during my time in Iceland: tremendous variety and quantity, although only one in this particular museum (some may have been moved already).

I want a box like this to keep my ready-to-spin wool in. (If I currently had a cat, I'd be well aware that it is exactly cat-nap sized. Which could be a plus or a minus.)

I also like the style of lazy kate, similar to those found in Shetland—I’ll show a bunch of Icelandic ones in a later post. There were many, many at another museum.

The conference group gathered in a former barn for a meal (soup, which I’m told was very good—not vegetarian; plus excellent bread and cheese; and coffee), a few welcoming talks. . . .

. . . and a musical interlude.

Those guys had senses of humor, and they were also terrifically talented performers with a lot of experience working together. If they’d had CDs, they would have been at risk of selling out. I’m not exactly sure who they were. One thing that was missing from many of the presentations during the week was the people’s names! (This happened with a number of the speakers, too.) Note the sweaters, of course. . . . Icelanders do wear Icelandic sweaters: practical and beautiful.

This line-up of tractors resulted in an extended discussion among the folks on the bus, some of whom were familiar with every model, and why and how the designs had evolved. These are all, of course, historic tools now (except that some of them still chug along on particular farms).

Because AUI covers all agricultural topics, these horses make their home on campus.

Icelandic horses share some history—and some of the common grazing areas—with Icelandic sheep.

Two more images from that day when we drove from Reykjavik to Blönduós, with stops at Ístex and AUI:

At home, we’d be worried that billowing white clouds like that indicated a wildfire. In Iceland, however, that’s steam, not smoke. It’s easier to find sources of hot water than of cold. Natural hot water is used to heat homes. (Sorry for the tilt of the photo: taken from the bus, and I’m still not up to speed with the hardware/software changeovers that happened just before I left on this trip; on the old system, I knew how to straighten horizon lines without having to go through about ten steps, and some day I’ll know how to do it on this system as well.)

Like many of the mixed-weather days we experienced, this one produced rainbows.

Rambling around Shetland, 3--flexible planning

The key to success for my recent trip to Shetland consisted of two parts: (1) a series of goals, defined yet amenable to constant modification, and (2) a very flexible schedule.

For example, on my first visit to see a particular flock of sheep at Burland Croft Trail, it was raining; I didn’t have the right boots on (because I didn’t actually think I was going to find the location); and while we had an "any time" agreement, my inadvertent arrival coincided with a time when the people I meant to see had needed to run into Lerwick unexpectedly.

So between raindrops I met some other members of the extended community.

And we had some nice conversations.

Including a bit of group discussion, as the weather permitted.

Although even the Shetland natives ran for cover when the sky-water got more enthusiastic.

I went into the shed, where there was information on the croft and its activities, and a pile of beautiful fleeces. I got answers to a few of my questions just by looking at the fleeces.

And I went back another day, shortly before I left Shetland, and enjoyed a lovely visit with Mary and Tommy Isbister and their sheep. I also got to see photos and the actual garments for a number of one-of-a-kind creations made by their gifted daughter Sanna Isbister, who lives in West Cork, Ireland. (I bought giclée prints of two of Sanna’s paintings, one of Gypsy—an image you can see on the site—and one of a young Shetland ram. Ah, it can be found, too: “Kenny,” here.)

Then there was another day when I set out to do something . . . right now I don’t remember what it was, but it wasn’t possible, and that impossibility may have involved rain . . . so I went to Jamieson & Smith to peruse the fleeces downstairs in the room that has the handspinners’ selection.

This time of year is part of the shearing season. As I arrived, a truck pulled up with a trailer full of wool.

I’m not entirely sure where they offloaded the bags, because every available cranny was already crammed. In fact, it wasn’t so easy to get to the wool room downstairs, because of the massive piles of wool. J&S could use some more space. They might get it some day, but it sure isn’t there now.

So instead of heading down to the wool room, I spent the morning with wool buyer Oliver Henry while he worked on mostly grade 2 wools (grade 2 going into the baler, with some grade 3 behind him, and grade 4 and also the finer fleeces going into nearby baskets). 

I hope I was somewhat helpful with activities like moving bales around and/or out of the way, including at one point assisting in digging the scale out from under a small mountain of wool so it could be used.

A couple of hours later I made my way between bales to the downstairs and found a bit of wool to ship back for workshops.

At the end of that same day (not raining much right then, but my energy was lagging), I went to the Shetland Library to see what interesting things they had. I'd already made my first couple of trips to the archives, and in the course of my rambles had learned about a couple of documents I wanted to see that were at the library. I found some others, too.

One of them was a document about a marketing scheme that was never implemented. Nonetheless, it provides insight into some of the history of Shetland sheep and wool.

Sometimes what didn’t happen can be as important as what did.

On another day, I simply needed to take a break, and it was a gorgeous day for a change, so after visiting Jarlshof I ended up at Sumburgh Head, at the far south end of Shetland’s Mainland. I missed the annual puffin visitation by a few days, but it was beautiful with gannets and fulmars and shags, among other avians.

There’s a lot to see and learn at Sumburgh Head about natural history and lighthouses and more. And even more.

Although I need to stay focused on sheep and wool to make progress with my work, I also need to understand the contexts and cultures of which sheep and wool are a part. That means a certain amount of serendipity is useful—the trick is always figuring out how much is enough, and when I’m being pulled off track instead of just deepening my thought processes.

This visit was definitely in the latter realm—the good kind of peripheral excursion—because bits of knowledge I’d accumulated previously clicked into new thought-constellations. One of the exhibits where that happened was the radar hut, about the then-new technology and its importance in World War II. Last year on my trip to Orkney—the group of islands between Shetland and mainland Scotland—I had learned about the British fleet being at Scapa Flow in 1940. But being in the place where the intelligence was discovered that prevented its total and sudden destruction—a tiny building, staffed by young people with equipment so new they weren’t entirely certain how it would work—connected a lot of dots for me and stands out as a non-fiber highlight of this trip. 

There are more dots of this type that I would like to connect in the future, some of them having to do with the Shetland Bus, an important part of the Norwegian resistance movement (also during World War II).

As is becoming very apparent, I did sort my ideas of where to go and what to do by what types of weather would accommodate the activities. And on another drizzly day, I made my way to the Shetland Crofthouse Museum, representing a croft of about 1880.

