It’s been two years since my last post, not for lack of words, but time. Looking in my draft folder, I find I have almost a dozen posts in various stages of completeness. A friend urged me: “Just publish them, even without photos!” So here is my first post without photos. I’ll try to find time down the line to add them in…
This post was mostly written six years ago:
Eight years ago, when I learned how to spin on a drop spindle, I was very sure it was adequate for my needs, and I did not ask anyone in my spinning group to let me try out their spinning wheel. What would be the point, if I never needed a wheel?
So, when I realised the error of my ways (within a couple months!), my first time trying out a spinning wheel at a store was also my first time sitting at a wheel. That wheel was a Louet Victoria, and I learnt enough, an hour later, (learning to spin on my own, as the store kindly left me to my own devices), to determine that the Victoria was too small and expensive for my needs.
At another store, I tried out a Lendrum DT, and thought it spun very well; after having cut my teeth on the Victoria, it was too easy, and… shouldn’t there be more pain and learning curve to this learning process?! The saleswoman at that store mentioned the existence of walnut Lendrums, in the “they’re not available, to anyone” tone of voice, sniff sniff. I have no idea why she brought up the subject, as I had never paid attention to Lendrum wheels, any sort of Lendrum, prior to that day, and certainly didn’t know enough to ask. I didn’t purchase a wheel that day, because Lendrums were backordered with a wait-time of up to a year. But, to be honest, the price of a new wheel was also too far beyond my thinking as to what I wanted to spend.
I began to pay attention to advertisements for second-hand wheels, and my first was the trusty Ashford Traditional. After a month-long flirtation with the Traddie, I found, purely by luck, a walnut anniversary Lendrum DT in an essentially unused, new condition!
The Traddie was fun, but wasn’t fun to tote around in the car, to spinning meets. It had come with only the basic ratios, so I had to decide if wanted to spend the extra money to upgrade the Traddie, or put that money into a more modern wheel. I sold the Traddie, due to lack of space. (I have to laugh now, as I look around at the looms eating up every available inch of room!) The Lendrum was easier to go out with, and life was grand. Why did people need more than one wheel, anyway?!
A few months later, I met some new spinners at a fibre day at a wool-processing mill — and saw another walnut Lendrum! I asked the owner how long she had had hers (I don’t know why I assumed she had acquired hers second-hand, as I did), she looked to at the golden plaque (found on the front of all walnut anniversary Lendrums) and told me, “since they came out in 2001”. (By the way, I wasted ten minutes searching the internet to come up with that year, before padding the few paces down the hallway to check out my own!) I was aghast. Her walnut was faded, dented, and generally looking like an aged beauty whose best days were clearly in the past, nothing like the deep, glossy shine of my own. Is that what happens to a walnut Lendrum that goes everywhere? When it rained at the end of a spinning workshop I took, taught by Judith MacKenzie-McCuin (JMM), she helped me put a plastic cover over the top of my wheel, which stuck out a few inches from my makeshift spinning-wheel bag (a canvas artist’s box-easel backpack). When JMM said, “you need to be extra careful with walnut in the rain; any water drops that get on it will leave spots on the wood,” the days of leaving the house with my Lendrum became numbered.
I thought I could muddle through by getting a proper carrying bag for it. But I couldn’t stomach the expense of a new bag (used bags were simply not available!), which wouldn’t cost me less than $100, but probably closer to $150. But even for that price, I couldn’t find a trim and tailored bag that met all my requirements. My easel-box bag was both those things, except for the two inches of wheel it failed to cover, and except when it rained. (Ha! I live in the drizzly Pacific Northwest.) I would make my own bag, I thought. I’m not proficient at sewing anything but straight lines, but I thought I could do it. After spending many hours designing the bag, I psyched myself out at the prospect of sewing curves, and couldn’t bring myself to make the first cut into the the fabric I acquired for the project.
