the Village Knittiot

I have noticed over the last couple of years that Summer usually brings with it a bit of a lull in the blogosphere — or at least the portions of it I tend to gravitate towards. I think during this time of year we are probably more willing to actively engage with the world around us and we don’t need the digital buffers of a virtual community as much (or, at least, this sometimes introvert doesn’t). In essence we want to get out in our backyards and smell the proverbial roses and maybe watch the grass grow a little, figuratively speaking (and if you’re the sort who isn’t terrified of bugs and things like lyme disease or west nile virus, probably literally as well).

For my part, the quiet around the Village lately is due to a number of things. For one, I still feel like I am recovering from the frenzied pace that marked the beginning of my first summer here in Philadelphia. The crazy work schedule followed by the exhausting visit with my family has left me with a great fondness for naps and sleeping in (a luxury I rarely afford myself). And, while the knitting and spinning and fleece processing continues, it does so at a much slower pace. My summer of knitting naturally has been a tremendous part of this as, more than ever, I think before buying.

I have also finally accepted the fact that I am not the kind of person who enjoys purchasing other people’s patterns and making them, that I will not readily plunk down a sizable amount of cash for a collection of someone else’s designs. It is just not something I do (easily). I simply want knitting to occupy this space in my brain that is something like second nature. I want to be able to just find yarn that I like and use it to create something of my own. I know this is not a new expression of desire for me. I’ve said it at least a dozen times. And I’ve lamented my lack of knowledge and the lack of classes that explain on a fundamental level just how this knitting thing works. I’m not talking about purls and knits and step-by-step instructions that walk you through a specific pattern or isolated technique. I want something that will give me a knitting foundation. You know, the kind of instruction people used to get when having socks and sweaters depended not on your ability to buy a $35 book and follow directions, but on knowing how to take yarn and turn it into a sweater or pair of socks that fit the intended recipient.

But to blame the lull here on slower, more process-oriented knitting wouldn’t be entirely accurate. The truth is, I’ve been a lot more preoccupied with thoughts about writing, or to be more accurate, what I want to accomplish over the next couple of years. I’ve also been reading a lot (which further reduces the amount of knitting time I have). At this point, I’m not sure how blogging fits in to all of this, or rather, I’m not sure how blogging about knitting fits into that. And while I recognize that I haven’t ever blogged exclusively about knitting, it has provided a framework for what is here. However, I find myself feeling a bit limited by that framework lately. Fiber and its various incarnations are only a part of my life and there are avenues I’ve been wanting to explore and haven’t felt able to in this space.

When I first started blogging, I was really struggling with my writing. It had become a source of tremendous stress for me and the act of writing something out here where it was visible to the world was an important act at the time. Blogging became a tool by which I was able to rediscover my voice and while it might sound melodramatic, it saved me at a time when I was in want of a little saving. Then there was the unexpected and very welcome side effect of finding this little community of amazing people who were supportive, surprising, creative and thoughtful. I don’t want to lose that, but lately I’ve been feeling as if my focus is split. I’m wanting to make some changes but I’m not quite sure yet what they are. Until then, I suspect the Village will continue to be a little on the quiet side.

I’m sorry to co-opt the knitting blog space for a moment, but I wanted to assure you that the issues with the Village Knittiot will be resolved within the next 48 hours, and hopefully much sooner. I’ve got an ugly temp solution in place that allows you to view the main page, but trying to navigate the site will only result in frustration and confusion.

Again, I’m sorry. The problem lies with our host as they transfer us all to new servers and is entirely out of our hands.

Update: We seem to be back to full functionality across all domains and return you to your regular programming!

I have always held to the idea that each person we encounter is a mirror that gives us a glimpse of our own reflections and that if we want to gain some idea of what we are projecting into the world, all we need to do is look at those reflections and see what is staring us back in the face. There is, however, something a little different about the mirror and the reflection that your family provides to you. It is more personal, more intimate, often more uncomfortable and always more enlightening — even if a little painful at times.

Last week my family came out to visit us and after spending nearly a week together (both here in Philadelphia and a couple of days in New York) I was pretty tired of looking at my reflection in that particular mirror. I’m not really ready to talk about all of it yet. There is a lot of processing to be done and I don’t think I’m going to get the perspective that I need until I’ve gotten some distance from the situation.