I learned a lot on this trip about crofting, which (to oversimplify) is the traditional agricultural/residential portion of many Shetlanders’ lives. It’s not farming, in that crofting represents only a portion of what a family would do for a living. And crofting has a lot to do with the ownership and management of sheep and of different parts of the landscape. I have a post in process that will provide a bit of information on what sheep I saw in which locations. Crofts are a big part of comprehending what goes on with sheep breeding, and therefore wool production and textile crafting.

Speaking of which, there were sample garment stretchers hanging by the fireplace in the croft house museum.

Up on top of one of the box beds was a spinning wheel—and, over on the right, a sweater frame.

Looking UP in historic residences of this type often results in the discovery of textile equipment. It’s nice, though, when the textiles themselves are a significant and appropriate part of the eye-level setting as well, as is this hap (everyday) shawl on a stretching frame.

I stayed a bit longer at the museum than I planned—and didn’t get down to the water mill—because it was pouring. But when the rain let up, I got another reward for looking UP.

Cunningsburgh (Shetland) show, part 3 - other fibery things

I didn’t see everything at the Cunningsburgh show, even though I think I was there for nine hours. No, it’s nowhere near as big as the major festivals in the U.S., but there was an abundance of things of extreme interest and quality. I only saw the horses and ponies from a distance, and didn’t even realize there were classes for dogs until I got home and looked at the catalog of entries more closely.

So. A few snapshots of some fibery things. It was a treat to be able to wander through the entries and admire them. When I'm teaching at a festival, I rarely have time to look at the displays of skeins and finished objects, and whenever I am (reluctantly) judging a competition, I end up feeling like I've made my commentaries in that process. I judge reluctantly because I don't like the competitive element. I judge once in a while, however, because having public presentations of craft may encourage more people to try their hands, or inspire further explorations.

Many inspiring items were put on display at Cunningsburgh. Some of them won prizes. Some things that I loved did not take home ribbons. And so it goes.

This jumper (pullover sweater) was crocheted by Jane Outram. Terrific crochet.

Very gifted in multiple techniques and color use, she also made these bands with card- (or tablet-) weaving:

She used woolen-spun jumperweight (fingering) yarns from Jamieson & Smith (not the same as Jamieson’s). Card-weaving really stresses the warp threads—and produces incredibly strong bands, partly because the component strands need to be very sturdy and partly because of the structure itself. I asked Jane if she’d uptwisted the yarns (to increase their strength) and she said she hadn’t. That’s quite a testament to the integrity of those yarns. Not many woolen-spun yarns would stand up to card-weaving.

Jamieson & Smith also makes worsted-spun jumperweight yarns, although in a very limited range of eleven colors. (And they’re about to introduce worsted-spun aran-weights, one of which I’m sampling right now. The worsted spinning not only strengthens the yarn but brings out the wool’s natural luster. I can’t break this stuff with my hands, although it’s still lightweight.)

I found the color use and design of the bands absolutely enchanting.

But moving along. . . .

Nearby was this piece, which I initially thought was needlepointed (in petit point: the stitches were tiny). But no, those stitches were square and it was cross-stitched: densely, to create a solid image that nonetheless didn’t distort the foundation fabric. TINY, TINY stitches!

It was made by Louise Jamieson. It was one of those works of art that looks great from a distance and also reveals even more when closely observed. The background was worked in a lighter weight of thread so the figure was in slight relief—effective, but you really wouldn’t consciously perceive the shift unless you were peering at the work quite intently.

Several people who noticed the image as I was standing nearby spontaneously and easily identified the person shown.

The costume is one from the Up Helly Aa winter fire festival. There are fiber stories involved in the squads’ costumes, too, but that’s for another day.

Back to the Cunningsburgh show, and a few of the remarkable items I saw, this time in the building that contained the baked goods and most of the knitting and spinning.

One interesting category was the “Colourbox Competition,” for Fair Isle items made from at least four shades of eight specified colors.

Knitted cardigans (by Barbara Isbister, Barbara Johnson, and, again, Barbara Isbister):

Jumpers (pullovers, left edge and center by Barbara Isbister; I managed to miss the identifying number for the one on the right edge):

Gloves (these were handspun, by Anna Simpson):

A gorgeous lace shawl (by Yvonne Robertson):

And another inventive scarf (by Mavis Ross):

Handspun skeins (by Elizabeth Johnston, Mavis Ross, Julia Downing, Anna Simpson, and Alexis Keith):

And, in another area, some fleeces. . . .

(AQR Cross, managed by Hamish Hunter)

(Jane Outram . . . see the crocheted jumper and the card woven bands above)

And I can’t resist including this final photo from the sheep area, where a group of gentlemen were having a discussion.

Aberdeen to Shetland

I came into Aberdeen on the train from Cumbria.

It’s a big station, and a friend had helped me with how to get from train to ferry, and the internet and the same friend helped me figure out that I’d better eat at the shopping mall adjacent to the train station, because there’s nothing at the ferry terminal, which is, in fact, an easy walk away if you’re not in a hurry or too laden with luggage.

So I got some food at Marks & Spencer for the voyage, and topped off my snack-lunch with juice from a place called Juice Master.

It’s apparently a THING. There’s a lot of jazzy promo on the site about how the stuff will cure everything that ails you, but it just looked like it would taste good. It did. Superb. I did get a simple mix: yum. If we had these at home, I'd visit often.

My order at the stall (stand) also evoked a question from the person who took my request that I think was in response to my accent. She said, “It will be at room temperature. Is that okay?” I said, “Sure,” without really thinking about it. In fact, I think the flavors were enhanced by its not being chilled.

But I was thus a bit more prepared when I bought milk on the ferry the next morning to put on my granola and heard, in a somewhat apologetic tone, “We only have this kind [indicating whole milk]. Will that be all right?” Again, yes. And I’m guessing that for some folks with American accents the room-temperature juice and the lack of alternatives in milk fat content might have been problematic.

In the parking lot of the shopping center, I had to take a photo of an electrician’s van. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my family name in this type of context. Or maybe on any business.

Dreaming of Shetland: the journey starts in earnest here (with thanks again to everyone who has contributed to the project, in large ways or small).

Crossing the intervening street took quite a while: pushing crosswalk lights and then waiting, with only one phase of the crossing greenlighted at any go.

And then the walkway to the terminal.

Yes, that’s the ferry out there past the terminal building, with the Viking-esque fellow on it. (I wonder what the women's equivalent would be?)

