It has been a full week around here.
Not that I went anywhere (who did?),

but two fresh fleeces arrived from Montana,
and  fleece washing time 
is usually  packed
(especially when scouring delicious fine,
​seriously greasy, Cormo and Targhee/Debouillet),

Clean soft fleece + a pair of perfect spindles 
definitely equals contentment--
both ​for present and future me.

As it happens, however,
though I'll be drum carding for days
and happily spindle spinning
for months and years,
present contentment sometimes lasts
only as long as the time
between the completion of one satisfying task
and the moment of being
struck/taken over/flattened
​by a brand new and un-ignorable idea.

Ok, yes, I know --
the coracle/mask I wrote about last week
was also an un-ignorable idea. 
It, however (the pulled warp coracle),
did not grow to be a source
of long-lasting satisfaction,
​while I think this project will.

What's the difference?
You might well ask
since it is so hard to tell in the moment.
With the brilliance of hindsight, however,
I'm pretty sure that  I started the coracle/mask
as an attempt to relieve
 the persistent, pervasive, fearful angst
of this moment in time,
(no need to explain further, methinks),

while carving a funky 8-dent rigid heddle
from a scrap of wood I found in the basement,
was pure, self-indulgent  joy,
and joy, a rare and delightful thing,
is perhaps a more useful a source of angst relief
than all the reluctant mask-making in the world,
if only because it wells up from inside
rather than falling on one
like a mildewed, news-laden blanket.

At any rate,
hyperbole aside,
one way or another
making the rigid heddle
led me to a forward thinking,
elementally satisfying place, 
where in fact,
I already rather badly wanted to be:

that is:
​cross-legged on the floor,
weaving paper and linen
on a backstrap loom.

Not that I had a vision
of exactly that thing.
I've just been missing the feeling
of working on my backstrap loom,
and vaguely dreaming about
the kinds of things I might make on it--
while still cutting and spinning paper
with persistent pleasure--
and these two things
seemed mutually exclusive. 

Mutually exclusive, that is
until I saw the tiny rigid heddles
that Kirsten Neumüller has been carving
from a fallen juniper in her back yard,
and was immediately smitten.

Now, I did try to set aside
my instant  longing to make one myself
( "it's just an idea storm-wait it out").
But happily it was un-set-aside-able. 

Indeed, in the three days since I saw hers
the thing shaping up to be a source
of idea-consolidating calm--
an unexpected doorway 
to both immediate and long term pleasure--
like fleece and spindles
with the added benefit
of getting to make a half-assed
yet fully functional new textile tool.
​
And I am a total sucker ​for such things
as you may have noticed.

(If you're unfamiliar with Kirsten Neumüller's work, her beautiful, useful and charming book Mend and Patch: a Handbook on Repairing Textiles has just been translated into English, and though I haven't yet read her  earlier book on Indigo, I can only imagine it is  as good).

So that was my week
and this is where you find me today:
right  back  doing the things I have been doing,
with a slightly different perspective,
a cool new tool that keeps me planted in place
(except when I need to mow and dig in the garden)
and much less angst,
for which I am most grateful. 

How's your week been?

It's hard to know what to say
about these little open warp
gridded paper tapestries.

I like making them?
The colors are pretty?
The grid is weirdly satisfying?
Love leaving room for the light?
Symmetry -- who knew?
All of the above?

I'm definitely feeling the influence  
of the marvelous material
in Rebecca Mezoff's new Design Class,
the second module of which
focuses on using line in tapestry.
Working with,
(and doing my best to defy)
the elemental structure of tapestry
has been a thing in my work for years,
​and it is fun to revisit it so directly.
note: I apologize for bringing up this class as registration is now closed  for the season,
but you can watch the trailer HERE,
--spoiler warning--includes a couple of clips of my dulcet tones going on about the joys of tapestry--
and do note that the non-interactive version
opens for registration in June so you can put that on your calendar --
and/or make sure to sign up for season two next year.

The paper yarn itself
most definitely exerts 
an enormous amount
​of power over my choices.

Beautiful as it is,
​how not to try to find a way
to let it shine 
free from the distraction
of image of imposed narrative?

And it's not just about color.
The look, feel, texture and behavior
of plain, coffee-stained paper
is irresistible to me.
And what joy, few days ago,
to receive ​a veritable bonanza
of new material.

