Monday, 7 December 2015

It has begun.

This rather unpleasant mess is at this moment soaking in the Unicorn Power Scour.  It's very hard to leave it alone and not constantly poke at it to see if the grease is bonding to the scour as it's supposed to! I'm assured that I will have lustrous, soft wool to spin when it's all finished.  I hope so, because so far, I'm very disappointed with the Polwarth!
The process for cleaning difficult wool came from this blog
There will be updates later today, fingers crossed!
Well, there IS an improvement of sorts!
The wool is whiter and less tacky, but some of the tarry tips remain.  The Unicorn has done it's job well, but I really don't think I'll be bothering with Polwarth ever again! I have a sack of washed wool that needs washing again with the Unicorn and a sack of untouched wool.  I'm that close to throwing it all in the bin, expecially as some of the re-washed wool felted!!!  But, I'm a skinflint, and refuse to throw anything away if it can be salvaged, so I'll wash it again, just not yet!
I have some lovely Alpaca that's just plain old dusty to deal with first :D

In between storms.

Such wild weather lately! The dog didn't mind so much as he'd cut his leg last week chasing squirrels so he had to stay in to let it heal.  It has to be said that he's not a brave dog and any injury causes him a lot of worry! So he was snuggled on the sofa with cats and a blanket!!!

We managed to dash out for a walk on Saturday, in between the rain, which is also a concern for a dog with fine whippet skin! The woods were beautiful as the last Autumn leaves hung with jewelled droplets.

Trees muted in swathes of mist, hushed and quiet.
One of our favourite paths, changed and eerie in the stillness.
Home to a big pot of Earl Grey for me and some biscuits for a slightly tired dog. I have paintings in my head and colours for my wool.  I want to spin some woodland magic this week.

Thursday, 3 December 2015


The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

By Wendell Berry