It also became apparent to me that, at close to fourteen pounds (more, with accessories), the Lendrum pushes the limit of easy portability, although its bulk, rather than weight, is the greater encumbrance. I needed a smaller wheel. But, not just any smaller wheel. I also needed high ratios, because anything slower than 20:1 means I wouldn’t enjoy spinning long-draw. There’s a charming, ultra-portable wheel called the Pocket Wheel, but it maxes out at a low 13:1 — a starting point ratio for me.
Then in 2009 February, a solution presented itself to me in the form of a Louet S45. The previous owner bought it new, but had barely used it. It took me a couple of months to tweak it by replacing the two ball-bearings on the flyer and a crosspiece with two spring-mounted bearing balls (used as a lazy kate to mount bobbins); but it soon spun perfectly. It’s a little dynamo, and an engineering marvel, with the only drawback of maxing out at a ratio of 20:1.
The S45 flyer assembly with thread guides is simply genius. After I grew accustomed to using the delta flyer, I truly appreciated the ease of threading the flyer.
A ball bearing on either side holds the bobbin in place for plying. I talked to Louet, and they said the inner measurement of the bobbin was engineered to be 1mm smaller on one side, specifically so that the bobbin would stay in place. Amazing craftsmanship!
For a travelling bag, I found a collapsible, soft-sided food cooler with rolling cart from Costco for $20. The S45 is squat and pyramidal, and does not require any extra time to set up. I find it very useful at home, as I can easily tote it to any spot where I want to spin. The Lendrum is parked in its little nook, too unwieldy to move about in my crowded house, but always ready when I want to use the VFF.
The Lendrum’s Very Fast Flyer (VFF) includes a respectable 44:1 ratio, but in general I’m afraid to treat myself to using it. Recently, I spent several hours spinning laceweight singles with the VFF, but afterwards couldn’t get my S45 to work properly spinning something similar; I thought it was somehow broken. Investigation showed that I had mistakenly set the Lendrum’s VFF at 44:1 rather than 26:1; and the S45’s upper limit of 20:1 just couldn’t compete. It took a bit of retraining, spinning lots of thick singles, for me to be happy with the slower wheel again. Spinning frequently on the Louet S45, I discovered what well-built, rock-solid construction it has.
The S45 in a rolling cooler bag was supposed to set me free, but I had problems when I towed it over three blocks of clean city sidewalks. I pulled my back out of alignment, and it took a visit to my doctor to straighten that out. When I found that the S45 was no longer being manufactured, I felt again the same angst of owning another wheel that could not be easily replaced. And again, (being completely neurotic), I could not enjoy bringing it out to spin in public where it might be assaulted by an unlucky event (a raindrop, sticky fingers, a harsh glance…).
What does this have to do with camping? Sometime during the days before having a child, I made a somewhat vague, if rash, promise to go camping if we had a son, on the premise that it is supposedly a rite of passage into manhood. (Now that I think of it, I don’t think it was actually a promise, more a capitulation under duress…) Our son has now lived eleven years without having undergone that dreaded ritual (although I did agree to backyard camping this summer, and have suffered through three summers of cub scout day camp), and the noose is closing about my neck. Let me clarify this by stating that I am a city person and homebody, and my idea of camping would be staying at almost any other place than home. To make matters worse, I think I may have also agreed to something about fishing. Frankly, I don’t see the point. There’s so much else I want to do, and, having a child (definition: force of nature into which all time and energies gravitate), so little time. There’s simply not enough time for me to sit at a lake in the middle of nowhere, dangling a sacrificial worm impaled on a hook tied to a line attached to a stick on the off-chance that some hapless fish might laugh so hard at the setup that he’ll decide to commit suicide. I don’t even like to eat fish, and besides, there are these things called supermarkets… And don’t get me started on flying and biting insects. I seem to broadcast “bug bait” from every pore.