First:  a lovely big stack of
extra large round filters
that my amazing sister 
fished from the grounds
during her twice a week
coffee-shop-compost-collection,
then washed,
dried by draping all around her kitchen
and carried with her
when coming to visit me--
what better present could there be,
on both counts?

(If you scroll down the post in the link above--
though not too fast cuz her photos
are marvelous along the way--
you can see the buckets
of  spent coffee grounds
as they come to her).

These filters,
though larger in diameter,
are of a similar thickness and feel
to the round ones I get from Jodi--
the source of all that color above. 
Like the colored ones
I use scissors to cut them into
 one continuous spiraling strand.
(pics of this in the post linked above).

Then: my friend Robin
delivered a second collection 
of big square chemex filters--
individually ​rinsed and dried
over days and days.

As well a being square,
the paper in these
is significantly thicker than
the round ones,
so I cut them using what I believe
 is the more traditional approach:
slicing into narrow strips with a sharp blade
before releasing into a continuous strand
that zig zags back and forth.

Robin also included
a few small cone-shaped Melita filters, 
the paper of which I've worked with before.
Similar in weight/ texture
to the chemex above,
I nevertheless cut them with scissors
to get the most out of their curved shape.

The different materials make surprisingly different yarn,
and I'm just beginning to get a sense
of what I like best, when. 

As ever, I'm learning as I go,
every day an experiment--
and if you are also interested in meandering 
down this particular rabbit hole
 I highly recommend some internet searches

Great sources of info:
Kigami and Kami-ito:
Japanese Handmade paper and paper /thread
by Hiroko Karuno,
Velma Bolyard's site/ blog
Pinterest
My posts under the "coffee filter yarn" tag on the right

At any rate,
as well as  broadening my filter horizons, 
I've also been comparing
my two charkhas for spinning and plying:
the book charkha above 
(ratio about 100/1)
and the Ashford Charkha below
(ratio about 10/1)

Plusses and minuses to both--
Book:
- the speed of the book charkha is phenomenal
and makes paper spinning fast and pleasant.
-the thin shaft makes a paper pirn kind of a hassle
so singles have to be rewound for storage and use
Ashford:
-the slow speed is restful
(and annoying -- depending on the day and the material)
-spinning directly onto a paper pirn is great.

If a gal happens to be blessed with two charkhas, then,
it is pretty slick to use one for spinning singles
and the other for plying and winding purns.

I'm still experimenting
with the singles vs plied thing too.
So far, I prefer to weave with singles
and knit with plied paper,
(the tapestry at the top of the post,
which uses both, notwithstanding).

My preference is  based on: 
-warp/weft/sett relationships 
-the look of singles vs plied yarn when woven
-my casual paper-yarn-making skills/approach
-my insistence on using fragile materials
​fished from the compost
​ rather than  lokta,
strong, flexible washi,
or exquisite  hanji 
(which maybe some day I'll be fortunate enough to experience first hand).

All this will undoubtedly evolve,
Things usually do.
And in the meantime,
I'll just try to notice
the moments
​of delight.

 Thanks for your company.

This
is the flushing mechanism
on the tank of  our toilet.

And this (below)
is our toilet.

Or perhaps I should say --
 our former toilet.

For despite the unutterable aesthetic pleasure
of a wooden toilet tank with a copper liner,
a brass flushing mechanism,
and the ability to control the water volume
by how long you push 
on said brass button,
we replaced the whole thing last Saturday.

We were sad to see it go,
but after 30 years with us
(the tank itself is from the 1930s/40s),
aesthetics were not enough
to overcome an aged mechanism
and the extra water used
when flushing with a bucket
to actually get things 
 down the pipe.

Short of digging a hole and building an outhouse
(still illegal in town, alas), 
our new toilet is grand.
It meets all the low flush standards
for our aquifer-sucking region
and the wooden seat
helps it feel like the old one
(now at the local building recyclers 
where they are sure someone will want it
for a non-functional restoration--
wooden tank? Copper liner? Brass flusher?
what's not to love?) 

So all is Grand -- 

Except---


​--for the dreaded
PACKING DETRITUS!!!!!!

The cardboard boxes
in which the toilet was shipped
are at least recyclable.
But the protective foam?
Not likely.
And how horrible
to stuff our garbage/landfill
with plastic-encased air.

