Fiberjoy

The Columbia Gorge Fiber Festival was held in the town of Hood River which is near the eastern end of the Columbia Rive Gorge. A beautiful drive, especially when it’s not raining. The rain drizzled out of low clouds obscuring the mountains on the Washington side of the river. With the abundance of April rain waterfalls were a multitude of ribbons streaming down the southern cliffs of the Gorge. Most only narrow bands plummeting hundreds of feet. Trying to keep my attention on the freeway traffic, which I was very thankful was relatively light and amazingly very few semis, I resisted the urges to pull over and take pictures. Another day.

The camera sat on the table. Neglected.
I am so dismayed that I completely forgot to take any pictures of the spinning students. Not even one group photo of the fabulous group.

There were 10 in the drop-spinning workshop that I taught. The most I’ve taught at one time was 3, and that was only a brief introduction. The class got off to a smooth start, despite several bumps:

No roster, no name tags, no signs signifying which rooms were which…

I had hoped to receive names of the students and a tour of the my workshop room after arriving Friday afternoon. But Yvonne had her hands full getting the Marketplace properly organized and settled. Yvonne did a tremendous job with this her first fiber festival!  There was a major snafu Friday with the Marketplace which was upstairs and had been incorrectly taped off for the vendor spaces. But with patience and willingness to adjust and adapt it all worked out. It felt like a cozy rabbit warren with dead end trails, lots of fibery goodness and wonderful, friendly vendors on every turn.

I checked in with Cheryl, my roomie for the weekend. (I’m ashamed I have no picture of her or her booth either.) I feebly tried to help her get set up. She probably heaved a sigh of relief when I left and she could work unhindered. I went exploring for the workshop room. A friend, also named Wanda , came to my rescue. Leading the way past the booths we went to the back of the vendor room, through a door, past a long hall and to a corner door. A large picture of Mt Hood hung on the wall – the only indication that it was the right room. Other than horrible lighting it looked like a comfortable room for a class.

Saturday morning workshop. The students were wonderful and I thoroughly enjoyed them. I am extremely grateful for all the cheerful, eager participants, and especially for Monica and Barbara who knew how to spin with wheels but wanted to learn how to use a spindle. Part way through they unobtrusively started helping others who were struggling. What a tremendous blessing they were. Every single person in the class was a jewel! I couldn’t have asked for a better group for my first full-fledged workshop. Sunday morning I asked Yvonne to please give me all their emails so I can thank them personally. (she said she’d email them to me)

Despite not being able to organize the way I had hoped to by arriving in the room early, (so much for good intentions, I allowed myself to be sidetracked by other early people) all seemed to go smoothly for the first part. Then I gave them a short break, a huge mistake. My intention was to give them a breather, and to quenching my thirst with some energizing drink, and I needed to get my brain together for the last half of the class. I wasn’t able to get a drink, I became too distracted, my stuff was not well enough organized on the table which sat in the back corner along the wall. I should have moved it closer to hand.

I lost focus. I can’t put my finger on what precisely lead to that transition. I do know that my brain tends to get muddled and shut down with low blood sugar combined with too much multi-tasking and/or stimulation happening all around me. Towards the end someone asked to buy a spindle and from there it went downhill. I can’t believe I didn’t formally dismiss the class. To say Thank You.

That afternoon I went back to the room and thought through the class and took note of what I need to do better next time. I so want there to be a next time! I’m jazzed at the improvements I’ve made: a narrower focus – don’t try to cover so much territory! Keep the information simple. Have only the very basic supplies. I was going crazy with all the stuff I’d taken. Too much stuff cluttered my brain and stifled thinking ability. The last hour will be devoted to one on one time with each individual.  These are simple things that should be no brainers. In my eagerness to teach others to spin I set out to cover way too much ground thus overwhelming us all.

I was so bummed when I realized I’d forgetton to take any pictures that I didn’t have the heart to take any in the marketplace. I did manage to get one of Yvonne when I hung out for a while at her booth Sunday morning. She’s game to do this again next year!

After the marketplace closed on Saturday Cheryl and I had dinner with Mr Duncan, of Duncan Carders, a fine gentle man with a keen memory and lots of good stories. (We missed his wife, Joanne – spinner extraordinaire, who was quite sick.) The week long rain had finally cleared so after eating we walked along the Columbia River to get a bit of fresh air and exercise. Looking east.

Climbing the hotel steps after taking my gear to the car the next morning I was delighted to see the peak of Mt Hood, northside view, peeking over the ridge.

Didn’t I buy anything in the marketplace? Why, yes! A couple skeins from Abstract Fiber and a skein from Stitchjones
I’d taken the pattern, and needles, for my next project with me and the 1st skein of yarn I’d bought from AF a month ago before I realized it didn’t want to be what I’d intended it for but a shirt: Buttercup by Heidi Kirrmaier. For a lack of a decent brain casting on became a never ending battle which was finally won only after returning home. The back/raglan shoulders part is almost to the point of joining up for knitting in the round.