Before you think I’ve gone loopy with this digression, I am actually trying to get somewhere. In my family, I am the one who is relied upon to assemble or install anything, from toys to bicycles and software. We have a GPS on loan to us from a friend; while it would be wonderful for my husband to use it to find his way home on his own (I rarely get lost, and don’t really need it), it would require his actually exerting himself to turn it on and input an address. Here’s a true story: Once, I fell asleep on a subway ride from New York City to the airport. I woke when I heard the announcement that we were nearing the end of the line, at Rockaway. I was astonished that we were at the farthest point away from our destination, having boarded the train going the wrong direction, and that it would take more than an extra hour to backtrack and reach the airport. My husband had such belief in my navigational ability, he never questioned our route, even though we were sitting directly across from a subway map! Another true story: After living in Seattle for several years, and having in that time had occasion to travel both north to Canada and south to Portland numerous times (it’s different directions on the same highway), I once fell asleep right after leaving our house, and again awoke to find that my husband had been blissfully driving to Portland when our destination was Canada! Try as I might, I have not been able to dispell the myth pervading our family that my presence would be needed to provide shelter (set up a tent), sustenance (find the ignition switch on the campstove), and navigate our way home from camp (follow the exit signs from the parking lot). My attempts to negotiate a loophole or moratorium to this impending camping/fishing nightmare has only resulted in the concession that a portable spinning wheel might well smooth the way toward my not being completely unbearable company during such an outing.
The S45, being slightly chunky, as well as difficult to replace, loses it status as a portable wheel that wouldn’t make me more neurotic from protecting its pristine excellence. So, in 2010, I was forced!, to order another spinning wheel, a Louet Victoria, and I had to order it brand-new. Brand-new prices are simply unbelievable (again, I was forced!), with steep depreciation for resale, while used-wheel prices keep their value very well. Because I wanted the oak rather than beech model, I had to wait a month after ordering it to receive it. Just before ordering it, I came across a little-used, oak Victoria with high-speed kit for a decent price, but because Vics that were made more recently have some improvements that models older than eight years do not have, DH insisted on the purchase of a new one to forestall any renegotiations on my part.
The last Vic I saw in person, made of beech, was the one I first tried one out at a store, years ago. Since receiving my own oak Vic, I am surprised to see so much variation in appearance from one oak wheel to the next; due, I suppose, to its its oak veneer over MDF (medium density fibreboard) construction. I’ve seen other oak Vics which I did not consider beautiful (again, the chance of veneer), although I am happy to say I love mine. I wonder if the beech Vics also have as much variance.
The Vic is small, and has the awesome mechanical construction I’ve come to expect in a Louet. It’s top ratio of 20:1 is similar to the the S45, although the S45 is a more stable and solid spinner. At ten pounds, it’s still not as lightweight as I’d like, but there are no other (non-electrical!) options available that would be an improvement. I have taken the Victoria with me as carry-on baggage on an international trip, and found it travelled beautifully, albeit still a bit heavily. I’m happy to say it went through Seattle-Tacoma TSA security with flying colours. The two TSA agents examining the x-ray took their time, and one asked me, as if to settle a bet, “Is it a spinning wheel?” I was relieved not to have to take the wheel out to prove it!
As the third wheel in my house, I keep the Vic always in its carrying case, so I can grab it and run out the door at a moment’s notice. How lazy is that?! It’s a great portable wheel, although I don’t think it’s the perfect wheel for camping.
With ever-more affordability of battery choices, it seems that a small electric spinner might be the most portable route, but I don’t think I can push my luck. Especially since I’ve recently rediscovered how much fun spinning on a drop spindle is. There is such a Zen to spinning, and I’ve been enjoying it even at the drop spindle’s leisurely and rustic pace. Which is more than I can say for camping.
Sounds like a campaign slogan to me. Tax cuts for every citizen!
I was so ecstatic about purchasing my first bobbin winder earlier this May, I wanted to share about it with everyone. I didn’t have a blog until June, but it has been been on my mind to to post about since. Between wanting to write and finding time for it, I probably would not have gotten to it if not for recent discussions with fellow Ravelers on this very topic.
I purchased a used Harrisville Designs manual bobbin winder for a little more than what I would have paid for two spinning wheel bobbins. At the time, I had nary a notion of weaving; it was purely for spinning purposes. With apologies to all who are tired of hearing me talk about my Lendrum spinning wheel being a walnut anniversary edition; but that had much to do with my search for a bobbin winder. Regular Lendrum parts are in great demand; finding walnut parts being even more challenging. Because I had only four bobbins at the time, I was not able to create a four-ply yarn. (For non-spinners: you need a bobbin for each ply, plus an extra to take up the plies.)
