Several weeks ago, a lovely lady decided that she needed to jettison a fair amount of her fiber and fiber-related tools to make room in her home and life so that she could pursue her desire to become a massage therapist. "Take it," she said. I felt like I should offer her something; however, since 1) my income is nearly nonexistent and 2) she truly wanted nothing for her treasures, I agreed to haul everything home in the dad-mobile.
Among the items was one I've wanted but had no hopes of ever having: a picker. This is a Pat Green picker, a fearsome and awesome tool that transforms clumps of fleece into clouds of fiber. It's not a tool for sissies or fools. You can do some serious damage both to body and wardrobe if you're not careful. I wound up with a small scratch and put a couple holes in a shirt before I figured out what I was doing. Safety, my dears, is the name of the game.
The fiber I was given is lovely Wensleydale, a longwool that's as shiny as can be and curly, too. It has no "kink," as does, say, merino. Still, it's soft and luminous, begging to be spun.
Picked and ready for dyeing. This batch is destined to become shades of purple, thanks again to my generous benefactor.
Dyed, picked, and carded. I'm good to go!
A friend of mine, whose father owns many, many alpacas, gave me a suri fleece. She did, because she knows that I'll actually spin it up and make something. She can't wait to see the result, and neither can I!
So, until next time, I'll be spinning up a storm, fighting deep-vein thrombosis (yes, it's a medical benefit of spinning), building lovely calf muscles, and soothing my psyche at my wheel.