Also, how to throw away
something that is kind of interesting
in and of itself:
interlocking sections that can lie flat
or be folded into the edges and corners
that protected the toilet
from chips and cracks
during transport--
thus preventing more waste.
A person could make something --

But arghghghghg--
why fill the house
with pieces of foam I don't need.?

Also arghghghghg---
how to avoid buying  things
that inadvertently
generate trash in my name?

Needless to say,
​ I didn't sleep terribly well--
because in the middle of the night
​I had an idea.

And first thing in the morning
I put it to the test.

It's not pretty to be sure,
but a piece of fabric tossed over the top
helps with the aesthetics.

And amazingly
​- it's  actually great:
firm-- yet squishy, 
stable--yet wobbly enough
to keep my hips moving gently as I weave--
like those giant exercise balls you can sit upon
without the rolling issues. 

Also, the height is easily adjustable
in 1 1/4 " increments
which makes it a super simple way
to deal with some of the ​pipe loom ergonomic issues
I raised last week.

This morning,
needing the tuffet to be slightly taller
than the double width allowed
I experimented
​with the two solutions below.
Both are the same height.

Who knew?


ps.
It turns out that a standard pillowcase
is exactly two blocks wide by three blocks long
and I'm currently sitting crosslegged 
on a foam block/pillowcase raft
firmly yet comfortably insulated
from my cold floor.

Maybe if I put the tapestry tower
on top of the raft ...
​

My favorite way to weave
is to sit on the floor
with a bit of old camping foam mat under my butt, 
tools, teacups and yarn within reach,
​and a growing tapestry in front of my nose.

To work comfortably and ergonomically
on a fixed* warp on a pipe loom, however
(at least if the tapestry in progress
is more than a few inches tall),
regular height adjustments are necessary --
both of the loom and of my seat.

The seat is easiest to change.

Beginning on the floor, 
I perch on progressively taller 'tuffets'
until the wooden box in the images above,
is upright -- its tallest dimension.

When that is no longer comfortable
​ I shorten the loom legs.

With the loom laid flat
I twist off the feet  and legs

then choose the length I'll use next.

If I make the loom too short,
I'll be uncomfortably hunched over
when I begin weaving again.
If not short enough,
 I don't get to sit on the floor.

This time, I went for the shortest legs I had--
hardly a piece of pipe at all,
​but just the thing
for getting back
to my funky blue mat.

The fell is now  a few inches above
where it was in these photos
and I am once again
climbing the tuffets--
hoping to be back on the box
weaving the words "whole wheat"
​before too terribly long.

But there still many ingredients
between me and all those 'w's.
 and today I'm going for
"1 t baking powder".
So far, I have the  "1 t b"
Back to it, then!

*A Fixed Warp
 has the warp anchored to the top and bottom of the loom.
To change position (as shown in the photos above)
the weaver must move herself
in relation to the fell. 

A Continuous Warp, 
can be rotated around the loom,
allowing the weaver to stay in the same position,
and move the fell to suit her body.

Both have advantages and disadvantages --
--the first allows the weaver to see the entire tapestry the entire time
which makes spontaneous design decisions much easier,
(at least for me).
It also, potentially,  has less loom waste.

--the second allows one to weave a long/tall tapestry on a relatively short loom,
and to always sit/ stand in whatever way is  most comfortable.

Me -- I like both.
How lucky is that?

ps. as ever, to see other posts about pipe looms and various warping systems,
use  the search bar at the top of the page and see what comes up

It seemed simple enough when I began:
a big spinning project completed last week
means it is time for the next idea in the queue, right? 

And the last 1 .5 lbs of this Targhee/Deboullet fleece​
has been very patient,
and was totally ready.

Indeed, despite having sat for two years post scouring,
the locks were clean and lovely--
still easy to tease and card into silky batts .
The goal is a spring/ summer
 spin-and-knit-as-I-go portable project
and I wanted to get both parts going
so I can pick up either part
at a moment's notice
without much thought. 

(Yes, I know it is sensible to spin all the yarn 
​and mix up the skeins before plying,
or at least before casting on,
but who can be sensible
when  one's fingers absolutely ache
for this fresh fluffy, fine yarn,
especially since the spinning portion
of other recent projects in progress
​ actually did need to be complete
before I could commence the next phase?)