Judith MacKenzie-McCuin told me that she felt a spinner should have no fewer than thirty bobbins for spinning, but with bobbin prices the way they are (Lendrum bobbins are currently about $17, while Schacht bobbins are about $36), it makes sense to have a bobbin winder and inexpensive storage bobbin spools instead.
Oh no, I’m forgetting — my bobbin winder pre-dates my taking her class. (Sorry, I’ve lost many, many brain cells from the sleep deprivation I suffered during my son’s infancy.) So much of what that riveting, soft-spoken woman has said has been repeated by those fortunate to have been in her presence, that my own memories of her words have reverently increased in stature. I remember rightly now: It was “The Alden Amos Big Book Of Handspinning” that first prompted me to look for a bobbin winder.
Closeup of the metal rod that is split to grip a bobbin in place:
Once I started using the bobbin winder, my yarn improved dramatically. This is because, when you wind onto a storage bobbin over a long distance (six feet or more), you even out the twist in the yarn. Singles that have been re-wound onto storage bobbins before plying create a much more consistently plied yarn. I eliminated many problems of breakage and overtwist by using the bobbin winder. Even re-winding a plied yarn over a distance to a storage bobbin can re-distribute and even out more twist to improve the quality of the ply. You can also re-wind a yarn with the intention to add or subtract twist, depending on the direction of winding and other variables like unwinding the yarn from side or end. In these cases, I am referring to yarn that has not had its twist stabilised by heat and washing, but re-winding affects the twist of stabilised yarns as well.
Now, everything I spin is wound off onto a storage bobbin, whether it will be plied or not. The bobbin winder makes that much of a difference.
I found this very old electric bobbin winder at a yard sale earlier this summer:
I have not used this winder much, since it is much faster than I’m used to. In one of her books, Peggy Osterkamp recommends rigging an electric winder with a dimmer switch for more speed control. Just another of the many items on my to-do list!
I chose to invest in Leclerc storage bobbins because they were the least expensive, most readily available, and came in three sizes.
The small bobbins cost under a dollar, and hold perhaps half an ounce of singles, while the longer bobbins (about fifty cents more) may hold up to two ounces. These two bobbin sizes are used by weavers in boat shuttles to carry the weft.
The largest bobbins cost about three dollars each, and can hold at least six ounces of wool. These spools are used by weavers to wind off yarn for sectional warping.
I didn’t realise until taking the picture how very close in size the Leclerc spool is to a Lendrum bobbin.
Another benefit of the Leclerc polystyrene bobbins is that they are heat-resistant. I have not yet, but there may come a time when I will want to heat-set (steam or boil) yarn singles wound on them.
I also purchased a large lot of wooden pirn bobbins from eBay, for what amounted to about twenty-five cents apiece. They are just so pretty to look at!
Some of the brown wood pirns even contained some antique wool thread! It’s very instructional to see how a pirn should be properly and tightly wound. After I started weaving, I even found a shuttle that they will fit into, although the shuttle is quite heavy and bulky.
Before I had a bobbin winder, I was always reluctant to sample any new rovings. I had to have my bobbins available for plying, so I had to commit to spinning and plying all the singles in a project before I could play with anything new. Now, being rich in storage bobbins, I may even try out something crazy, like an eight-ply! And I have the freedom to spin up something new, at any time I wish. I know I won’t waste any yarn, as it will tucked safely away on a storage bobbin. (Finding it later will prove the challenge, and I’ve learned long after the fact how important it is to label the wool!)
