Woolybuns

Felted Flair

I've used a flat plastic resist to make simple hats and it works quite well.  I've used the plastic resist to make simple boots too and ... well.. let's just say I learned a lot from those experiences.  And that is also  true with the first couple pairs of mittens I made with the plastic resist.  Only the first pair, the fawn pure angora set,  is unacceptable, sporting holes where seams want to be.  I still wear them, but only for barn and rabbitry chores.  Failure is a great excuse for such luxurious warmth while I'm doing chores.  Failure is also an excellent opportunity to learn and an invitation to do better.  And so my next  couple pairs of mittens are acceptable.  Comfy, well crafted, and quite warm.   But I don't want to make mittens that are just acceptable.  I want the process to warm my soul as well as hands. 

That happened with this latest pair of mittens.  A lot of this process is pure craft, honed through practice and attention to detail.  I've been making mittens for a lot of years, not necessarily a lot of them but often enough that I was pretty skilled in the craft using the foam form I learned on.  This switch to a flat resist took me back a few steps.  Seams want to happen and while seams can be very helpful in many projects,  giving strength and structure to a sweater knit in a very soft yarn for example, they are not welcome in my wet felted mittens.   Fiber before it is felt is fragile, easily pulled apart.   When first wet and slippery with soap, it is perhaps even more fragile, lending itself to seams and holes if you do not pay close attention to all of it.  And that is the craft: creating an excellent piece of felt.  It is fun, satisfying.  This brown pair I made several years ago fit quite well in the category of craft.  They are well made, a yummy blend of wool - rambouillet cross, I think - and dyed angora, and they just cuddle up to cold hands with sweet soft warmth.  But that's it.  They don't tickle anything other than hands.

This pair though.  Also a yummy blend of wool - corriedale in this case - and dyed angora, also well made, and quite cuddly to wear.  This pair took the extra step into the realm of art.  This pair has flair.  And that tickles my soul.

 

Breakfast With The Babies

When I handed out carrots this morning, Hollyhop's babies quickly hopped in to share hers.  Apparently, it was lip smacking good.

Wet Felted Mittens Workshop

This is my answer to winter's whallop of cold on my fingers: pure angora wet felted mittens.   The sweet silky soft of the fiber whispers warmth to my hands, its luscious form caressing them back to life and restoring function to frozen fingers.

I finished felting a pair of mittens for a workshop sample a couple nights ago.  I used a different resist for this pair and need to refine my technique.  I've been using a foam form which requires me to make each mitten separately, which is ok by me but can provoke "second sock" type syndrome and takes a lot of time.  I'm teaching a felted mitten workshop in early December and time constraints of the class have me experimenting to see if I can speed up the process.  The resist I used for this pair is a two at a time pattern.   I approached it a bit too cavalierly apparently, because each mitten has one or two small holes where seams tried to insert themselves.  Cheeky things they are.  The foam form has no flat edges but this plastic resist does.  That's an important distinction because flat edges can encourage the fibers to separate along what in sewing would be seams.  Switching to a flat resist means adjusting my attitude.  Felting holes in my mittens definitely adjusts my attitude.  These mittens may be a bit of a failure except I learned from them, and they will make luscious little lovelies for barn use.  And it meant having to plunge into more angora and start another pair.  That's a big win.  I'm much happier with my efforts this time. 

I chose not to embellish these sample mittens in order to focus only on the basic process, but I do love to add color or design to the mittens.   Simple stripes or flowers are easy and quick.   More complex design like this celtic knot are time consuming but I love the result.  Future samples  will have design elements.   The workshop times do not allow for complex design but we will play with simple ones.  There are still a few spaces available in the class.

Wet Felted Mitten Workshop

 

Saturday December 7th, 1-6pm

Location: Forever Yoga, 51 Main Street, Wilton, NH

 

Cost: $42 + $20 materials fee

 

 

Advanced Registration Required

 

No Experience Necessary

Email Jessica at [email protected] to register

 

 

Bunny For Sale

Hairy Potter is much foofier these days, which makes his lightening stripe all kind of jumbled.  He turns 8 weeks old on Friday, 11/15/13, which  means he is old enough on that day to move to a new home.  He is for sale.  Hairy is a sself black German crossbred angora, 73% German with a bit of Satin angora and French angora rounding out his heritage.  His coat shows the promise of German type density  and crimp, but because of the white mismarks, he is a wooler pet, not a breeder so he is available at reduced price and no pedigree.  That means his first full coat shearing (roughly at 9 months) will more than cover his purchase price in luscious angora to spin, blend, or felt.  Each of those is an Oooo La La experience for your fingers. 

Brrrrrr Grrrrrrr

I like being cold as much as most cats like being wet.  My hands in particular feel cold intensely, going rather quickly from pink  to blue to blocks of ice white and a few times even to black.  Warming up again is a challenge, and painful, make me cry kind of pain if I'm not careful.  So when morning temps are well below freezing, going outside to tend rabbits takes a strong crack of my internal whip.  You may have heard that kerrrACCCCCK this morning.

My bunnies live in hutches, not a barn.  They are sheltered from wind and wet, and all that angora they grow protects them from cold.  They handle a rough New England winter with far more comfort than summer.  Angora mittens protect my hands but I cannot wear mittens while thawing frozen water bottles nor while emptying ice out of the cans I use when temps make bottles useless.  Gloves are worse than bare hands because the only hope my hands have to stay warm is if my fingers share body heat just like baby bunnies do in their nest.   That is why watering the bunnies in winter is a chore I. Hate.  Stomp my feet toddler temper tantrum kind of hate.  But look at that face.  The sweet and cute makes me melt and I cannot bear the thought of those little foofy things going without.   It is a maternal type drive that sends me outside to give them water. 