Good times were definitely had, like the time we spent sitting in the Quaker church and hearing about the philosophy behind the founding of Philadelphia, which made me love my adopted city all the more. And of course there were the obligatory hair-pulling moments and the depressing miserable ones, like the time I started crying by myself in a Starbucks on Wall Street in the midst of a bunch of well-dressed stock brokers.

My family can be maddening, no doubt, but underneath all of the dysfunction and craziness is a tremendous amount of love. They don’t love perfectly (and yes, I know, who does?), but they do love deeply and when it comes right down to it, they want the best for me. That sometimes makes things harder, but it also makes it easier. And, of course, I’m not entirely without my own role in our little family drama. So, there you go. Let me just say that I saw myself more clearly than ever this week and that is going to have some repercussions.

So, now that work has calmed down and my family has gone I am looking forward to things getting back to something resembling normal around the Village. Maybe this week I’ll even manage to finally get my tomatoes in the ground. Think it’s too late? How long is the growing season here anyway?

And on another note, does anyone have any good suggestions for dog breeds that are good for people who have allergies?

The past three weeks have been among the busiest I have had since I started working from home. The week before last, I put in a 65 (and I’m being a bit conservative here, I think) hour work week. When I hit Thursday evening and realized I had already already worked 40 hours and I had a good 30 hours of work left to accomplish, I cried. A lot. Exhaustion will do that to you.

I’m sure it won’t surprise you to learn that I have a hard time saying no to extra responsibilities and an even harder time asking for help, but that Thursday evening I sat down and wrote an SOS e-mail saying that if I was going to meet any of my deadlines, they had to back off and give me some room to breathe so I could get it done. The response was positive and I was given the space and time I needed to meet one of the more important deadlines. Of course, I still put in another 25 hours worth of work, but it was a much more pleasant 25 hours than it would otherwise have been.

In the midst of all this, there was a lot of reactionary bemoaning of my job and thoughts about the lack of fulfillment I feel in this type of work and blah, blah, blah. I have a colleague with whom I have frequent discussions about the pursuit of finding our path and figuring out where we fit in and how to gain a career with a sense of purpose and meaning. There are times where I want to be very dismissive with her, as I feel I have had to be with myself, and talk about the nature of life and work and how nobody likes it but its just what we all have to do. But I also recognize that what is going on here is not the customary whining of a generation who doesn’t want to work for anything. It is the general discontent of two people willing to work our asses off to make an impact on the world, who are feeling instead as if we are trapped in a soulless system like two cogs in the machinations of the world. And it is more in our nature to be revolutionaries, involved in the recreation of the world as it should be. Yet we are also responsible people. People who take our obligations to be productive members of our community seriously. And because of that, we feel stuck in a structure that keeps us unhappy and trapped in the endless cycle of abuse that is the corporate environment.

After getting off the phone with her one evening sometime over the last few weeks, I sat down with my notebook and a pen and started writing down some of my thoughts. As I was writing about the longing I feel for something more meaningful, something to devote my life to, a desire for a sense of purpose and above all how I want to find a path for myself that I can pour my heart and life into, I realized something. I do not need to find a path, I’m on a path. And in fact I am my path.

This simple idea suddenly opened up my eyes to what an amazing opportunity is sitting right in front of me. It isn’t that I haven’t been taking advantage of the opportunity, but I certainly haven’t been fully appreciating it. Up until now, I think I’ve been seeing all the work I’m doing on myself as something I should have figured out years ago and that if only I had done this earlier, maybe I would know what my path was and already be thoroughly immersed in my life’s work. I’ve looked at those around me who seem to be on a solid path and I want that for myself. Maybe they want to become a doctor or a musician or a teacher or an artist. Maybe the path is clear for them and maybe it requires some creativity and a little improvisation. Whatever it is, this imagined path (which I realize seems much more straightforward to an observer than it does to the sojourner), they start down their path and because they know their path, they can follow it and focus on it. What I had failed to consider is that sometimes when your path is so clear you don’t necessarily have to know your own self because you know your path. Only, the truth is, you are your path and the two are inextricably linked. Ignore one and you lose sight of the other.