I found a safe place to store away the two (!) sets of bongo drums that sat, untouched, atop my bookcases for more than two years. They were purchased at a time when I was convinced my son would be a percussionist, we’d be the world’s first mother-son team… Bringing the drums home put paid to that notion! (I’m not insane, I’m a first-time mother; and no, I haven’t learned how to play them, yet.) Now this space is dedicated as a permanent home for my winding equipment. Before having this setup, I was always looking for a place and a free chair to attach my bobbin winder to. It’s amazing how much time I save by not having to locate it, dig it out, affix it somewhere, then take it down and re-store it, over and over again. I had not realised the vexation that it was until I experienced the lack thereof. And, so delightful, the experience of the uninterrupted rhythm of creativity.
Earlier this week, I finally received a walnut bobbin for my wheel from an order I placed eight months ago. I had ordered three extra bobbins; four arrived, but in the end I chose to purchase only one. I’m very happy with my final total of five Lendrum bobbins — the number chosen as what I think is the most I’ll ever need for a workshop (to create a four-ply yarn). If I were only spinning at home, with my handy bobbin winder, just one bobbin would suffice.
And, yes, when I first got my bobbin winder, I did have the fleeting thought: “Perhaps this may be useful in the event I ever decide to weave…” Who knew the mischief that would ensue?
ETA 23 January 2010: see this post for an ultra-portable bobbin winder.
Look what came in the mail!
No, it’s not the walnut Fast Flyer I’ve been waiting for since FEBRUARY, a special order placed for me by my LYS. (Yes, I still plan getting it when it finally arrives.) It’s a …(drumroll please)… Very Fast Flyer!
As I’m still commited to purchasing the Fast Flyer, I broke down and decided to order this even faster Lendrum Very Fast Flyer (in the walnut anniversary edition) from someplace online on a Monday, and received it, three days later. I didn’t order one of these before because of the prohibitive expense; it’s costly because it comes with an entire new mother-of-all and maiden assembly, with several specialised machined metal parts designed for yarn stability. The Very Fast Flyer was designed for very fine, thread-like yarn; and is not suitable for medium or larger thicknesses.
Closeup of the orifice:
Whoo Hoo! Such sssssssssspeed! Thus far, I’ve only used the slowest ratio of 26:1, which is 2.6 times faster than the fastest ratio on my standard flyer (10:1). I don’t know if I’m naturally a fast (some have said manic) treadler, or if I became that way to compensate for the slowness of the standard flyer. But, I am having difficulty slowing my treaddling so I do not continually snap the thread apart. Before, the standard flyer was too slow for my drafting. Now, I need to increase my drafting speed just to keep up with the slowest ratio on this new flyer; I haven’t even tried any of the faster ratios yet. I suppose I’ll eventually get to the point where I can spin without snapping the yarn every five minutes. In the meantime, it’s very tedious to thread this this flyer, as all the points in the yarn path are teeny, teeny, tiny. Look how tiny and flexible the new threading hook is! The original threading hook is shown (top , shorter hook) as well; the crook of the new hook is so small, it’s nearly invisible. I’m a tad disappointed that the new mother-of-all does not have an opening to store the new threading hook as did the original. It is annoying to always be searching for where I last set it down.
And notice how small the bobbin capacity is! Unless spinning a sewing thread’s thickness, this will fill up quickly. (The larger core aids in yarn stability.) I have only the one bobbin at this time, so my new bobbin-winder will come in handy!
Lucky for me that I decided to blog about this, since when taking pictures, I discovered a crack in the wood surrounding the orifice:
If not for the picture taking, I may never have noticed the flaw until too much time had passed. I’ve contacted the store that sold it to me, and Mr. Lendrum will make me a replacement. Until then, I have the use of this unit.
I have not put in any quality spinning time this past month because I was so bothered by the lack of speed; so I’m looking forward to spinning ramie (shown in the pics) to make loom tie-up cording soon.
Go, Speed Racer — Go, Speed Racer — Go, Go, Go!!!
I was never interested in knitting. I have done the scarf thing long ago in junior high, but that was it. I’m not sure the scarf was ever finished.