BUT, ​which spindle is the one for the job:

--my reliable, superfast 24 gram cherry Hepty,
whose steadfast nature
has, over the last three years+,
been the tool of choice for several sweaters
and enough yarn for a couple of good sized
but as yet to be designed swaths of backstrap cloth
or
--the cheerful, fast and balanced but mostly untested
20 gram blue and yellow Hepty
that my son 3-D printed as an experiment
for wet-spinning flax 
and is just as happy with wool?
(the shaft is painted wood, the whorl 3-D printed --
and no production of these is planned, fyi...)

They both make me happy.
And so does working with one tool at a time,
​especially for a portable project.

Why, then, was I simultaneously so susceptible
to this glorious strick of Belgian flax 
singing sweet songs from the cabinet
where it had been waiting for months?
Well.... cuz... um....
​I'm susceptible to wooing?

There is actually a super cool story about this strick
 connected with my search for local flax
(short of me growing my own-- another future project),
and the heart-stoppingly exciting work being done in Oregon
by the women of  Fibreevolution.
No room today for the whole surprising tale,
except that I feel most fortunate to have this strick in my hands,
and am thoroughly enjoying turning it into yarn,
especially with an appropriate spindle.

Not that I'm great at it or anything,
but it is good to slow down and develop a rhythm,
since, in my flaxen eagerness last year
I got ahead of myself,
and found, among other things,
​ that the blue and yellow Hepty
is far too fast
for the yarn I'm able to make
with my slowly emerging skills--
and perhaps too fast for flax at all
as the long fibers do not need the kind of twist
demanded by the fine wool yarn I love to make
and that my hands think spinning is all all about. 

Luckily, practice is a thing,
as is really nice fiber
and a slow-and-steady
long-armed, lightweight spindle--
even if it's not water resistant.
(this Jenkins Spindle is a 17 gram Lark
now discontinued but perhaps similar to the Wren?)

Good thing wool and flax
use slightly different hand and finger muscles
and switching back and forth
actually gives my hands a break.

Except, you know,
just because my hands know when they need a break 
doesn't mean my brain does
and my friend Jodi had sent me
another batch of coffee filters,
many of them a weirdly enticing light brown
and I was curious... so...
Another 3-D printed wet spinning spindle
was the tool of choice this time
(coffee filters, in my experience, are best spun damp),
and I had a swell time cutting and adding twist.
This 10 gram cross-arm spindle,
also a slightly too speedy flax spinning contender,
turned out to be ideal, both in weight and speed, for the filter paper,
and a worthy and portable alternative to 
on the slow charkha
I talked about in the post linked above.

 (Note: Public domain code is available for these spindles;
 it can be found with a little googling and printed by someone in your area who knows how to do such things --
​local library/maker space/ etc).

So -- um-- that was yesterday.

Happily, last week's lessons are still with me,
at least mostly,
and ​having learned what those brown 
bits of paper look like spun into yarn,
 I returned the coffee filters to the cabinet,
moved the associated tapestry idea
to ferment at the back of the cue,
​and returned to the pleasures at hand--

which might actually,
eventually,
if I don't get distracted again,
join the completed skeins of wool
to become the linsey-woolsey cloth
I've been longing to wear.
​
​Stay tuned.

Please disregard the dubious expression on my face,
because I'm having a great time
with this garment.

Amidst the shoveling of February,
I got to make samples:
-hand spun linen,
-hand spun wool (for linsey woolsey),
-mill spun linen,
-walnut dyed (but not hand spun) cotton,
--a commercial blend of cotton, linen, nettle and silk,

There are so many variables.
In the photo above,
I'm re-sleying the rigid heddle,
moving from a 12 to a 15 dent.
(Both ends of the cloth are lovely and astonishingly different)

My favorite samples
are the 100% hand spun linen
and hand spun linesey-woolsey,
but I haven't yet spun enough fine linen  
so I decided to keep building working on that
while beginning on this first non-wool skirt:
--a combination of the walnut dyed cotton 
and Nettle Grove (cotton, linen, nettle and silk).
I chose this last  in part because of the name,
(though of course there is hardly any actual nettle fiber in it),
in part because there it was at the Yarn Underground (my LYS),
and mostly because it is pleasant to knit with --
and essential feature of Sarah-Dippity  skirt materials.