So, when something happens, a tragedy that disrupts the known path and forces you to stop or find another way, such as the amazing athlete who loses the ability to compete or the doctor who arrives at the destination only to feel empty and exhausted and unfulfilled, you are only left with yourself and the realization that you are the path. And in that instant you are faced with an overwhelming task of self-discovery. This is not a punishment, this is a gift, because until I am satisfied with just being me, I will never be satisfied with any path I take, because at that heart of it all, I am my path.

I realized all of these attempts to figure out where I belong is approaching the path from the wrong direction. I am where I belong, because I am here. Finding the path is learning who I am. And until I am happy being just me, without the external costume of a purpose and a meaningful career, I will never feel like I am on the path.

This small realization was like putting in a giant new window on my soul and I pushed through those last 25 hours and then had another demanding week to survive, but with each accomplishment I was increasingly pleased. I noted the personal sense of gratification I felt and took pride in my work, because I took pride in myself. It was a profound feeling.

I am where I am supposed to be simply because I am here.

I am currently living as if neglect were a lifestyle. I am neglecting my house, my friends, my blog and, to some extent, myself. I am eating, sleeping and breathing work. My personal inbox is stuffed full of e-mails I haven’t had a chance to get to and I actually went to bed the last two nights with dishes in the sink — not the same dishes, but dishes nonetheless. If you are one of those lovely people who have sent me an e-mail and I haven’t responded, please forgive me. Things should be back to normal in just a few weeks.

While everyone was off in Cummington having a magical weekend, Mr. Knittiot and I stayed home and had a magical weekend of our own. Friday afternoon we waded through traffic to pick up our friends from the Philadelphia airport and brought them back to our little apartment for a weekend of fun and relaxation. We went everywhere and did everything and by degrees I found myself falling a little more deeply in love with my sweetie, my newly adopted city, my best friend and her kind and considerate husband. As we left them at the airport late Monday afternoon, I found myself wishing that it could go on like this forever. No responsibilities. No adult pressures. Just endless days of summer and laughter, peace and contentment.

Even though I was not at an official fiber festival, everyday in the Village is filled with fiber and this weekend was no exception. My friends are lovely and were perfectly willing to humor me, even when it involved a detailed explanation of all the various spinning fibers currently in my possession (Never miss an opportunity to proselytize).

Thursday night I managed to finish Ruby Joy, though, as is usual with my knitting, it did not quite turn out as expected. I’ve decided that maybe it is time to just embrace that about myself. About 4 rows shy of finishing it became apparent that I was not going to have enough yarn and after some frustration and a little crying, I decided there was no way that I was going to be ripping out that much of what I had done, so I tinked back one row and bound off right where I was. It looks just fine. And even though I thought I was being incredibly loose with the bind off, it turns out I wasn’t, so it was a little difficult to block. Nevertheless, it is beautiful and I am thrilled. Despite the fact that it was something like 90 degrees outside on Sunday, I wore my mohair/silk shawl anyway. We were going to the art museum after all, and I kind of felt like she belonged there.

Saturday before we were about to head out for a day of strolling through the city and soaking in the sites, I quickly checked my e-mail where I learned that Loop was having a sale. Plans were immediately made to proceed to the store where Mr. Knittiot managed to snag some bamboo yarn and a really sexy Brittany crochet hook. Me and my Summer of Knitting Naturally walked away with a few skeins of Blue Sky Alpaca’s Organic Cotton and a pattern for a very basic sleeveless number that I am already well on my way into.

Sunday morning I spent some time convincing Hiroe she wanted to crochet teaching Hiroe to crochet. As I was working with her I noticed that I have really made some strides in my teaching abilities since my early days of yarn pushing. It wasn’t that I was awful before, I just have a greater sense now of how instruction should flow, what steps should follow each other and how to be intuitive about the amount of information any given person can absorb at one time. Mr. Knittiot also jumped in and gave some useful pieces of advice and she was moving along quite nicely in no time at all.

I also managed to get some spinning time in and decided to take the opportunity to play around with the hemp fiber I got at Maryland. After adjusting to the differences between plant and animal fibers, things seemed to be going quite well and I even managed to ply up and swatch a little sample. It is actually pretty soft and according to all reports only gets softer and softer with every wash. I’m going to keep playing with this a bit and once I really have my feet wet, I’m going to order enough to spin up a summer top’s worth of yarn.