One day at a playgroup (my son was about 18 months old, circa 2005), another mother was knitting a raglan sweater on circulars. I was so intrigued: the pattern was top down, with no piecework required, and by using circulars, there was no back and forth with the whole heavy sweater on one needle or the other; but most of all, the elegance, the symmetry of the design! I ran out to Michael’s and purchased exactly the same yarn and needles, and started the same pattern that very afternoon. I wish I could say the rest was history, but unfortunately, the next two years were tough going. I was so busy with baby that I couldn’t get any time away for a knitting group, let alone a class. Plus, in general I’m against spending money on classes, since that takes away from my limited fibre or equipment budget, and I like figuring things out on my own. I had so much problem with that pattern! There was a trick of starting the neck by leaving the loop open until later, when you add more stitches for a dropped front so the opening can be pulled over the head, but the directions were so difficult to understand. In fact, I didn’t understand them until nearly two years later, when a friend saw me struggling and gave me a copy of the same pattern, written up by someone else. Light bulb on! Before my revised pattern, I had started the sweater at least five separate times, finishing one that could fit only a teddy bear. (After the new pattern, it still took two tries to get it right, because I changed the yarn and was too impatient to gauge swatch the new yarn.)
Things progressed very quickly after that. I saw another mother at a different playgroup knitting little animals on tiny, tiny needles. I was charmed. And because of her, I purchased both Knitpicks options and harmony needle sets. Then I e-mailed my saga to a good friend of mine who had moved away to Montana. When I saw her start knitting many years ago, I inwardly laughed, thinking the knitting bug would never catch me. Well, she had the last laugh. And she told me that because she missed her knitting group so much, she didn’t knit as much as before, so I would be the beneficiary of many, many boxes of her knitting stash (all natural fibres) and needles. Thousands of dollars worth. Before that, I did not have any yarn besides what I had purchased for that still not completed raglan sweater, although I had already decided that would be the last time I knit acrylic. I went from several skeins of acrylic to an instant serious stash mountain. But the nicest thing about receiving so many boxes of yarn from my friend is that I could get away with surreptitiously adding to it. (To my husband: “That? It’s one of the hundreds that R- sent me!”)
Oh, yes, the stash has grown. Even on my non-existent budget, although I cannot afford to buy anything full price. Fifty dollars for a new “educational” toy for my son? No problem! Five dollars for one skein yarn for myself? Unthinkable! I don’t frequent garage sales, but I happened on one where amazing yarns (all wools, mohair, cashmere) were being sold at ten cents on the dollar! Not only that, it was a serious stash, with every yarn being sold in lots of 10 skeins or more of the same dye lot. I spent eighty dollars, but the woman gave me more, and I left with more than a thousand dollars’ worth of yarn.
My son (he will be four in a week!) has told me: “Mama, when I grow up, I will buy yarn for you.”
So, I finally finished the raglan sweater, then knit a pair a socks over the 2007 Christmas holiday. (The sweater is too big for my son, but luckily, he likes it, and pretends that it is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s costume. He’ll grow into it.) That’s all I’ve knitted to date. Because as much as I love knitting, it’s nothing compared to what I feel about spinning.
Every October, the Seattle Weavers’ Guild holds a sale of items produced by members. I found out about it well over 10 years ago, and having not gone for more than 5 years, decided to last October (2007). I’ve always known that I would one day take up spinning, although I knew nothing of the craft. (This is a recurrent theme in my life!) When I saw one lonely drop spindle left on a table, I knew it was time. That drop spindle came home with me, much to my husband’s future financial woes.
This time, I found a local spinning guild, and with much guilt (at first, anyway), began attending the weekly spin-ins. My drop spindle was a bottom-whorl, and I had soon created my own top-whorl spindle out of a CD. I was so happy with it, I thought I would never need a spinning wheel, so I told the others in my group. I learned to Navajo 3-ply on the drop spindle, doing a Navajo 4-ply (from an article from the Bellwether’s blog) on the drop spindle was beyond me. I knew I had to have a wheel.