As far as I can tell, the two boats that run this route are the Hrossey and the Hjaltland. This evening’s journey was on the latter. Boarding begins two hours before departure, and you have to check at least a half-hour before. The sailing is 12.5 hours, leaving Aberdeen at 7 p.m. and arriving in Lerwick, Shetland, at 7:30 a.m.

This next photo is of the (mostly) covered walkway for foot passengers, as seen from the ferry after boarding.

I needed to book my ticket a little later than I would have wanted to in an ideal universe, and no cabins were available when I made my online reservation. Fortunately, I was at the terminal early enough to snag a bed in one of the two-berth shared cabins that had opened up. There ended up being a waiting list for cabins of any type, and not everyone got one. On that long a trip, it’s good to be able to lie down, take a shower, and withdraw from the noise level in the main portions of the vessel.

This is what most of the journey looked like. The view is from cabin 230 on deck 5 when we were about an hour out of Aberdeen. Later it got darker, then lighter again, but for most of the journey there's a whole lot of water out the window.

There was a rolling swell between the exit from the Aberdeen harbor and a short way past Fair Isle, which is the southernmost island in Shetland. Then it was very smooth for a bit, with a little chop at the end. My cabin-mate said she is not a great sailor and would spend the voyage in a horizontal position. That worked for her. She was good company, and I’m glad she’s figured out a way to manage the ferry since she’s been doing the journey annually for twenty years.

The next morning, mainland Shetland came into view.

Here’s the passenger exit from the ferry.

Car drivers go down first to begin removing the vehicles from the several lower decks. Then foot passengers disembark. You can stay on the ferry and have breakfast, if you like. If you’ve driven your car off, you can come back on and meet the rest of your party for breakfast and a slower wake-up period.

Me, I was ready to get my rental car and find my lodgings. And take a 90-minute nap, even though I’d slept reasonably well on the ferry.

Then, in part to practice UK driving and also to begin my orientation process—and not least to see someone I already consider a friend, even though our interactions had been most detailed through e-mail—I drove to Hoswick to visit Nielanell, whom I’d met last October when I was in Shetland for Wool Week.  She's an outrageously creative, precise, wild, and inspiring textile spirit. We were both so crazy busy last fall that we hadn’t had a chance to talk.

We began to make up for our ships-passing-in-the-night conversations of last year. I visited her amazing shop. . . .

It’s a feast of color and texture and brilliant design. Here's just a wee (or peerie) sample of one corner:

As well as serendipity.

Niela balances control and abandon in her various fiber pursuits.

And I was able to spin for a bit on the myrtle spinning wheel Tom Livernois had made for her. I’ve followed its progress from somewhere in the making process through transport (it was stuck in Aberdeen for a while because of wild weather) and it was so fine to spin on it here in its new home. What a gorgeous tool! It treadles beautifully, is exquisitely balanced, and although it’s comparatively lightweight, it stands solidly on the floor. Neila’s friend and helper Samuel took some photos. He's been assisting her since he was 12. That's been a significant chunk of time, and he's at the stage where young adults decide on initial future careers (I tend to think that many of us end up in serial career adventures, whether we plan to or not). I hope and trust his path will include some textiles. He has a gracious and appreciative relationship with them.

I’m spinning a bit of Badgerface that I brought with me (which June Hall had put in my hands in Cumbria). So far I’ve spun with that fiber on a 1970s-era Ashford Traditional; my traveling spindle—a Magpie Maggie top-whorl, made for travel and a delight at home and abroad; and Tom’s myrtlewood wheel, based on Magnus Drudik’s design and an extremely worthy successor to it (and with a six-year waiting list for the wheels, this was my most likely opportunity to enjoy the experience of spinning on one). Quite the set of contrasts!

Here’s the funny thing about Badgerface sheep. There are two types: torddu (pronounced tor-THEE) and torwen. Torddu means “black belly,” and these are the sheep with the light fleeces. Torwen means “white belly,” and these are the sheep with the dark fleeces. So the light-colored ones have “black” in their name and the dark-colored ones have “white” in theirs.

The Kirkwall museum, part 2 - textiles (and serendipity)

The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall requires two posts to even hint at what's there. Part 1, about textile tools, was here.

Now let's look at just a few of the fiber-related items in the collection.

Textiles

Very early in the museum visit, a very early textile.

One of the by-far most interesting items is the Orkney Hood. The original is in the Edinburgh Museum. Made of wool, it dates from somewhere between the 3rd and 7th centuries CE and was found in a bog in the 19th century.

It seems to have been put together out of scraps of fabric, for a child: the fabrics are more sophisticated than the construction, and it is small. The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall displays an exquisite reproduction made by experimental archaeologist Jacqui Wood in 2002. Nearby is a thorough explanation of how it was constructed (you'd want to sit and read this overview for at least an hour: although you can actually experience some of the information from the comfort of your own computer here—with more tablet weaving).

Bogs preserve textiles. This is what is called the Huntsgarth clothing, found in a child's grave from the 18th century: swaddling clothes and a Scotch bonnet.

Farther along, a contemporary tapestry triptych worth visiting in person. It's entitled "St Magnus Earl of Orkney" and was woven by Leila Thomson, completed in 1998.

Obviously, I couldn't get much of a photograph. You get an overlay of me, trying to get a hint of the piece. Leila Thomson's work is at the Hoxa Gallery, another place in Orkney that I knew about before my trip but didn't have an opportunity to visit. Work that is breathtaking on the web has got to be near-miraculous in person.

The line between craft and art blessedly blurs throughout the Orkney Museum. In another area, there are examples of lovely functional knitwear.

While some of the techniques are similar to those of other Northern European knitting traditions, they have their own distinctive qualities in color use and patterning. The knitted garments above are from the 1940s through 1970s, made by Mrs. Tulloch, Cathie Wilson, and Hughina Ritch.

If I'd known more of what I was looking at (that is, if I'd had lots more time to spend in the museum), I would have gotten a better photo of the lower part of the case, where you can almost see needle cases and crochet by Hettie Scott, mentioned in the previous post, in the 1930s.

The 16th through 19th centuries featured tremendous amounts of white and intricate textiles, knitted, crocheted, embroidered . . . 

. . . woven . . .

 . . . linen above, also much cotton . . . 