In and around the fiber activity, we managed to wander all over the city, taking in the art museum, the zoo, Rittenhouse Square, South Street, The Magic Garden and much more. There was a considerable amount of tasty food — the best of which was prepared by my resident chef, Mr. Knittiot. Lucky for us, Hiroe’s husband John is an amazing photographer and he documented the whole weekend. Feel free to wander over to his blog and check out his last several entries. Fiber folk will not be disappointed as he has some amazing pictures of my spinning wheel in action, Ruby Joy on my shoulders and Hiroe and I crocheting in and amongst some of the other snapshots of the weekend.

Just in case my obsession with enjoyment of knitting, spinning and all things fiber wasn’t enough I thought it might be time to add something new to the mix. As I mentioned a couple posts ago, I’ve been completely absorbed with reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan. For me, our relationship with food, its role in good health, the environmental impact of our growing systems and agricultural theory have long been an interest of mine. The evolution of my awareness and the resulting changes I have made at each stage of the game are not something I typically talk about here, but I am feeling more and more of a need to write about it these days. Pollan’s book coupled with May’s Eat Local Challenge (not to mention the Summer of Knitting Naturally and other attempts to green-up our Village) have really gotten me thinking about my food and where it comes from — no longer just about whether or not it is organic and/or healthy and/or affordable.

Because I have (once again) found myself too late to join any of the local CSAs that I am interested in, my thoughts naturally turned to the backyard. Despite living in a bustling metropolitan area, we are lucky enough to have a little postage stamp sized piece of earth behind our apartment. And I must confess that, until this week, it was almost feeling a little too big and the prospect of taming its wildness a little overwhelming. For those of you who grew up in houses with yards and possibly gardens, this may seem silly, but as someone who spent her entire childhood and most of adulthood in an apartment — usually on an upper floor — lawn care and/or gardening was not something I had to think about. When we bought and briefly owned a house, I had delusions of becoming a great gardener and growing bountiful vegetables and amazing flowers. That lasted for about one afternoon, after which I retreated into the house and told my backyard it could do whatever it wanted. Occassionally I would head out there and try to show it who was boss, but this (wo)man had no dominion over her land. I gave up and let my backyard become very unkempt natural.

When I was younger I spent a considerable amount of time at my aunt’s house. She lived in the country and kept what to my 5-year-old self felt like an enormous garden. She would slather sunscreen on us some afternoons and send us out into the rows to weed. We hated it and complained bitterly. We also got very little done and usually spent the day sitting in the midst of the green beans picking and eating them right off the plants. They were delicious, but the experience did not improve my green thumb. There were also a couple of years that we had an apartment on the ground floor where we planted a lovely little flower garden around the edges of our stone patio and that was singularly satisfying. So, I’ve never planted vegetables and I have no reason to believe that I am going to be any good at it. But you know what? I do believe it. I believe it with a rabid intensity. Thus, I have set about planning and creating a summer vegetable garden…

While undertaking a task of this nature is normally quite overwhelming for this little knittiot, for some reason I have been really good at breaking down each task into manageable, bite-sized steps. So, I spent a leisurely Wednesday evening at the bookstore flipping through some of their gardening books. I’ve decided that even though we have a backyard that has some actual dirt, this isn’t a permanent place of residence and therefore container gardening is the best way to go. Portable gardens can be carried with you. Next I tamed the wilds of the area, trimming back the enormous bush that had taken over most of the growing space and pulling up the mammoth weeds that had managed to pop up all over. Today a trip to the local hardware store will result in some chicken wire for creating a small yard waste compost pile. I have also drawn several diagrams of what the space will look like. Some are ridiculously ambitious and involve plans to can tomatoes in the fall. Others are more manageable. I’m leaning toward manageable, mostly because I prefer to succeed in my pursuits.