Feeding the bunnies is a different story.  There is something peaceful and satisfying in the sound of critters munching hay.  I can stand outside huddled in a hood with mittens snuggling my hands while that munch munch munch just warms my soul.  It is a gentle sound, so unlike the gutteral gulp of carnivores.  It is a gentleness that tempers the harsh and unforgiving bigger world that sweeps masses of people out to sea while wholesale destruction stomps all over their land.  Taking care of these foofy little fiber factories is my sanctuary. 

 

Horse Crazy

I was born a horse nut.  From my very earliest days that fact stood out.  Dolls?  No thanks, I'll take   the Breyer horse models.  And little toy farm sets, the ones with horses not just cows, thank you.   The knees of my pants always had holes in them because I spent so much time galloping around the house on all fours.  I spoke more in neighs and whinnies than in English.  Another early, integral to my soul interest was writing and as soon as I could use a pencil, I gobbled up the alphabet, digested it and spewed it back as stories about Blackie, the little black pony, and her human friend who was basically me.  Blackie existed only in my mind and on my papers but that pony was very much a large part of my young horseless life.  I had very few real live horse encounters until I was 14, when a horse owning patient of my Dad's had to be hospitalized at a time when her horse was recovering from a leg injury and needed walking.   Dad volunteered me without ever needing to ask.   The horse was a flaming red chestnut gelding named Red Roark and for about 10 days, he was sort of mine. Every day of those 10, I walked that horse up and down a long driveway for at least a half hour to keep his healing fetlock supple, breathing in deeply that glorious horsey smell.  I brushed his shiny coat and checked his injury to make sure there was no infection.  And mostly, I stroked him, running my hands down his neck and over his muscled shoulders, memorizing every ripple so that beautiful red horse would always be part of my soul.  I cried the day his real owner was released from the hospital.  Then came another big surprise.  She wanted to say thank you to me by giving me riding lessons.  Oh, my inner me just burst forth in joyous gratitude and girly giggles of excitement. 

I don't remember why that relationship ended after a few months, possibly something as mundane as homework.  But it sparked that intense I'm not complete without a horse need.  When my older sister chose college in Virginia and my parents decided she  needed to learn to ride before she got there, I looked at them in total heartbreak that she would get a week at horse camp and  what about me?  They sent me too.  While they were on vacation.  Their vacation lasted longer than horse camp so I  used that time to find a barn - board was only $75 a month and it was only 5 miles away - then I found and tried out a few horses, one of which I intended to talk my parents into buying for me.  If power point had been an option, I'd have prepared a presentation, but I was left with only my wit and words to persuade them.  It worked.  Although I do wonder from a mother's perspective now if my parents intended to get me a horse all along and just made me work for it.  Mum took me horse shopping and took a fancy to a pretty palomino but I fell for the goofy looking jug headed apple butted red roan Appaloosa named Freckles.   I had 5 glorious years with him, added a blue roan Appy colt for the last 2 of those years, before the harsh reality of finances as an adult whacked me in the gut. 

Then came 25 years of suburban horseless life filled with all that comes with marriage, pregnancy and motherhood.   LOVE. My kids.  Just completely.  I cannot imagine life without them.  But they aren't horses.  They grew up, they have their own lives and loves.   I finally got another horse, another flaming red chestnut with a flaming red temperament, kind of an equine equivalent to my then 16 yo daughter.  All excitment and emotion.  Mostly loveable sometimes explosive.  Always challenging and always worth it.  But I do not own a farm, have to board my horse, and barn owners did not like my dominant mare, and after a few years of constantly changing barns, I ended up leaving her with a barn owner 70 miles from my house and searching for a new horse.

I found CC, a beautiful pale palomino Anglo Arab mare of non-dominant personality, sweet and people friendly on the ground, willing to work but exceptionally sensitive, and a lot of horse under saddle.  We've shared life since January 2006 and a couple days ago, moved to our 10th barn. There is a lot crazy in the horse world.  Please gawdess if we ever move to another barn, let it be my own!  I am optimistic.  This new barn has grass pastures, other Arabians, some draft horses, a couple of old arthritic bent legged horses not ready to quit kicking up their heels, and a little white pony, plus chickens, goats, ducks on a pond, access to trails, and a barn owner who seems to have both knowledge and common sense, plus a whole lot of good barn management experience.  And the place is just pretty. 

 

Fibery Fun

Ended the day yesterday with a run up to the mill, Still River Fiber Mill and Textile Manufacturing, for an evening of craft and chat.  At the fiber festival on Saturday, I bought a gorgeous soft crimpy fine merino fleece and walked it straight over to their booth, but had no angora to go with it.  So last night's trip was to deliver some angora and silk to go with that lovely fleece.  The shepherd includes the note "not for beginners" on his really fine fleeces and he is right.  I can prep and do a pretty good job creating batty blends, but when it comes to washing, I'd rather let the experts do that.  Plus, it's 5 pounds of wool which, after washing, will translate to about 3 pounds of wool.  And one pound of that will cavort in their carder with half pound each of bombyx silk and angora, the rest with angora.  The end result will be roughly 5 pounds of luxury roving, which would be a lot of cranking by hand if I did it here on my carder.   I'm not only lazy, but I'd rather spend the time cuddling bunnies, spinning, or creating felt fashion.   No fiber photos, so here's another picture of Hollyhop feeding her babies.

Feet!

These babies are growing fast!  Little porkers they are.  

Ears!

Of all the things that are cute about angora bunny babies, ears seem to prompt the most Squeeee's.  So here ya are.  Ten day old baby bunny ears.