. . . skipping along here almost irresponsibly, but so many textiles, so little time. . . . 

These stockings are said to be made of bog cotton.

I'd sure like to know more about them. Especially having been introduced to bog cotton.

Admittedly that photo was taken in fall and the "cotton" seems more plentiful in spring, but has anyone actually worked with it to know its suitability to knitting as fine and intricate as those stockings? And how would it wear?

[Edited to add a comment from Elizabeth Lovick via Facebook: "It is NOT possible to spin bog cotton—as soon as you touch it, it crumbles to nothing. . . . I will try again to get [the signage] changed..." Bog cotton apparently has had a few semi-practical uses, but stockings clearly aren't one of them. As an aside, Liz's new book, The Magic of Shetland Lace, is a winner.]

When I left the museum, I had lots of questions. . . . I'll have to go back. . . . 

Serendipity

. . . in part to see all the terrific stuff I glanced past as I focused on matters pertaining to fiber, even though I didn't do them justice, either.

I was captivated by this wooden Noah's ark:

I kept looking more closely. . . .

But I couldn't stay all day.

I haven't even shown you the scale models of some of the area's buildings at specific times in history.

Something that I can't go back and see another time is the special exhibit of woodcarving that was on display. It featured the work of Reynold Eunson.

The carvings were breathtaking,

and I loved seeing the drawings as well.

The room was full of both, and all I lacked was enough time to really spend adequate attention on them. There are more delicious photos on Facebook here.

I wonder what special exhibit will be in place next time? And I'll need to plan even more days in Orkney for exploring. I've just begun to get the gist of what's there.

(It's true: I haven't even shown you North Ronaldsay yet. That will also take more than one post.)

The Kirkwall museum, part 1 - tools

Did I start this post a month ago? I did, indeed. Life has been intervening. I still have a pile o' deadlines that I need to pay attention to. This morning, however, I will give myself the treat of starting this particular post about:

The Orkney Museum in Kirkwall, Orkney

. . . another place where I only managed to get an overview. But wow, the bits that I caught! It's a quirky museum, built into what used to be a house, and you go up, down, and around to get from one space to another. It would be easy to get lost, and that reinforces the sense of discovery. It's like there are magic staircases and hidden doors in walls that lead to other worlds.

I'm not finding a picture in my collection of the real entrance to the place, which I'd like to show, but there's one here, along with a lot of other good information about the site. Access to the museum is through that lovely archway. Step through it into the courtyard for the first view in my photo collection:

The rest of the photos will be out of sequence, and, except for the final handful (in the next post), all relate to textiles. I decided to show you first tools (today) and then textiles (next post, I trust . . . it's almost complete). And then a couple of glimpses of favorite non-textile items. You could spend hours in this museum with a given focus and come out stunned and entranced (time for a restoring cuppa across the street and down a bit at The Reel).

Whereas in many museums textiles are either an afterthought or are sorted out into their own basement corner, fiber exists as a recurring theme throughout the Orkney Museum, which is organized by time periods. This panel comes from one of the final rooms, but the combination of modern and historic (the rune image, graphic motif, and stories of individuals within the social and economic context) echoes the integration of textiles throughout the distinct eras.

The inset photo of the woman shows Hettie Scott. Born without arms, she was an accomplished embroiderer, using her feet. A bit more about Hettie in the next post. The information in this museum continually blew my mind. You could easily spend several days in it. I had a quick trip through—somewhere between one and two hours. (Definitely lost track of time.)

Tools

As I've mentioned before, Orkney's history is very deep. The tools and stories begin with bone implements, plant dyes, and upright looms.

Bones and stones: amazing materials out of which to make functional tools.

The spindle whorls are stone. The batten, next to them, was made from whalebone, likely used for weaving on an upright loom, and dates to the third century BCE (not all that old for this part of the world!). The next two pointed tools are awls; the small item just right of the center is a bodkin, with a bobbin below it. On the right at the far back are needles, and in front of them are three pins.

More spindle whorls—as I recall, these were in the Pictish section—about the fourth century CE.

In the same area there was a whorl inscribed with with ogham writing, used for recording both Pictish and Irish texts. Although found in a Pictish site, the language here is Irish.

I'll step forward a moment to the exhibit of contemporary Orkney craft, which is extraordinary, to show a piece of jewelry that you can buy, inspired by that spindle whorl:

That's a Sheila Fleet piece. There are several fantastic jewelry producers in Orkney.

Calling John Mullarkey! (I thought of you the instant I saw this, John.) Here's a bone weaving tablet:

It was in the Viking area, along with more whorls, needles, needle cases, and other treasures. It is exquisite. I want a whole set of them. And I'm grateful to have cardboard weaving tablets. They work, although with less flair and grace. (There will be another note, and a link, about tablet weaving in the textiles post.)

Moving forward a few centuries, due to lack of time. . . .

This iron spinning wheel was made by a blacksmith named, I think Robert Dick. (The last part of his surname was hidden behind an artifact.)

A more typically constructed wheel for which I forgot to snap a picture of the identification information (Liz?):

These were in an exhibit of the linen industry of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

And this amazing wheel was in the drawing room of Baikie House (remodeled 1820), representing the building that now holds the museum when it was a residence.

I love the contrast between the ornate carving and the slatted treadle. Was the treadle original, or perhaps a replacement? (This said by someone who's worn out a treadle and needed to replace it.) Perhaps not. The text says the wheel was purchased with the help of a grant and was "influenced by the Arts and Crafts Movement. Made by John Logie for Lady Eliza D'Oyly Burroughs of Trumland House in Rousay."

And now I need to take a breath before we continue by looking at sample textiles in the museum. (I love the rug in that photo of the wheel just above. There's fiber work hiding everywhere, including in plain sight but not noted on the interpretive panels.)

More to come. . . .

I don't think I've mentioned yet that this splendid institution does not have an admission fee. It does have a lovely small shop with well-selected items for sale. . . .

Washing wool (still, or again?)

We'll pick up the other threads I've been talking about again soon, but I've had some deadlines. Some of them involve editorial and layout work and some involve washing wool for next year's workshops. The wool-washing is an ongoing task with intense periods of activity: in order to do it, I have to be home, I have to have at least a good chunk of a day free, and I can't wash more fleece than I have drying space for. That means I wash for a while, then take a break. Now I'm washing again. Still. Whatever.