Pictures will follow at various points along the way…

Fleece Update
And lest you worry about my poor fleeces and fear they have been abandoned to a new monomania, I assure you I love all my children equally. The washed bits from the cold water scouring experiment have now been either combed or carded. My first attempt to spin the fleece involved using some of the carded rolags. The results were awful. It was difficult to spin and the resulting yarn was very rough and not at all what I want to be knitting with. Nevertheless, I plied it and knit a rather rustic looking gauge swatch. While it isn’t the softest thing in the world, I must say that the colors are just gorgeous — a lovely, subtly varigated, brown/grey tweed. I am certain that the issues with the rolags have far more to do with my inability to card correctly, so I am looking more into what I am doing wrong.

After the unsatisfying results from spinning with the rolags, I decided to try spinning straight from the lock after combing out the tips and the shorn end a little. The result was scrumptious. Easy to spin. Soft and inviting singles. Even the plying was a joy. All around a very good attempt and I now have my first sizable ball of handspun somewhere in a 2-ply lace-weight range. Sample swatch to follow at a later date.

I did manage to wash some more of the fleece, this time in the recommended hot water and the results were much, much better. However, despite two washes and two rinses, the tips are still quite matted and dirty. In the book Hands on Spinning by Lee Raven, she actually advocates a method of fleece washing that has you slightly agitate the tips to get the dirt out. I am planning on trying out her instructions on the next round which will probably be sometime this weekend. Once I determine which method I most prefer, I will be finishing up this fleece in short order and moving onto the other two, which I am hoping to process much more quickly than I have this one and probably in larger batches.

On a final note, things around the Village may be a little quiet over the next week or so. My best friend and her husband are coming out to visit us over memorial day weekend and there is much work to be done before they arrive. So updates may be few. Hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

For the past several weeks my life has been plagued by a general feeling of restlessness and dissatisfaction. At first I thought it was just the typical summer lull in my work schedule (with a few intermittent crisis deadlines), the ending of a big project and the weird transitional time between the next big one. But in a conversation with my sweetie the other day, he mentioned that some of the things I was saying were indicative of someone who wasn’t feeling very challenged by their job. The second those words left his mouth — probably before I even really heard them — I knew he was right.

While I don’t really consider this job my life’s work, it has been, at least for the last year, challenging and engaging. Particularly these last few months of transitioning into working from home, getting settled, learning how to manage my time (or not) and so forth. There was a lot that was new and for a time that was enough. But I knew all of that window dressing wouldn’t hide for long that essentially I am still doing the same uninspiring thing I set out not to do. Namely, writing marketing materials for big box retailers. Given my philosophical leanings on the consumer culture, corporate business practices, environmental impact and so forth, you can probably draw the conclusion that while it pays the bills, it isn’t exactly what I would be doing in my ideal world. That is not to say that it hasn’t had its benefits. It pays the bills and I am a firm believer in paying the bills. It has done wonders for my writing skills (and editing), and the materials I work on are not straight “sales” pieces, so that makes it tolerable, but not exactly exciting. And I’m working from home — which has its ups (flexibility, freedom, comfort, convenience) and downs (isolation, distractions, constant presence of work in my life), but is overall a very good setup.

Initially, one of the grand appeals of working from home (and this was what I continually stressed in all my early conversations with Mr. Knittiot) was supposed to be the extra time, energy and flexiblity it would afford. This would then free me up to focus on figuring out what I want, where I belong, etc. Ultimately, I reasoned, this would help me start building a life and career that wasn’t dependant on my dazzling copywriting and editing skills — at least not in the way they are currently employed.

And while I am tempted to say that this has not yet happened, that would be a lie. Working at home has given me considerable time to contemplate my next move, to research topics of interest to me and to think about what it is that draws my passions and motivates me. I think where some of the problem comes in (and the restlessness) is that I am always focused on the future and where I think I want to be. The eternal question seems to be — How do you keep moving toward a goal and yet remain content with where you are?

I realize that in self-examination there are no shortcuts, and discovering the truth (or truths) about one’s self is a lifelong process. I know every moment that went before this one led me here and that there is no arriving, only continuing on the next leg of the journey, because once you’ve arrived, you stop moving and that eventually leads to stagnation. Yet somehow I keep imagining that “figuring it out” is going to be this miraculous moment with streaming sunlight and parting clouds and choirs of celestial beings singing and swooping low to lay a mantel over my shoulders, after which I will stride off into the world holding my purpose like a scepter or, rather, since I am fond of wandering prophet imagery, a gnarled old staff. And birds will bring me food, and doubt (most importantly self-doubt) will never plague me again, because I will have a purpose. There will be no more greener pastures, only this — my purpose.