Llama update: I spun the last of the singles last evening and plyed another bobbin tonight. Down hill sliding. Here’s the first skein, half which I dyed with Landscape Kangaroo Paw.

The floor besides my chair looked as though a llama had rolled in hay then shook itself whilst standing next to me. I’d already painstakingly picked through the ounce cleaning each side as I went along the entire length. 45 minutes to clean an ounce and yet as I spun the “cleaned” ounce still more fugitive bits of vegetable matter (vm) of all types littered the floor. The ability to identify minute bits was honed by picking them out over and over: hay and straw stems, tiny pieces of alfalfa and clover leafs, wood splinters, moss, fortunately only a few foxtails, and grass. All this after the llama wool had been supposedly cleaned before combing into roving at a mill.

I have the good pleasure of knowing the people who raised the llamas.  The husband, a retired vet, was  meticulous in keeping them well-groomed, the barn and pastures as clean as possible. It’s baffling that the combed top has so much vm in it, at least there’s practically no dirt. Were milling standards different 8 – 10 years ago? The processor still does a brisk business their fiber that I see at shows looks great . The llama breeder friends sold all the llamas when they decided to downsize due to advancing years. I bought the llama wool shortly after learning to spin but had tucked it away until recently.

By picking through an ounce at a time it takes about 20 minutes to spin the cleaned ounce. No matter how hard I try to get everything there’s still more. Four bobbins have been filled, 1 pound spun. Lacking more bobbins I wound off the first batch onto the niddy-noddy, just under 400 yards. Figuring out the yardage needed to weave a small area rug, there appears to be enough even when chain plyed so last night the first four ounces were plied producing approximately 130 yards. There’s still bits of vm! I’m not crazy about the darker greyish brown spun on the first bobbin which was from a different llama then the lighter, reddish brown bump,  (the vm is well camouflaged) so this afternoon I took about 65 yards and dyed it with 3/4 ts red  plus 1/4 ts shell dyes. It turned a nice dark rust. (It’s drying so no picture yet.)

The grandkids were here for a visit not too long ago. It was sooo good to see them again!

Tomorrow I head East through the breathtaking Columbia Gorge to Hood River and the Columbia Gorge Fiber Festival which Yvonne of Lavender Sheep has organized. I’m super excited for this new festival, Yvonne is a super organizer and this should prove to be a fun festival. Plus I’ll be teaching a spinning workshop! I’m thrilled to my toes. Spindles and fiber were packed by Tuesday. Class outlined and stepped through, I’ll go through my notes a final time in the morning to tighten up the details and finish the handout, take care of emails then head out the door for what should be a fabulous weekend. I also need to settle what knitting and spinning projects to take. It’s so easy to over pack then not get to a fourth of what I dream of accomplishing. Cheryl of NewHueHandspuns offered to share her hotel room with me which will be great. I’m very much looking forward to the weekend with fiber friends. Wish me well!

Mother would have celebrated her 95th birthday today. She’s been much on my mind lately.

A phone call yesterday, the voice asking how my day is going. For a moment time disappeared and I thought it was mom. The voice and question were hers. I’d never before mistaken Aurora’s voice for mom’s. Perhaps only because I’ve been thinking of and missing her a great deal lately. 15 years ago my brothers from Arizona, my sister from the coast and I gathered to spend mom’s last birthday with her. She was extremely disappointed not to get her birthday wish: to celebrate her birthday in heaven. One month late, on Mother’s Day, she was granted that wish. There is so much in my life that I wish I could share with her. She was an encourager, a good listener, accepting of people where they were in life with good sound advice to help them move beyond the hurdles, practical, and greatly loved nature and all that is beautiful.

It’s a great sadness that our grandkids don’t have the privilege of her love. She married for the first time in her 30s to a man she loved the rest of her life. She was 40 when she gave birth to me, the youngest of four children in six years. My parents never seemed older than most of my friend’s parents. They both aged gracefully while maintaining a youthful outlook with a love for people, life and keeping eyes fixed firmly on God. Once I hit the teen years I understood the huge advantage we had over our friends: parents who’d already figured out that most teenaged turbulences are simply minor bumps in the road and nothing to get steamed at. Mom had worked with inner city kids during her college years in downtown Chicago in the mid-30′s. Those street kids taught her how to deal with unruly people without losing her cool or composure.  She was the epitome of patience even in the face of hard trials and heartache. Only three times in my memory did she get very angry and let us have an earful before shutting her mouth in anguish for erupting at us. We deserved each outburst. Teenage  pettiness and arguing with siblings during times when she was extremely tired and under a great deal of stress. I wanted to crawl off to my room, (under the car seat the last time) in shame for being so selfish and mean that I’d caused mom this grief.

This picture was taken in the late 40′s when she was home for a visit. She’s  sitting on the rock, laughing.

Mom’s anchor and joy throughout life was the Solid Rock.