I've posted to Twitter and Facebook over the weekend about some of the washing, and a couple of questions have come up: several people requested fleece photos! and a couple of others asked how I manage to clean up after a washing session in the bathtub.

First, though, I need to note that I now have almost enough racks that I don't have to stop because I've run out of drying space. I have been collecting a particular type of sweater dryer for a while, as it comes on sale. I have one more to add to the stack, for a new total of 12. (Used to be 8.)

When I'm washing, I make sure to wash fleeces that can be easily distinguished from each other. That means that I can, if necessary, put two dissimilar half-batches on the same rack (fourth from the top). I stopped washing yesterday soon enough that I have one small batch by itself (second from the top). That likely won't happen often!

The rack contains, bottom to top, Corriedale, Shetland, and three Karakul fleeces (they're all from Letty Klein's flock in Michigan; the white is Sera, the two-tone gray is Rhena; the silver-gray is Arial).

Here are what two of them looked like in the tub. First Rhena, with her distinctive light tips:

Then Arial, still variegated but much more subtly so:

By the way, that is a whole 4-pound (1.8 kg) fleece in those trays. Karakul is quite low in grease and I can get more in a batch than I can with higher-grease wools. I can also use smaller amounts of Power Scour. I do tend to stick with my regular routine of two short soaks, two washes, and two rinses, regardless of breed, partly because then I can wash on semi-autopilot and partly because even when there isn't much grease there does tend to be dirt, due to the sheepy preference for living outdoors. The dirt succumbs to the rinses. And two washes are my baseline, with three for fleeces that need additional attention.

Karakul fleeces are interesting in part because they are so low in grease that the locks separate very easily, almost falling away from each other as I pull out handfuls to put in the trays. And in this case, I found a few locks in the bottom of the bag as I was starting the second wash, and I was comfortable just throwing them into a tray and letting them make do with that single wash and the following two rinses. They'll be fine. There was enough dirt that I wouldn't have wanted the whole fleece-washing process abbreviated in that way, but for a small piece? No problem. (Michigan dirt washes out far more readily than some Oregon mud. These fleeces were both easy and satisfying to clean up.)

And now for a few close-ups of the drying wool. Rhena (Karakul):

Arial (Karakul):

Sera (Karakul):

Note that I keep tags with the wool at all times. Some are the label sheets that I'll use to track and identify the fiber throughout its time in my keeping. Some are shepherds' tags, like Letty's note above. In the first photo, you can see a sheet of labels sitting next to the Corriedale on the bottom racks; just above those, there's a handwritten note on the corner of the first Shetland level.

Speaking of which, here is the Shetland, a moorit (brown) grown in Maryland:

And on the bottom is the balance of RUP 1022, from Rupperts in Pennsylvania. I'd washed most of this fleece in August, before I needed to ship a portion of it to Maryland for the Explore 4 workshop that took place there at the end of my travels in Scotland. I needed to get the rest of it clean. Keeping all the processes in order is key to success at wool management.

Now about cleaning up.

When I'm washing wool in the tub, we have one of the cleanest bathtubs on the planet. At the end of a day's washing session, these are my tools:

Bon Ami, which is the mildest and most effective cleanser I've found; a scrubber rotated out of service in the kitchen (wear 'em out there, then move 'em over here; next stop really grubby assignments); and a cup that's great for rinsing quickly once I've scrubbed. The surface of that scrubber works well in the kitchen, and is arguably the ideal tool (even in its worn state) for the tub as well.

I don't know where we got that cup, but it's perfect. It does have a few tooth marks in it. Our Border collie Ariel liked the feel of chewing plastic. She was quite trustworthy about not damaging other things (once she got past puppyhood). However, she was a smart dog and did figure out how to open the bathroom door by turning the knob. The evidence endures.

Ah, if she'd only had opposable thumbs, imagine where she could have gone! (I'd have had to hide the car keys.)

Another question posed over the weekend relates to how I keep the grease from clogging the drains. It hasn't been a problem, and I'm guessing that's because of the way that I wash. The grease is dissolved and the washing fluids are all flushed through the waste system in warm water every 20 minutes. There are fairly small amounts of grease at any single time, and I suspect that the Unicorn Power Scour I use is helpful in keeping that grease in solution and moving along (surfactants actually bond with grease molecules, with the result that the combination can be rinsed away). The final flushing of the plumbing system happens when I'm cleaning the tub. I use modest amounts of water, but I keep them moving and monitor the temperatures.

We occasionally have clogged drains. But we've never had one when I've been washing a lot of wool. (Do not grind up potato peelings in an in-sink garbage disposal unit. Compost them, or put them in the trash. Repeat: do not. . . .)

And now there are more fleeces awaiting my attention. . . . (And more blog posts to write! Some of them about dogs.)

Ariel (1994 – 2009):

Retreat (with wool) on Maryland's Eastern Shore

The Scotland, Orkney, and Shetland travel notes will continue, interleaved with real-time updates. There's so much to share. . . . 

I'm home again, and while I wasn't ready to leave the places where I traveled, I was ready to be in a familiar environment. Greetings from the family, both two-legged and four-legged, were enthusiastic and welcoming. I need a haircut. I need to deal with the mail. And so on. But right now I'm taking a breather from the mail to remember the wonderful time in St. Michaels, Maryland. (I keep wanting to put appropriate apostrophes into the names of places, even though the Powers That Be have determined that they don't belong any more.)

And a reader with ties to the Eastern Shore has asked for pictures and notes about that event, which just pushes it to the top of the queue (before life stampedes along again). We had a great time, in a beautiful location, with a range of interesting fibers.

The breeds we covered—all locally sourced—were: Corriedale, Hog Island, Jacob, and Shetland.

Here's a view of a St. Michaels harbor, as seen from the Town Dock restaurant. They have excellent seafood, of course, and they also had superb grilled veggie ravioli for me. (Just listen: "jumbo raviolis filled with grilled red peppers, onions, asparagus, mushrooms and Ricotta cheese served over our own pesto cream sauce and garnished with roasted walnuts and Parmesan cheese"—the sauce wasn't too rich, and the presentation was exquisite.)

The harbor saw traffic from different sorts of boats than I'm accustomed to looking at (which are fishing boats, mostly). However, there were a couple of groups of kayakers as well.

This is the inn where we stayed for the workshop. Several local folks joined us. The inn has other buildings. This is the main (old) house, where my room was on the second floor and our workshop space was on the first floor.