But this isn’t exactly an ancient religious text we’re living here, and finding your place is more organic than that and more about *making* your own way and taking possesion of your life — not just surrendering to the cultural tides. And purpose? Well, that can be a multifaceted stone. So, am I thinking, pondering and considering my options? Yes. Do I have all the answers yet? Heck no. Do I have some ideas worth exploring a little more? Yes indeed. Does that mean it is all going to magically fall into place tomorrow? Oh. Right. I guess not, huh? Bingo.

So here we are, right back with that whole patience thing again. Damn. Whenever am I going to learn that one? I guess I’ll learn it in time. Oh the irony.

Greetings from a grey and dreary Monday morning in Philadelphia. I always love spring days like this because, while they are quiet and slow, they are full of life and you can practically feel the insatiable thirst of newly sprouting vegetation and hear the singing of their happy plant songs. Rain makes everything new, and even in a dusty and dirty city spring showers make it all seem clean and fresh, even if only for a little while.

This weekend I spent a lot of time playing with my fleece and thinking about where it came from. I think that everyone makes their first fleece purchase in a bit of a fog. I did. No doubt about it. It was pretty. It smelled strongly sheepy (and I am one of those individuals who is head over heels in love with the earthy scent of lanolin and hay). It had good crimp and nice, long, soft locks. Other than knowing it was one of Betty’s sheep (as opposed to Esther’s) and that she lives somewhere in Massachusetts, I know nothing. I don’t know how she cares for her sheep. If she coats them in pesticides, pumps them full of antibiotics or even what she feeds them. I know that she does not name them and I felt vaguely cheated when I discovered that my fleeces were called R20, W09 and something else. With names like that, these sheep could have been extras in a George Lucas film. I was hoping for something pastoral and quaint like Penelope, Gertrude and Walter. This was my buyer’s remorse setting in, aided by the fact that the cold water wash left the materials a little dirtier than I would have liked and a little more greasy than I wanted.

At Maryland, I was a shopper on a mission. My goal was to find organic fiber sources, naturally-dyed yarns and other ecologically friendly businesses, but they were few and far between. I didn’t see any organic farms, which is not to say that they weren’t there, just that I didn’t see them. There were a few places selling naturally dyed yarns (and their colors, I might add, were just as rich and vibrant as any other yarns there). So now I look at my fleeces and I wonder about them and how they were raised and if they were dumped in sheep dip or or grazed on chemically treated grasses. And truthfully, at this point, there is no way for me to know. I have no connection to them or their owners other than a one-time cash transaction.

This is, when all is said and done, the way of our world. Other than the finished product, we have little connection with the sources of the materials required to make them. And in large part, the system is dependant on this ignorance. It is partially a practical thing — our lives are so full of “stuff” that to know where each came from and how it was ultimately assembled, packaged and shipped would be a full-time job. It is also easier to entice folks into consumption when they don’t have to face the reality of their consumer behaviors and the impact it has on the world at large.

This is the overwhelming vantage point from which we view change. We see an impenetrable machine of a system that is churning out products at an incredible rate. Products we need. Products we think we need. Products we want. And we are torn on some level. I know that I am. I have the same messages in my head that equate happiness with more things. And there are days (more than I would like to admit) when I feel sad and the immediate solution that comes to mind is buying something, anything really. Usually those purchases are disappointing, but it doesn’t stop the pattern from repeating. To believe we are immune from the powerful, all-consuming (pun intended) messages of our cultures is hubris of the highest order, and calls for some serious examination and analysis.

The opposite of over-consumption is total denial, and this is an impossible place to live. The reality of our existence is that we are consumers. We need food, water, shelter, clothing and socialization. We produce waste — both from our bodies and from our pursuit of the things we need to survive. These are the facts and to deny them is to deny our humanity. There is no such thing as zero impact — not for any creature. But the question remains, what do you do when consumption has gotten out of control, as it so clearly has? How can you approach your consumer status from a responsible and/or ethical space? And like most things, the answer is never simple. But it has been my experience in this life, that the things worth doing are rarely straightforward or paved with clear paths. If you don’t like where the road is leading, then the only thing to do is step off the beaten path and make your own. Because that is the only way you’ll ever get somewhere else.

