Yarn in my Pocket

65) How does your garden grow?

Wow.  OK, this was always intended to be a before-and-after post, but the photographic evidence has shocked even me.  Back in March, I took this photo of my intended vegetable plot:

before

This morning, I took this one, from roughly the same vantage point:

after

Well, colour me impressed.  And, apparently, green.  All those 15 minute intervals really do seem to add up.

I have peas, beans, crookneck and butternut squash, broccoli, cauliflower, swede, kohl rabi, salad greens, tomatoes...

Like Toni, I may have gone a bit nutso with the squash.  I blame this on the fact that for the last couple of years, I've tried to grow squash, and melons, in pots.  They've produced lots of powdery mildew, but no actual fruits.

This year, I have at least seven crookneck squash vines, and at least two butternut squashes.  Crooknecks are, apparently, similar to courgettes (zucchini), in that they are soft-skinned summer squash, but taste nicer, and (importantly for feeding them to J) are not courgettes.  Anything's worth a try.

Anyway, they're going totally crazy, escaping the raised beds and attempting to grab the hounds as they walk past:

Kita has a lucky escape.

Those beds are two metres long and one metre wide, so you can imagine how big the leaves are.  Also, if you click on the photo for the larger version (and can tear your eyes away from the menacing squash vines), you can see many, many yellow pea pods on the first two pyramids.  (The other pyramid houses beans).  These are a golden mange-tout variety, so we'll be harvesting from those Real Soon Now.

The tomatoes are also going to need an intervention this weekend.  I put nine plants in a 1x1 bed, on the premise that three grow bags fit the space nicely, and each grow bag can hold three plants.  That might be true for vine tomatoes, but these are all bush varieties, and are now barely constrained by the bird netting:

the tomato corral, viewed past the giant peas.  and more squash.

I do love my garden.

64) Re-entry

This week has flown by; it has been busy, and tumultuous, and exciting in ways I really didn't expect.  The hounds were very happy to see me return from my very-long weekend; Kita was able to finally relax properly, instead of waiting for me on the front door mat:

My weekend away included a phone call, last Friday lunchtime, to offer me a new job.  A new *office* job, in the same field that I'm currently working in, but with more freedom, more responsibility, more creativity.  Fewer contracted hours, but possibly more time actually working - we'll see.

What this means, is, hopefully a more fulfilling day job, but also more focus on my day job.  Did I mention creativity and responsibility?  Whilst working for other people??  Scary.  I don't know whether I'll be able to keep freelancing for pattern writers; I will certainly keep dyeing.  It's also had my brain in a whirl, and this morning, I had the weirdest, almost vision-like epiphany-moment as I was driving to work.  It was so compelling, so worth my continued thought, that I even turned off my audio book so I could ponder it more directly.  (This is major.)

It is weird, definitely.  And rambly.  And definitely qualifies this post for the 'navel lint' category.  Anyone who comes here for the wool, the garden or the dog photos is perfectly free to click away now.  Anyone who wants a glimpse inside my brain is welcome to keep reading.

So.  I suddenly saw myself as a being who is waking up, such as after a long hibernation, or perhaps as one emerging from a chrysalis, which also includes a sense of transformation.  An especially lovely bit of this was a sense that the extra weight I'm still carrying (not loads, but some) can be seen as fuel for the rest of the transformation, just like a seed carries energy with it, or an egg.

The CFS that I've suffered for almost four years now has, in truth, felt like a hibernation at times; it has slowed me; changed my habits, my way of being, my thoughts, my metabolism.  I used to be such a morning person; now, I'm more like an early bee than an early bird.  You can get me out of bed early, but it takes me ages to get warmed up and off the ground!

But over time, too, I've cocooned myself in a whole bunch of beliefs and thoughts, some of which were and probably still are true, others are self-lies, or self-deception, others pure fantasy.  Somewhere in there, there's a childish belief that I'm going to somehow be whisked away to a glamorous existence where work is unnecessary, and that whatever I do to bring in a paycheck now is temporary.  There are all kinds of beliefs there; about my 'right' to have as many hobbies as I like, and an infinite amount of time to pursue them; about my 'duty' to be the best at (or at least very good at) everything, always (or no-one will love me); and there's a long, twisting thread of self-doubt, all knotted together with a rather strange perception of how others see me, and a belittling approach to my standing in the adult world.  As I write this, I'm seeing that thread particularly clearly; it is dark brownish-red, and shiny, and branched, with knotted lumps in it.  It's rather beautiful, actually; forming a strong, supportive net around and right through my chrysalis, but also restricting my growth, and threatening to cut into me like a too-small tie around a tree. It is holding in that collection of stale, papery beliefs.  And oddly, there is a marked contrast between the thread and the papers.  The papers seem to represent a high level of self-belief and arrogance, but in a child's world.  The thread holds them in, keeping me warm, safe and asleep, and stops me breaking into confidence in an adult world.  It's almost as if I'm waiting for someone to hand me a certificate stating that yes, I am now a grown-up, entitled to my opinions.