Lucy is dog-in-residence.

The views from all directions are stunning.

This is the breakfast room, in which we held the workshop. We did need to condense our workspace every night in preparation for the morning meal, but it was a lovely room in which to spend our days. There's a lot to be said for views and natural light.

In the Explore 4 workshops, I pick out a set of breeds to cover that will offer opportunities for comparing and contrasting wool types; that will shed light on some of the history of sheep; and that will give us lots of opportunities to play with different preparation and spinning techniques.

The Corriedale fleeces that we had showed variety within the breed, which we talked about. Much of the "retreat" involves just spinning and trying things, with me there as a resource once I've presented some basic material. It's both relaxing and instructive. There's nothing like experimenting to promote a sense of learning and accomplishment (I do love seeing what different things I can do with a particular fiber). Obviously, the crimp patterns, lock structures, and other qualities of the two Corriedale fleeces that we had were quite different. Yet in our hands, they were both quite distinctively Corriedale.

The second day was Hog Island, which I'll come back to at the end. I pace the sequence of wools in the workshop in particular ways, so the experiences build on each other.

The third day focused on Jacobs. We talked about the differences between commercially prepared fiber and starting from fleece; between U.K. and U.S. Jacobs; and between one flock and the next. We had two contrasting fleeces to work with.

Some people decided to sort the colors: the question, of course, is where one leaves off and the next begins! But the resulting range of harmonious shades can be utterly charming. (This was Haven's fleece.)

Then there's the temptation to "spin it as it comes," a valid choice that actually turns out to have its own challenges. (This was Bess's fleece.)

After providing background information in the morning, I spent the afternoons spinning along with everyone, fielding questions, offering perspective, and sometimes sharing discoveries I was making as I worked with the same fiber that everyone else had in hand. In the evenings, which were technically "off," I knitted or wove small swatches of some of my samples. The sizes of the samples varied, depending on how much I'd gotten done, and I still have my Shetland swatches to knit because on the final night I was packing up the workshop materials, instead of playing with fiber.

Here are a few of my swatches:

This was half of my room. I had a private bath, just to the right off the hall at the top of the stairs. It was great to have enough room to organize each day's materials in advance.

The windows by the bed did look out across the bay, and one morning I caught a well-lighted freighter going past just after dawn. The picture is textured because I shot it through the window screen. Sunsets were gorgeous, too.

On some lunch breaks, I walked around. I was tempted to keep spinning, but the weather and the location were too pretty not to discipline myself to get outside for a while. This photo is looking toward the inn (the hammock is between the inn and the shore).

I love collecting textures. . . .

And textiles. . . . Even better is textures AND textiles.

There were a lot of good places to wander around, and even take a decent-length walk and still get back in time for the afternoon session.

This is a tree that I mentioned to my sister. It had fallen into the water, and I have more pictures of it. It was a grand and beautiful thing, with growth patterns that indicated a challenging life that had been made whole by the way it accommodated and incorporated what had happened in its time on the shore. At different times of the tide, more or less of it was revealed.

I didn't quite figure out who this bird was. It wouldn't let me get close enough for a decent look, and I didn't have any binoculars with me.

It's obviously in the heron/egret family, and has a yellow-orange bill, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it with the bird guide that was at the inn. I suspect someone else will be able to identify it for me faster than I can currently get the Cornell ornithology site to load! (I'm at a coffee shop on a slow, and much in demand, connection.) I'm kinda guessing it was a Great Egret, not a common sight where I've done most of my birding (Colorado, Washington state, and Alaska).

Because of the season, the trees were turning (as you can see above) while the gardens still offered a bounty of bloom:

This little beauty was tricky to get a photo of! 

Lots of splendid things to see.

The whole experience was restorative and productive for me, and according to what they said it was the same for the participants. That's the goal.

And now to end with a little bit about Hog Island, a rare breed that has a close historical association with the area because the sheep developed on an island off the Virginia coast, just south of Maryland's Eastern Shore.

I'll be the first to say that Hog Island fleeces are not ones that a handspinner would initially find appealing, given a range of choices. And they are a little tricky to handle. That's why we did them on day 2: I wanted to start off with something a bit easier to get everyone warmed up. I don't have my samples of the exact fleeces that we worked with handy, but this is a fairly typical Hog Island lock:

I didn't have my standard background, with its reference line of 4 inches/10 cm, handy, but that lock is about 2.5 inches/6.5 cm long. It's matte, and a little flat, and while there's a lot of crimp in there it's disorganized (not a problem for the yarn or textile, but the visual appeal of the locks isn't high). And yet. . . . This was the workaday wool for a group of people for a number of years, and spending some time with it can reveal a lot about history and human ingenuity.

And once we got into processing and spinning it, we managed to produce some yarns and samples that made us think we'd like to seek out more!

Above are samples of our four Hog Island fleeces, two light and two dark. The bit at upper right is a tiny section of Corriedale, to show the overall warm nature of the Hog Island whites: they differed from each other, too, with white #2 being a lot creamier than white #1. In the blacks, black #1 was a nice solid dark and softer than black #2, which nonetheless had a fantastic sturdy and tweedy texture. As I was working with them, I could see white #1 or black #1 as being especially well suited for making knitted garments with texture stitches—like cables or knit/purl combinations—because the body of the yarn would give them a bas-relief quality. White #2 seemed to want to be a lighter-weight garment (it was the warmer white), while black #2 would make a fantastic jacket. It was a bit coarse for more delicate applications.

Interestingly, many of the participants' best samples of several of the breeds we covered were made by spinning directly from gently opened locks. Zero tools other than hands and a spinning device. (We also talk about various tools and approaches, from the inexpensive and low-tech to the fully equipped textile workshop's array.)

And so we learn. . . . 

Right now, I'm thinking about fibers for next fall's East Coast retreat, and am deep in the throes of deciding on breeds (I think I've got that settled) and gathering fleeces (final breed decisions depend on this step) for the retreat in Washington state in March 2014.

Orkney - Corrigall Farm Museum

Where Skara Brae shows how residents of Orkney lived 5000 years ago and where Kirbuster was built in the 16th century (and expanded in the 18th), Corrigall Farm Museum brings the progression of home-and-farm sites I visited up to the late 19th century: quite a leap again, even though I also needed to keep in mind that Kirbuster was still used as a home concurrently with establishment of Corrigall.

