yarn and blackberries

and the old familiar brand new

There is nothing like a little cool(ish) weather in the middle of summer to bring a gal’s mind back to basics:

making yarn and gathering food.

Actually, it was still super hot when I went haring off to pick blackberries. But my friends who live on the river said the berries were perfect, would not last long— and it was 107F at their house that day so I’d better come early.

What could I do but gather my gear and hit the road?

And oh my goodness were they right. The berries practically fell off the canes into my picking pocket.¹

Also I hardly needed to think about rattlesnakes, barely got pricked by thorns, and had two and a half gallons in no time at all because they clear paths through the rampant vines on their place.

Oh the luxury of it all!

Still, I was glad to have started early for by the time I filled my last container the sun was blaring down, the wasps getting drunk on sun-fermented berry juice, and I was lamenting my layers and lack of a hat.

Happily we were right by the river (one of the reasons the berries are so good even in this super dry summer).

Beryl wasn’t that into wading—

—but in a brave moment her hind feet left dry ground and together we could be amazed, once again, by the hot-steep-cool-sweet-stingy-pokey-yummy-bitey-poison-beautiful-wildness of this place.

Actually I don’t think Beryl gave a hoot about the view or the berries. And since she didn’t see any snakes didn’t give them a thought. But snuffling around outside without a leash while I mostly stayed in one place (easy to keep track of as long as I didn’t go far out into the terrifying river), seemed to suit her just fine.

Just as berry gathering suits me.

Not a thing I grew up doing, I nevertheless took to collecting and preserving food almost instantly when presented with my first laden serviceberry bush in my late teens. And my inner young Sarah still approves madly of gathering and storing food of any sort.

Indeed she of the braids, boots and buckskin bra takes any opportunity she can to remind me of all the work she does—did—whatever—² and vocally wonders why I don’t do more of it now.

Times change, I say. I have electricity. And a freezer. Plus—comics to draw, words to write —and a lot of things to do with yarn.

Do I protest too much? Perhaps. This part of me has always been a touch skeptical of my artist life. And envious too.

Sometimes I need to remind her that it was she who took the time out from her mad canning to learn to spin, her choice, again and again, to step off an obviously promising path to follow the yarn.

And I approve madly of that!

For here I am, right now, enthralled as ever and totally ready (the moment we got a brief unexpected temperature reprieve —yay sweaters —if only for a few days),³ to twirl up the last of the dark grey Cormo, pull out the targhee/Debouillet fleece I got at the same time⁴ —

—and start teasing locks.

Astonishing, really — the pleasure of doing the same things again and again.

To be quietly thrilled by fiber for decades feels like I’m getting away with something secret—almost subversive. Illicit.

And perhaps I am.

And why not? To be simultaneously delighted, contented, calmed and enlivened by the act of filling yet another basket with teased fleece—the same fleece I’ve been working with for three years which itself is one of an uncountable number of fleeces in the last four decades, all in the midst of a culture that endlessly promotes the new—is fine with me.

Of course looked at another way I’m perfectly culturally appropriate because every fleece is new. Every skein of yarn embodies the unknown; what might it become?

And there’s only one way to find out.

It’s a bit like books and stories—even ones I’ve read before. Ever familiar, ever fresh. Add the newly re-discovered youthful pleasure of reading while walking and worlds open up.

Indeed, this illicit pleasure means Beryl and I now go more miles than I’d ever think possible every day.⁵ We don’t move fast, but who wants to when it is hot? And of course when we’re meandering barefoot around the giant off-leash field meeting people we didn’t know before (canine, human, real and imaginary), we can each move at our own pace. And learning to move at one’s own pace is a fine thing too.

Not that newish/rediscovered things aren’t sometimes terrifying. Fresh stumps for instance. Or starting The Gusset last March.⁶ Or playing tunes in my house with five people I didn’t know a few months ago.

But after the initial awkwardness, all is well. Indeed, all is compelling and interesting. Soon we find we have new beaver paths to explore or tunes in common—and want to learn the ones we didn’t know before. (After hearing The Wise Maid the other night, I’m now trying to get it into my fingers. It’s an excellent English Concertina tune and I think I dreamed about it all last night).

It’s amazing, really, how many lovely things, both familiar and fresh, have made their way into my life this summer.

Beryl, not least.

How lucky am I?

ps. And speaking of doing brave new things—how about a live broadcast on YouTube! Crazy I know, but Rebecca Mezoff and I will be getting together to chat about four selvedge warping, our yarn centric lives— and of course our dogs— live on YouTube on Thursday, September 7th at 11am MT (Rebecca), 10 PT (me), and everyone is welcome whatever your time zone. The live stream will be HERE so set a notification for yourself if you have a YouTube account and if you don't, just make sure to add it to your calendar. There will be a valuable bonus opportunity if you stay to the end of the live stream! If you're not familiar with Rebecca and her work in tapestry, do check out her treasure trove of a website and blog. And if you’re an instagram person, you can meet her two newly adopted dogs — a pair of long-haired dachshunds, adult and puppy, who will melt your hearts.

Remember to comment with the button above rather than by hitting reply for if you choose the latter I won’t see your lovely words. Thanks.

1. A reference to this post in which I talk about mending a giant hole in the pocket. Heaven forbid I should have to come up with a new system mid season!

2. You can tell from my hair length that I actually drew these two comics a while ago. They are part of an unfinished project that has been languishing for several years now but which, now and again, I wonder if I might revisit.

3. Funnily enough, today I am wearing the same sweater I’m wearing in that comic— a top down boat neck made with the tail ends of various skeins, though most of the body is an indigo dyed grey cormo from a sheep named Panda. Just in case that matters. I guess a hand spun shirt/sweater is ever in style in my world.

4. I included an image of these thrilling scraps of pape to praise the wonders of Kookaburra Wool Scour, for even three plus years after washing the locks, both fleeces are soft, fluffy and ready to process. I wrote about my Scouring Process HERE. As you can see, that post is from 2017, but the procedure is the same and the fleece, also a Targhee/Debouillet from the Ortmann’s, is very similar.

ALSO— this is not an ad and I am in no way affiliated with the Kookaburra scour people. I just love the stuff.

5. Beryl and I often walk from little free library to little free library seeking walking-friendly books. As with reading while spinning, largish print is best—but so is a small light paperback and the two don’t always go together. I’ve recently notice that my favorites (lightweight if small print), are brown-at-the-edges slightly decrepit looking paperbacks published (or at least printed) in the 1970s—though many of my faves have copyright dates long before that. I’m a huge fan of the midcentury middlebrow. (you can look up more about the midcentury middlebrow on google, but somehow I stumbled on this paper about the Persephone Press, and it made me happy. So here it is!

6.