So this thread forms a structure for my chrysalis, my safe place, and now I'm seeing how restricting my safe place is. Some of those beliefs actually stop me from achieving happiness: one of them seems to be telling me that I've 'sold out' if I'm happy in a 9-to-5 job.  Although, you know, if I look deeper, I think that's really a well-disguised fear.  I'm scared that I'm not actually any good at that sort of job, and if I try hard, I'll just get my heart broken.  Wow, that's a strong phrase, eh?

Now that I've found my chrysalis, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to stay here, what do I do next?  No-one is going to hand me that certificate; I need to go and write it for myself.  No-one opens a chrysalis to let the butterfly out, either, or provides an alarm clock for hibernating bears.  I need to struggle a bit: stick my neck out, take risks, in order to break free and disassemble this chrysalis.  Some of those papers are precious, though.  What do I do with them?  Well, maybe I can make a scrapbook out of those precious pieces.  The rest of them... well, in real life, I recycle paper I no longer need, and I shred any pieces with dangerous information on them.  So maybe I need to find an equivalent way of dealing with these old 'psychological' papers.  As for that net, well, I did say that it looks strong and supportive.  I wonder if I can refashion it into something strong and comforting without being restricting?  A hammock, perhaps?

63) Not-ro

Posting in advance...  woooo!!!

As this arrives publically on the Interwebs, I will just about be arriving in Cockermouth, avec parents, to visit the utterly inimitable (though there have been attempts) Woolfest!

I had hoped, before I left, to finish the Noro-like spinning experiment.  Well...  I have spun one bobbin full of singles, and a second is on the wheel:

The singles are looking a lot like genuine Noro singles, too:

The biggest question in my mind is: how are the singles brought together to look so much like a single ply?  Normally, the two plies of a yarn do not merge into each other so well as they do in Noro Kureyon, which I think is the single biggest reason people have for failing to believe it's a two-ply.  It just *looks* so much like a single.  The ply angle on Kureyon is very shallow, so it is only lightly plied; I think the singles must be correspondingly lightly spun, but how that can be done without the wheel pulling them apart, I don't know.  It will be very interesting to see how my plied yarn stacks up.

62) Rewinding

One of my favourite parts of dyeing yarn is the bit where you get to re-wind the skeins.  Not only does it untangle all the strands so that they lie straight and smooth and sleek again, but it also breaks up any obvious patterns left by the dyeing process.

This is three skeins of 'Flow', in colour 'rosewood':

 

The two on the left have been rewound; the one on the right is still waiting.  The skein that hasn't been rewound still looks pretty awesome, but the final transformation into the finished skein is like magic, and it 'gets' me every time.

 

61) ...and I haven't even made it to Woolfest, yet!

After a fairly heinous mix-up last week re: holidays and work and other stuff, I'm grabbing a couple of days of holiday in the sunny North East, staying with my parents.  Who live conveniently within reach of Cockermouth, aka Woolfest.

Today, though, was Whitby and Staithes, where we witnessed the locals paddling:

and cycling:

Hmm.  Well, I suppose if it's good for horses, it's good for cyclists.  Maybe not so good for the bike itself, though.

Whitby is home to Bobbins, a very lovely yarn shop where I typically browse for an hour or so and then leave empty handed.  Today, though, I may have bought yarn:

Two skeins of Noro Silk Garden lite/sock, in beautiful soft, pale neutrals.  I'm not actually sure I can remember the last time I bought pretty yarn for myself, just because; I'm planning a lacy, garden party-style shrug with this little lot.

60) Labels!!

Yes, you've guessed it (at least, some of you).  I'm going to be selling my own hand-dyed yarn, in the very near future.  I'm incredibly excited to have my sticky little paws on the first batch of labels, right here:

I've been building up to this for a while.  I've been gradually, methodically, learning my dye craft for over a year.  I own a domain name, http://www.yarnscape.co.uk/, though currently it only points to my Etsy store, which is empty.  And all the time, I've been too shy to say anything.  Clearly, hiding behind a bush at the back of my garden, quietly whispering "sssh!  don't tell anyone, but i have some pretty yarn for sale..." isn't really going to work out in the long run.  The last thing I want to do is turn into one of those bloggers who only ever post to say, "Hey!  Shop update!", or "Hey! Sale!", but I really am, genuinely, very excited about this.

And I can't say how blown away I've been by the lovely comments I've been receiving on my sneak previews.  Thank you, everyone!

59) First fruits roots tubers

I noticed yesterday that some of the early potato tops are starting to die back.  After my first thoughts ("Oh noes!!  Not enough water!"), I remembered that they do this when ready, or at least nearly so.  So we dug up a couple of plants.

Spuds!!  Now, I know that this is hardly going to be knocking chunks off my grocery bill (I've thrown out more potatoes than this in one go, because they were sprouty/weird/wrinkled), and hell, this shouldn't be major news to me because I think Dad has grown his own potatoes every single year since I was born, and yeah, we definitely need to learn how not to stick the garden fork right into the biggest potatoes of the bunch, but, DUDES!!  These are potatoes!  From my garden!!!