Using the basic warping technique
 from Backstrap Dialogues
I wound my longest  Backstrap warp yet (four+ yards)
threaded the 15 dent rigid heddle,
plunked my butt on the floor,
​and started weaving.

this part went way too fast. 

All too soon, it was done.

Of course then I got to wash and press it,
drape it against my legs,
​and get all excited about actually putting it on.
But first
​ --three wedges to knit 
(a couple of weeks of evening reading time),

--a rough layout to test my calculations,

--a more careful layout to test the actual fit

-- some time devoted to the question
of whether the knitted wedges
should go over or under the woven panels
(I chose under),

-- careful (but rough), basting 
--and finally, yesterday afternoon,
trying it on (see the beginning of this post),
at which point I learned that I do, indeed,
need to knit a fourth wedge.

More, then to come in future blog posts:
-the Great Closure Debate
(buttons? zipper? snaps?)
-The Waistband
(I think this skirt might want one,
but do I want to weave it
and if so,
how?)
and 
-Final Fitting
Oh, the DRAMA.

Until then, here are 
a few amazing  Sarah-Dippity links:

-Jaya on Instagram
-Peg on her Blog
-An entire Ravelry Thread
-#sarahdippityskirt
(a hash tag  I hope any of you making skirts and on instagram, will use)
​What else? Do let me know.
Thanks everyone!

Do you get caught up like this too?

BUT
​before I get completely immersed--
​I'm off to vote!

ps --Building pipe looms,
Four Selvedge Warping
and tons of weaving tips
are available in  FRINGELESS
the online class I teach with
Rebecca Mezoff.
To sign up, learn more
(and hear the dulcet tones of this English Concertina)
click HERE! 

There have been a number of questions
about the specifics of making cordage.

It's a pretty elemental process
and as I said last week,
I'm only just beginning
 my research and experiments--
but since you asked,
here a jumping off point for yours.

FYI -- Youtube isn't a bad place for further research.

Thigh spinning videos can be helpful,
and there are also any number of young men
​eager to explain how to make cordage--
usually as part of a general survival strategy
for the next time you happen to find yourself in the wilderness
with nothing but a pocket knife
(and the requisite testosterone).

As it turns out, however,
a person only need her hands--
​
​though a pair of snips can be useful.

Actually the process is so elemental
that it seems absurd
to have 16 photos and a video
to show the process.
But oh well....
​No time for brevity.

Anyway --
Gather some leaves**
and get them nice and damp.
You can do this by dumping a bundle in:
-a handy babbling brook impersonator (see photos above),
-your leftover bath water
-an actual babbling brook.
​
Rolling them in a wet towel also works well, 
as does gathering after a rain.

**Iris are satisfyingly strong
Daylily is fun to say (and the leaves can be long)
Narcissus are fragile, narrow and a lovely color
Corn husks are short, plentiful,  strong and dye beautifully.
Other plants await...

Even when I've soaked them in a creek (real or pretend),
it has been helpful to wrap the leaves in a damp towel
and let them sit for an hour or three
to even out the moisture content.

Then I tear wide leaves into strips
to control the evenness of the cordage.

To begin,
​Fold one strip (or leaf) --
but not in half.

Grab the fold with one hand,
the further strand with the other,
and twist it (the further strand) away from your body.

Cross the twisted far strand over the near strand
making it (the near strand)
the new far one.
Twist the new far strand.
​Cross over.
​Repeat.

​You are now spinning and plying at the same time.

When you get close to the end of a leaf strip,
or they start becoming too thin,
add a new strip 
by tucking it into the V 
(you can leave a bit sticking out and snip it off later).
Twist the new strip with whichever strip it is joining/replacing.
​
​Here is a Video -- I hope.
Please pardon the bathtub drain sounds --
the brook impersonator by where I was working
is about to be dismantled for winter so is missing its babbilator.

So with the same materials
you can make something
fine enough for a fishing net,
or  a rope on which you can cross a bottomless chasm. 
​Not bad for a few dead leaves. 

Of course I haven't tried either of these things as yet,
and expect there are a few nuances I'm missing,
but do let me know if you try them
and how they work.

Back in the studio,
where the bottomless chasms are metaphors
and I am fortunate enough to have a variety of cutting tools,
I usually lop off the sticky outey bits as i go.

Then,
when I run out of leaves
 or time
or energy
or the cordage is just perfect,
​I stop. 