Many aspects of the buildings' shapes, functions, and construction carry forward earlier themes, with new ideas added, including chimneys.

The sizes, shapes, configurations, and some details evolved. The stone roofing here, sometimes with turf on top, is wonderful and shows up all over Orkney.

Peat, cut and stacked against the winter.

More careful stonework: a doorway to the barn.

Within the barn, I was surprised to find a familiar configuration of stalls for dairy cattle (now storing other items) and a drain channel in the floor, reminiscent of the way the main barn was set up at Windy Knoll Farm in Illinois in the mid-twentieth century. That was a larger barn, and made of white-painted wood, but I felt as though I recognized this space as soon as I walked into it.

In the main house, there was a big oven/kiln. As with Kirbuster, I'll need another visit (and background reading) to really understand some of the components of the way of life. But look at that amazing ball of rope, I think made of straw:

Here's a straw bikko, or dog, constructed at the end of the harvest time.

Large netting shuttles, with twine in place, and more wonderful ropes, of different kinds. Rope is an essential tool of life that we certainly manage to forget about (or ignore) in these days of computer cables and duct tape. Where would we be without rope?

A closer view of one of the roof combinations, sod on stones.

This is the entry to the house: it's the kitchen area, and the chickens enjoy the grain that's scattered around the stones where it's ground into flour.

Not everything was work. There was music, and there were dogs, and there was art.

Although they could have wandered farther, the chickens seemed to stay in the entry area of the house. . . .

. . . it was probably far more interesting to them than the sleeping and sitting areas. The cat, however, made herself at home everywhere.

There were lots of textiles, many of them worn enough that they were not too "precious" to be on display and handled by visitors. Both originals and reproductions hung on pegs, were neatly folded in cupboards. . . . 

. . . and lay on the floor.

Up in the rafters, I saw two niddy-noddies for winding skeins of yarn. Here's one of them.

It's true: I wanted to take down one of the niddies (also called reels) and use it.

The other sections of rafters and tops of items (like the cupboards) in the main room also held carders, lazy kates for spinning-wheel bobbins, and other textile tools.

A bookshelf displayed many titles in bindings that resemble those of some of the books my sister and I now have.

The family at Corrigall apparently liked to read, and a number of the books could have come directly from the shelves at my grandmother's house.

Another room held more family items: a cradle, child's and adult's chairs, more carders, a basket of wool. . . .

. . . a skein winder and a spinning wheel (with a few missing bits), plus a small expanding swift on the shelf behind. . . .

. . . and the cat who goes everywhere.

A real plant, of a somewhat rare type, from which cuttings are available to those who may be able to cultivate offspring.

In the room that is now a small shop and information center, there's a wonderful big old loom.

And a quill winder. You can also see here some of the pegs set into the back of the loom to form a warping frame.

While there were an amazing number of items on view, it was possible to focus on individual objects in turn and see their elegance and simplicity, along with the dignity that comes from having been well used. As, for example, these two reeds that may have been fitted in turn into the nearby loom. They were made, not manufactured.

And this shuttle, broken in several ways now, smooth and shaped when it was originally carved and then even more during the thousands of hours when a weaver held it, threw it through the shed, and caught it at the other side . . . 

. . . then turned it to send it on the journey back through the next shed to the other side, growing—one thread at a time—all the cloth that would be needed by and put into use in a household: for sheets, towels, clothing, and more.

At both Kirbuster and Corrigall, we were lucky to find people as well: in each location, we met a guide involved at all levels with the museum who was willing to share his insights and knowledge. At Corrigall, that was Neil Leask, who, when he's not working, is developing a personal collection of treasures and their stories and the skills that go with them, some of which he shares with visitors at the museum, to keep both the memories and the living knowledge active. His young children will benefit in the future from his efforts and enthusiasm, as the museum does now. We thought we were about to leave, and then another hour of fascinating discourse ensued!

I felt lucky to be in Orkney during the open season for the farm museums (just barely), and I look forward to the possibility of going back for more. I'll know not to have a very tight schedule, which, fortunately, I didn't—I wasn't able to see anywhere near as much as I wanted to, but no visit that I made was rushed. That was true of this whole adventure. . . .

Spinzilla blog tour: Fast and easy wools to spin

So. There's this contest coming up in conjunction with Spinzilla, a community spinning-education event being sponsored by The National NeedleArts Association (TNNA) and its Spinning and Weaving Group (SWG). The hullabaloo will occur during National Spinning and Weaving Week, October 7 to 13, 2013, and the idea is to form teams, hosted by TNNA and SWG members, and see which group can, collectively, spin the most yarn during that week.

 

I think this will involve some getting together and egging each other on. Spinning with friends is always a good thing. If you want to join a team, you can sign up at Spinzilla.org between now and September 23, 2013. Teams are not necessarily local: Storey, the publisher of The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook and The Field Guide to Fleece, is sponsoring a team, headed by the delightful and incomparable Sarah Anderson. (To my friends outside North America: because this is the first year and kind of a test run, they're limiting participation to the U.S. and Canada, and will see if they can increase the geographical scope beyond those boundaries next year.)

There's a small registration fee, with part of the proceeds supporting spinning education through The Needle Arts Mentoring Program (NAMP), a non-profit effort begun as a way to get at-risk kids involved in fiber work that now offers programs more broadly through collaborations with schools and other youth activity groups. Skills include crochet, cross-stitch, knitting, needlepoint, and now spinning; mentoring programs, although individually designed to meet the kids' needs, are generally six to nine weeks long, with an hour of mentoring each week. It's a cool deal.

Okay, that's enough alphabet soup.

I've been pleased to be asked to be part of the six-week, six-installment blog tour in conjunction with Spinzilla. Here's the list of blog-post presenters and topics:

• Week 1, August 27, 2013: Jillian Moreno, "Creating a Yarn Vision: Knowing What Yarn to Spin"
• Week 2, September 4, 2013: That's where you are now. Deb Robson, "Fast and Easy Wools to Spin"
• Week 3, September 11, 2013: Felicia Lo, "Spinning Hand-Dyed Yarns"
• Week 4, September 18, 2013: Beth Smith, "Fiber Prep for Production Spinning"
• Week 5, September 25, 2013: Sarah Anderson, "Twists and Singles"
• Week 6, October 2, 2013: Liz Good, "Resources for Measuring Yarn"

I was asked to talk about "breeds for spinning," a topic that was a little too broad for a blog post. (For background information on sheep breeds and how to suit the wool to the project, I did a free class for Craftsy.com called "Know Your Wool." Six video lessons on the basics of wool-plus-craft, focusing on knitting but with a spinner's-eye view of the yarns.)