I also happen to know that home-grown new potatoes are one of the tastiest things ever.  With mint.  And butter.  NOM!

ETA: That really isn't many potatoes; I have *tiny* hands, especially for someone who is 6ft tall.  That ring you can just see on my little finger?  It's a toe ring.  Yeah.

58) Quality time with the drumcarder

Sunday saw an unexpected lull in the crazy merry-go-round that has been my life over the last couple of months, so I spent much of the day lazing around and playing with wool

The dyed fleece from a last week made a whole bunch of fluffy batts, which co-ordinate very well with the lusciously flowering lavendar bushes.  The waste from the drum carder was incorporated into a final mixed batt, somewhat neppy and badly photographed:

But where's the pink, you ask??  Ah, yes, the pink:

It really is quite pink, isn't it?

You see, this is my first attempt at using Rod, Jane and Freddy to re-create a Noro-Kureyon style yarn, all of my own.  And it seems traditional - if not downright mandatory - to include a somewhat crazy colour in each skein - why not pink?

I have, actually, spun most of a bobbin full of loose, fluffy singles already, and have started on the second.  Kureyon, despite popular received wisdom, is actually a two ply yarn, so I'm weighing carefully, and hoping that my colours will line up when I come to ply the stuff.

57) Riverford, scalability, and balance

There has been a lot of discussion on Lesley's blog, recently, about good environmental practice, ethical practice, buying local, buying organic, and selling out.

Riverford organic boxes are one company that's been hotly debated.  They have garnered flak for selling out, for putting thousands of 'food miles' on the roads every year with their lorries, and even for having noisy and inconsiderate drivers.

On the other hand, they were introduced into the conversation because they were one commenter's best chance of getting fresh, organic produce in the middle of London.

As a Riverford customer, I read the discussion with interest, surprise, amusement and, at times, indignation.  I wouldn't say I'm a staunch advocate of Riverford, and they are definitely now a 'big business', but I honestly think they are doing a good job, right now, in the world as it is, right now.  And they are a really good example of the sort of business that will have to grow and flourish before ethical consumerism can become a mainstream choice instead of the niche preserve of the few.

Is it perfect?  No.
In our perfectionism, we get dangerously close to doing nothing at all.  Yes, ideally perhaps we should all live in small, self-sufficient communities where we can trade strawberries for fresh milk over the garden gate, but we don't.  And we can't.  England is not self sufficient  There are too many humans on the soil of this country for there to be enough soil remaining to feed them.

Is it better?  Yes.
Those that have the time and the inclination to grow (a significant amount of) their own produce are actually few and far between.  We only feel like we are many because we talk to our own kind.  We will always go out of our way to become informed, to do our bit, to go above and beyond.  Those that don't give a crap about where their food comes from so long as they can eat cheap chicken for dinner every day actually form the vast majority of this society.  We can't do much about them except wait for the trickle-down effect to permeate the way food is delivered to them, or perhaps hope to spark the occasional epiphany.  The people in the middle are the ones who are crying out for help.  There *are* a lot of them, and they care, but if you don't make it easy for them, they're not going to follow their instincts.  They probably work full time, have children, pets, a home to care for and you don't want to know what else (yes, you might do too.  Everyone organises their priorities differently, and that's the point I'm trying to make).  Their options are usually the local supermarket, the local farmer's market or farm shop, or a veg box.  I don't know about you, but my local supermarket flies its organic green beans in from South Africa, and its mange tout from Israel, and packages them in huge quantities of plastic, to boot.  My local farm shop (though it has an excellent, local butcher's shop attached) turned me off the first time I visited by presenting me with large, suspiciously shiny aubergines at knock-down prices.  In November.

We have become programmed to believe that a big business is necessarily bad.  That becoming a big business entails selling out.  That a big business is necessarily lying to us, and 'spinning' everything they tell us.  But a big business is probably the only type that the harried middle-people can find, and can trust to cater to them in the chaos of their daily merry-go-rounds.  And pretty much every business starts out small, and grows because people like what they do.  Even Starbucks.  Even MacDonalds.  And even Tesco.

I honestly believe that companies like Riverford do their best.  I know they never air freight.  But did you know that hothouse tomatoes in the off-season are just as bad, in terms of carbon emissions, as air-freighted?  So they have chosen to truck tomatoes up from northern Spain which, horrifying as it sounds, is less bad.  The trucks heading up the M5, distressing though they might be if they pass your front door, are less painful than the planes flying in from South Africa (and then the trucks heading out from whereever airport to the supermarkets).  They have pitched their business at the middle-people.  The ones who want to make a difference but who are, as yet, unwilling to accept that fresh tomatoes are actually only available, by nature, three months of the year.

Small changes add up.  They really do.  Maybe it is arrogance to believe we can change, or save the world, but an attitude of responsibility can't hurt, can it?

56) Produce

Sock yarn "Footsie", colour "Oakey"

Silk/wool laceweight "Flow", colour "Monet"

Kid laceweight, "Drift", colour "Stormy"

Wool/angora laceweight"Bunnylace",  colour "Berry"

Sock yarn "Footsie", colour "Daffodil"