A couple of days ago in the Fringeless class
someone asked: 
​"How do you do that cool picking-up-the-sheds thing?"

The class includes a number of weaving videos
including a rather long one
in which I weave most of the piece in the photo below--
chatting all the while about what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.
At least I talk about building shapes.

Apparently I don't talk much about 
what I'm actually doing to open the sheds
and pass the bobbins however,
so I thought I'd try to explain further here
in case those of you not taking the class might find it useful too.

As I may have mentioned before,
I adopted both techniques--
first  bobbins then finger picking--
after a decade or more of  butterflies, beater and treadles.
Once again, it was Archie Brennan who made it seem worth a try.
With a big pipe loom warped and ready
I committed to weaving the entire thing
 (Hang Up and Draw first tapestry on the linked page)
using only bobbins.
 I started with leashes as well
(long heddles you can grab and pull), 
but before long found myself finger picking both sheds
so haven't bothered with leashes or butterflies since. 

Anyway, yesterday I decided to try to film myself weaving.
Without Rebecca Mezoff and her
excellent eye and amazing camera
the following two videos are not the snazziest thing in the world,
but here they are nonethless:
1-over and back, over and back, at 'slowed down normal' speed
2-over and back in super slow motion
3- a rather wordy description of what I think I'm doing
(which may, or may not, be what I'm actually doing
but is the closest I can come)
4. Some assorted comic drawings which might help too

 EDIT!!!!!!!OH NO!  The videos vanished.  SOSOSOOS sorry 
I have no idea what happened but will try to figure out
or fine another video solution
They take HOURS to upload so it'll be a while I'm afraid.
After all my boasting and that marvelous feeling of doing something cool
Maybe words and comics are the best after all
​SIGH.
​

The Wordy Description
-Bobbin in right hand going both ways, always
-Shed picked with left hand going both ways

OPEN SHED
(in this case weft moving from left to right but not always)

LEFT HAND:
(always picking up the warps from left to right no matter which direction the weft is going)
-decides which warp to pick up first,
- slides up that warp towards the shed sticks where the opening is wider
-fingers slip behind three to five raised warps
-pull them open
RIGHT HAND:
-slips into shed just opened
-passes bobbin through the space behind the warp and back into the same hand
(bobbin now in front of the warp)
-pulls slightly on the weft while 
LEFT HAND:
-releases warp threads
-drops down to grab the end of the weft
-adjusts weft tension
(leaving enough weft in the shed to make a nice bubble)
-holds onto weft while
RIGHT HAND:
uses bobbin to tap weft into place.

PICK SHED
LEFT HAND:
(scooping up warps from left to right no matter which direction the weft is going)
-chooses  warp at the edge of section to be picked up,
-pushes back against the open warp to the left of that warp
-reaches back and grabs desired "back" warp between thumb and middle finger
- pulls that warp forward, holding it on forefinger 
-moves one warp to the right, over the next open warp 
-pushes back against that open warp as before to make space to grab next "back" warp
 continuing in this way until 3 - 5 warp threads (about one inch worth) have been grabbed.
-pull to open that section of the shed
RIGHT HAND 
​​-slips into space just opened
-passes bobbin through the space behind the warp and back into the same hand
(bobbin now in front of the warp)
-pulls slightly on the weft while...
LEFT HAND:
-releases warp threads
-drops down to grab the end of the weft
-adjusts weft tension 
( leaving enough weft in the shed to make a nice bubble, which is easier with pick shed as the released warp adds its own tension)
-holds onto weft while
RIGHT HAND:
uses bobbin to tap weft into place.

All of this takes a LOT Of words,
and I generally find Comics to be a more efficient medium
than plain text, but hopefully the videos make things somewhat clear.
And alas, if I had to draw an entire comic 
for every blog post, you'd get one a couple of times a year!

NOTE: Bobbins
Still REALLY happy with both sets of new bobbins I wrote about here
Both makers are HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

NOTE: Sett
​ The warp on the loom in the videos above is sett at 10 epi,
8 epi is easier and smoother (more room to teach and grab)
but much of this depends on the size of your warp 
and the size of your fingers.
If your fingers are large and/or you like to work at closer setts
I  recommend some kind of shedding device for the pick shed --
Leashes and String heddles (very short leashes), are both excellent.
I describe the latter in Backstrap Dialogues,
and will put a detail below, which should help.