2008 February, I purchased my first wheel, an Ashford Traditional. (Raise your hands, all of you who had that as your first wheel!) Prior to that, I had no experience spinning on a wheel. I got it because of good karma. I was being very good: when my husband offered to take Valentines Day off to drive me to the Madrona Fibre Festival being held, I turned him down because I “needed to save money for a spinning wheel”. The following Monday was Presidents’ Day, and I snagged the Traditional deal from CraigsList. It was a brand-new, still in the box wheel (they come unfinished and un-assembled) — that had been stored in the garage for something like twenty years. I brought it home and started the finishing that evening. A few days later, my wheel was assembled, and I was spinning.
I loved that wheel! But because of posture, I felt I needed to find a double-treadle wheel. Also, I wanted a wheel that wasn’t so bulky when I took it along to spinning meets. Then my current fell into my lap in 2008 March. It is a Lendrum DT folding wheel, in the lovely walnut anniversary edition. The woman I purchased it from bought it new in 2001, took a spinning class with it, then never used it again. It had been used for less than 10 hours. The wheel was always stored indoors, on display, so it was in new, perfect condition. Some of the bobbins on the lazy kate were still contained in original wrappers, and the wheel had never even been folded down (the woman didn’t know how). My Lendrum fits perfectly in the tiny nook between my sewing table and the dining table, whereas I was always having to move the Traditional in or out of place. I had thought I would keep both wheels, especially since the Traditional had such a nice wheel weight and momentum, but after a month of no use, I decided that it was time to let the it go to someone who would. Good thing I never named it. (Hmmm, my Lendrum also has no name. I wonder what that means?)
Recently, I began thinking of a loom. I don’t know why. It wasn’t on my “always thought I would” list. Also, I should point out that I have no room for a loom. I barely have room for my portable spinning wheel. However, I try not to let that sort of thinking stop me.
Anyway, I didn’t do much (any) research. I made several half-hearted attempts to acquire a loom. None made it past the inquiry stage, because none of them felt right. A week ago, I began to think I should get a floor loom, with at least 10 treddles and 8 shafts. And then my loom found me.
I went to see the loom this past Friday (Friday the 13th, 2008 June!), and at first all I saw was a pile of dusty, spider-web encrusted old (and in some places splintering) wood. I helped the seller clean off most of the spider-webs, and the loom began emerging. I don’t know what the magic was, but after spending an hour with it piecing it together, (the seller meant to, but never used it herself so she didn’t know how it worked; it had been stored over 30 years in her garage), I got the sense of a very solid and beautifully engineered loom which (by it’s worn appearance) had woven many things and is waiting to weave again. It seemed to me that everything was there, and knowing nothing about looms, my gut instinct was that everything would become intact and functioning, even though it was in pieces. I could feel this was a special loom with character. I had heard about Bergman looms for the first time just earlier this week, since becoming aware of the Nordic Heritage Museum in Ballard and making plans to visit it soon. As I unfolded the loom, I got a sense of a connection to Margaret Bergman — and I believe this may have been a loom she used to teach on. I would be proud to have a share in that long history. I told the seller I didn’t know why I loved it, but I would be back to pick it up the next day.
Friday night, I e-mailed a spinning friend, who asked me what type of loom it was (jack, counterbalance, or countermarche). Some research found a blog by someone else who recently purchased a Bergman loom, and it was a countermarche. What a relief! If I had a choice, based on what was learning, I would choose countermarche. Am I lucky or what!
I had to worry about how to bring the the loom home. Our truck is so old, it no longer needs emission tests, and it had not been used in more than four years, since before my son was born. (We used it for trucking yard waste to the transfer station, but we’re not very fond of gardening.) When I told my husband we would be picking up a loom, he had doubts, and tried to tell me we might have to rent one instead. Happily, everything has worked out. (It ended up taking the truck AND my car to bring everything home.)
So, my loom, the first loom I’ve looked at, is home. I spent a few hours cleaning it off yesterday, and she told me her name is Beauty. I have to clean up my house and make room for it, so she is waiting patiently to come inside and start weaving.
So for any uninitiated out there, let me tell what Judith MacKenzie, teacher extraordinaire, told me last week: “After you start knitting, it’s a slippery slope downhill from there.” For the others of you already in the know, I’m very happy to be joining your ranks.