Stepping away from the familiar is at first bewildering and disorienting. Maybe you don’t know where you are or even where you want to go. Thought, at this juncture, is equally as important as action. For me, everything begins with research. I read widely. I talk to people. I collect data. I sift through all the information. I draw conclusions. I test my hypothesis. I discuss, discuss, discuss.

I know we have talked at length before about the confusing nature of making changes that are greener, more ecologically aware and truly helpful to the environment. We have mentioned the myriad of interconnected factors that are completely out of our control. But confusing or not, it is worth wading through. Keep digging. Keep asking questions. Don’t stop until you are satisfied that you have enough answers to draw a conclusion. Sometimes this takes a long time. Sometimes the decision is quick and easy. Sometimes you will hit a dead end and need to chart a new course. Sometimes you will implement a change only to later gain some new information that will completely alter (or even reverse) your position. The point is to remain flexible, open and insatiably curious. Do what you can, avoid guilt and keep trying.

In the course of my research I have come across a number of interesting things and I thought I would try to share a few every week or so. Links and descriptions below…

Current Reading: The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan — a fascinating and detailed look at our current food system as seen from an analysis of four meals, straight from the source to the table. One section covers the current agrobusiness, big-food model and ends with a fast food meal. The next two meals are from organic farming models — one from a small, local organic farmer and the other from a big-business wholesaler, namely Whole Foods. And finally, the last meal (or as he describes it, “the perfect meal”) was hunted, gathered and prepared entirely by Pollan himself. If you are interested in reading an excerpt, Mother Jones has printed a section of it on their website right here: link. You can be sure that I will also be reviewing this on The Bookish Dark in the near future.

What can I do? (The question we all ask ourselves): Ask Umbra (brought to my attention by a reader) is an excellently thought out, well researched and rational column with regular advice about how to reduce our impact. She also has an FAQ list that tackles some of the important things you can do starting right now.

Sheepy Link of the Week: This is an excellent article written by Donna Druchunas (author of Arctic Lace) that talks about the state of organic and ecologically friendly fiber farming and processing. She addresses some of the inherent difficulties with obtaining certification and includes some balanced perspective along with a list of sources for organic and environmentally friendly wool and fiber processing. This article appears to be a couple of years old, but the information still seems quite accurate.

Yesterday I noticed that my copy of the holy tome of spinning was in at the library. So, Mr. Knittiot and I hopped in the car and took a quick jaunt to one of our favorite places where I picked up The Alden Amos Big Book of Handspinning. I have had it in my possesion for less than 24 hours and I have already learned more in a couple hours of reading than I have in months. This is one of those books that must become a permanent part of my own library.

I of course skipped right to the section on scouring fleeces where I discovered a few things I thought I ought to pass on. As it turns out, water temperature does matter. Yesterday as I was combing out the results of my cold water wash, I noticed that it felt a bit greasier than my hot water batch had. According to Amos, that was most likely because the grease or fat in the fiber only melts at somewhere around 105-110 degrees. So, the detergent did the best it could, but if the substance wouldn’t melt, it couldn’t entirely remove it. He also gives a mini chemistry lesson that explains how soaps and detergents interact with fibers and the effects of hard vs. soft water on the process. And while he does provide detailed instructions for his own method of scouring, what is really impressive is the information and explanations about how everything works, which is really important if you want to experiment and find your own method (particularly one that doesn’t waste so much water, and even there, he tries to help you by telling you at what points you can conserve water).

I made it through the section on carding and found his concise, yet detailed instructions to be of great help. This morning in just 10 minutes I was able to easily master the technique and produce my first two rolags, which look significantly better than my previous attempts using what little information I found online. It’s a fairly easy process, in fact, and one which can be done anytime you have an extra five minutes or so.

I am also doing some spinning, but sadly none of it is from my festival purchases. I’m trying to finish up a project with some BFL I started sometime back, mostly because I want to free up a couple of my bobbins, but also because I hate leaving things unfinished. Over the course of the next couple of days I plan to spend a considerable amount of time with my new buddy Alden. He is so jolly and pleasant. I just know we are going to be great friends.