Woolybuns: Why You Shouldn't Pick Up Fibers From The Mill On Your Way To A Fiber Festival

All that angora I dyed before CTSW (show of hands? how many of you measure time by the latest fiber event?) was intended blending with some corriedale fleeces for sale at NHSW. The friendly (and talented) folks at Still River Mill came through for me. The fleeces had been sitting in their queue while the bunnies fluffed, so the rovings were ready a few days in advance of my need for them. With gas prices these days, I decided economic sense dictated picking up the fibers on my way up to NHSW. Deirdre told me there were three big bags, so leave enough room. I have a Saab station wagon and a car top carrier. I put the squishables in the carrier, while the living, too big and delicates get inside-the-car space. When I picked up the fibers, the big bags numbered 5, not three. Squishable though they may be, that was too much for the carrier. Some of it had to squish into the car, in the front seat. So picture it. New fibers I've not seen in their current prettified state, parked on the seat next to me as I hurtled along at my standard cruising speed (please note: I ~~distinctly~~ possibly have not yet succeeded in my efforts to be good like Norma). Deirdre's words echoed in my brain: they came out really nice! Connecticut through Massachusetts driving demands extra care, plus I got delayed by someone else's fatal car accident only a few short miles into the trip, a very sobering enforcement of the need to be careful. I forced my hands to stay on the wheel, my attention on the road, no matter the temptation just inches away. Most of my driving that direction takes me into Maine, so when I'm heading up to NH, I have to pay close attention or I miss the exit for I-93 or end up on I-93 south instead of north. But finally, I made it safely to much more relaxed driving, the last leg of the trip on I-89, a pretty day, light traffic, only a few more exits to go. The siren song seductively close. Corrie Bluebunny calling. My fingers developed a mind of their own and kind of crawled over to the that goody bag full of pretty and soft. Oh, oh, ohohoh! I couldn't resist. My whole hand plunged right in and I fondled right there in the car. And in mid ecstasy there in the left lane, I followed the car in front of me right off the highway on a left hand exit onto a limited access no safe place to turn around road heading west directly away from the fairgrounds. Crap! I finally got turned around, made careful note that the road I didn't want headed off to the right, so stayed to the left and copped another feel of the fiber. And promptly headed south on I-89, not north. Another 5 miles the wrong way. Sigh.