Locks Are...

Inquiring minds want to know about the locks I bought, what I'm going to do with them, and why they're not called yarn.  Well, this is where mohair comes from, kid mohair, these are the shearings from goats that grow the fiber that mohair is made from.  A few years ago fiber producers (goat ranchers?) started selling locks for people to spin on their own but knitters bought them and began incorporating them into their knitting as is.  That's what I plan to do with what I bought, and why they're not called yarn.  They're pre-yarn.

A couple years ago I bought a skein of handspun from Goat Hill Farm in Brussels and a couple ounces of coordinating, undyed locks, then I found a shawl pattern to knit with the yarn and started just knitting in a lock every once in a while.  I liked the way it looked but wasn't sure I'd have enough for the whole shawl.  That's why I called to find out if she'd have more at last weekend's market and (mostly) why I drove up on Saturday to meet her and buy what she had.  Now I have plenty to finish my shawl.

The dyed locks I bought on Saturday are for a secret (shh!) project, so far, so you'll just have to be patient, although I did give one green lock to a lady making hand-made paper at the market.  She took it apart into individual fibers and embedded it in a sheet with leaves and pine needles.  It looked pretty cool.  But I don't need another hobby.  No, I don't.  That's also why I resisted buying either of the looms in my price range that were for sale at the market.  No more hobbies.  *nods firmly*

I knitted a bit on the Anzac Poppy dishcloth at knitting the other night because I was so frustrated that the Red Marl collar was a bust and I knitted a bit on that Jane's Locks shawl yesterday while icing my ankle.  I think I'll take the Red Marl sweater parts to work today and sew them all together so that the only remaining part to finish is the collar.  That way it'll be all done except for the collar while I'm working out in my head how I'm going to do that so it doesn't look like the dog's dinner. 

May 18--Jack McConnell, Choosing Good Health.  Feeling like Eve in the Garden of Eden had long passed for Rebecca.  She had come to the orchard with her friend and neighbor, Maggie, to pick some apples to make applesauce to put up for winter.  It had started as a sunny, crisp autumn day but the wind had risen to blow out of the north and clouds had rolled in to blot out the warming rays of the sun.  She moved her ladder to the next tree and said, "This is the last one.  I'm getting cold, aren't you?"  Maggie just grunted as she carefully put a double-handful of apples into her bucket.  Rebecca climbed up the ladder and reached for an apple only to find herself face to face with a man hanging upside down from a higher branch, his mouth stuffed with an apple.  She screamed, and it took a while for her to stop screaming.

Well, that's a nice, grisly way to start the week.  I have some tanks to drop off for service so I'd better saddle up and giddy-up outta here.  Talk to you tomorrow.
--Barbara