So here's what I proposed instead:

Sheep breeds that grow easy- (or fast-)to-spin wool

Two questions that meet in the middle:

Although there's one set of answers, there are two questions that connect in the middle with these breeds: 

• What wools are good for experienced spinners to spin quickly with?

and

• What wools are good for beginning spinners to learn on?

The breeds I'm about to suggest share the following characteristics, for the most part (some individual fleeces from these breeds will go outside these ranges)

• fiber lengths in the vicinity of 4 inches (10 cm), more or less (around 3 to max 6 inches, 7.5 to 15 cm)
• moderate fiber diameters (nothing too delicate or too wiry-strong, I'm talking 28 to 37 microns, more or less, although you won't have that information handy; just trust that the breeds I'm going to mention are in that ballpark)
• moderate crimp (since a little elasticity is a good thing in this case, and a lot of it can be more demanding)
• open staples (even when you're starting with processed wool and won't see this directly, as in top or roving, this quality ends up making a difference)

In the 1970s, when spinning was being "rediscovered" by a bunch of us, there was something called "wool for handspinning" which fit that description. That was before spinners had "rediscovered" that they could spin just about any fiber that came down the line, if they wanted to, and so now, if you want to be accurate, just about any wool is "wool for handspinning" (the felted stuff—not so much; otherwise—fair game). The "suitable for handspinners" label, smelling faintly of mothballs, does still sometimes show up in descriptions of wools.

But there's something to that package of qualities. These are wools that beg to be spun by hand, without requiring much of the spinner. If you're new to the wheel or spindle, they'll support your efforts. If you're experienced, you'll be able to crank your equipment to the max and stay relaxed.

The answers that connect those two questions:

Although I could go on all day about wonderful breeds to spin, we're in a hurry here. So we're going to highlight the following wools:

• Border Leicester
• Coopworth
• Perendale
• Romney

They're alphabetical. (I know, I said that was enough alphabet soup, but I don't want to play favorites. They're all lovely.)

If we're really in a rush, we're going to find them in top or roving form. Otherwise, they're easy to wash and can be spun from the locks (teased open), from combed preparations, or carded. Pick your drafting method, or just punt. They'll go with you.

Now a few more details about the breeds I've chosen, which will likely not be the same breeds another person would send you to. Or maybe they would. Regardless. When this topic came up, they're the ones that leapt to mind. (Fortunately, I also had an article deadline to meet. Otherwise I'd feel bad about all the other breeds I'd left out, and I'd still be sitting here trying to pick the perfect suggestions.) Your team leader may have other suggestions, too, and these might not be the breeds I'd choose if I were sitting with a beginner and considering a casual spinning lesson. But we have to start somewhere (see me waffling? I don't want to leave out any breed that's remotely suitable).

The beautiful photos below (on the hand-dyed wool fabric backgrounds with the tape measure visible) are by John Polak, from the new The Field Guide to Fleece: 100 Sheep Breeds and How to Use Their Fibers. The more prosaic photos are my reference snapshots; on those, the drawn reference lines are 4 inches (10 cm) long.

Border Leicester

While it's true that Border Leicesters can grow wool quite a bit longer than we're aiming for—the staple lengths run between 4 and 10 inches (10 and 25 cm)—most of what you'll find will be in the vicinity of 4 to 6 inches (10 to 15 cm). Lots of the classic longwools, of which this is one, are shorn twice a year. (Yes, you can cut staples in half, if you want to. Think of it as shearing mid-year.)

Yes, this one looks a lot longer than I'm suggesting, but it's a year's growth:

When the wool of this breed goes a full year without shearing, the tips can get a little stuck together. But if you have a more moderate length, they'll be far less likely to do that.

See some representative samples I've had? Although the middle locks are from the same fleece as in the photo above, most are in the shorter range, like those on the top and bottom. My favorites are about 4 to 5 inches (10 to 12.5 cm) long.

Here's a Border Leicester fleece I bought recently (shown after washing):

Coopworth

Coopworths grow wool on the longer side of what we're aiming for, but the wool is so open and lovely that you'll want to experience it, and it's speedy to twist.

Perendale

Perendale staples are a little shorter, in general, than the other breeds I'm listing. But all are in about the same ballpark.

Romney

There's a lot of variation in Romney wools (length, crimp, coarseness/fineness), but the fleece is a classic starter-wool and also versatile for experienced spinners.

A few valedictory notes

In all of these breeds, prepared roving or top will be middle-of-the-road in representing their qualities. If you're selecting an individual fleece, you will have the option of finding a comparatively soft one (suitable for cardigans, hats, mittens, and so forth) or a sturdier one (for bags, pillows, or rugs). None of them will be next-to-the-skin soft. That kind of spinning will both slow you down and require more attention.

These particular wools will work well for speed-spinning no matter whether you are measuring by weight or by yardage (the Spinzilla contest will measure the latter). Their fiber lengths are sufficient that they can be made into comparatively low-twist yarns in a variety of grists. If you want to crank out length, put in enough twist to hold the yarn together nicely and no more. Again, if you're going for maximum length in minimum time, you'll be spinning singles, and comparatively low-twist singles from long-fiber wools can be used as-is (without plying) without producing skewing in the resulting fabric.

New to the craft? These are great wools for practicing not overtwisting, just because they will tolerate low levels of twist! Be sure when you are drafting that you are keeping your hands farther apart than the length of the fibers (you don't want to be holding onto both ends of a fiber at the same time: it won't draft at all). These will give you good practice at not crowding right up to the orifice and hanging on for dear life. They're also good spindle wools. Consider using a wrist distaff, because these fibers will spin up quickly enough that you'll want to keep more fiber supply handy than if you were spinning itsy bitsy Merino or Romeldale. (There are a number of styles of wrist distaffs. A good video demo here on Flickr of how to use one of them.)

Most of all:

Have fun.

(If you want rare-breed credit, go with the Border Leicester, which was added to the Rare Breeds Survival Trust's watchlist this year. But every one of these wools is worth supporting with your spinning wheel.)