So that's it for now --
EXCEPT! that for those of you not on Instagram
I wanted to include a photo
of  the finished running shoes
I was working on last week!
SO happy.
(Shoe pattern from Simple Shoe Making)

Frankly, I wasn't  hopeful.
This grubby collection of  hastily collected
mud-encrusted roots had been drying out in an old torn paper bag
for... gosh... 15 years? More?

I'd planted the madder seeds sometime in the 1990s--
 the sticky leaves and stems scratching bare arms
and clinging to small boy clothing 
when my 28 year old son was
​a significantly smaller person than he is now--
and I remember being so impatient,
first for it to grow,
 then with its unpleasant and voracious character. 
Finally I dug out a few roots,
stuck them in a bag,
and forgot about them.

Still,  I shook off the mud,
broke the big bits apart,
cut them into the smallest chunks I could manage
with my not very sharp secateurs,
and  dumped them into a jar to soak. 
Without a dye-dedicated blender to puree the softened chunks
 the color would not be terribly strong.
But so what?
It was just an experiment.

And since these days
I'm a half-assed, seat-of-the-pants dyer--
and already making a big wet mess--
I might as well dig up some fresh roots
​and try them too.

Now when it comes to fresh madder,
there are two things you're not supposed to do:
1. dig the roots in the spring/ summer in the midst of the growing season
​2. use them right away.

But I am in the mood now
(well I was on Sunday-- two days ago).
The madder plants were encroaching
on the ripening raspberry patch
 and raspberry canes are prickly enough without
having to push one's arms through sticky madder leaves.
 I was ready to hack them back--
and why not make a few exploratory stabs with a shovel
​at the same time?

Fresh and dry cut roots went into separate jars
(and a little dry weld into a third just because). 
After an overnight soak they all went
into a hot water bath to simmer and soften.
Weld is fine being simmered more directly
​ but this double boiler-ish jar method
​ is an easy way to keep the temperature
of the madder from climbing into the 'brown' range.

Meanwhile, back at my work table
I filled just one more Kuchulu spindle with white yarn,
then plied it ​while listening to the A Playful Day podcast
(broadening my natural dye rainbow during Pride),
before alum mordanting my pile
of two ply "tea" skeins

But back to dyeing.

​Photos of mordanting (or mordanted) yarn
are rarely interesting. 
And anyway, I forgot to take them
so have none to bore you with. 
Nor, alas, did I document the dye extraction process.
But both are pretty standard.

Mordant: Alum at 10-12% WOF and Cream of Tarter at 5- 6%

Dye extraction: soak, simmer, pour off, soak, simmer, pour off.
As mentioned, I try to keep the simmer temp about 160 F ish
to avoid brown tones in the red.

Instead, then, you get a foggy photo of jars in a pot
and then-- voila-- red yarn!

I kept the first and second extractions separate:
the skein on the lower right was the first extraction from the dry madder
and is significantly darker even if this photo doesn't really show it.
The other three are the second extraction from the dry madder
and the first and second from the fresh.
There was some variation among these,
but actually less than I expected.

What I also didn't expect,
​was how un-orange the color is. 

I've been dyeing with madder for decades,
always with purchased flakes
or extracts (once they became available)--
everything carefully calculated, weighed and measured--
and there have been some pretty spectacular colors.
How not with this marvelous dye?
But because so much available madder
is R. cordifolia rather than R tinctorium,
the color often leans well into the orange range.

But this yarn does not.
Half-assed, casually measured, fresh or dry,
R. tinctorium is something else again.

 I'm dyeing as I write this,
pausing between sentences
to give things a stir, or a rinse,
 to hang the skeins on the line to drip,
to oooh and aahhhhh,
or take another photo.

Just added the one below:
first skeins and the first exhaust from the same jars.
The main thing I'm noticing? 
The colors on the fresh madder skeins
are brighter, clearer, and slightly less orange
than the dry.
Anyone have thoughts on this​???

Two days ago I was about to start weaving,
and got distracted.
But I guess now I know
what this little four selvedge warp
has been waiting for.

And -- OH WOW --one more photo--
(sorry, there have been a lot)--
two more exhaust skeins casually tossed into the jar with
what I thought were the well-extracted fresh roots.
How gorgeous is THAT????