Game on!

At the risk of Tempting Fate, I'm checking in.  Life has been all flavors of insane for the past four weeks, but despite all the chaos, uncertainty, anxiety, bodily illness, and day-long cry sessions, there does exist a silver lining.  I have some amazing friends.  (And one who has made some snarky/judge-y comments, but I'll cop to having contributed to my own discomfort.  Anyway ... )

In the next week or so I should start settling in to my new life, and I have some knitting projects in queue while I'm focusing on Real Life Adjustments.  They're both Super Secret Surprise projects, so details will be sparse until they've reached their respective recipients.

I can reveal that they are both colorwork projects, and one will be using handspun that I processed from raw fleeces.

On Hold

Hi, Friends.  Due to a pretty dramatic shift in Life Trajectory, I will be out of the loop for a while.  I have some projects in progress, but won't be able to document and share them like I would prefer.  Hopefully the transition period won't take very long, but until I get re-settled, Thank You for keeping up with my blog.  I hope to return soon, and full of enthusiasm for the next fun challenge.

Yours,
Mathilde

Heraldic relic pouch in-progress

Several months ago, at Christmas Revel, Her Highness Emma (she has since become "Her Majesty") complimented a knitted wool pouch I had in my basket.  Well, when you say nice things to craftspeople, sometimes you get nice surprises.  I decided to design and knit a relic pouch as a commemorative token of her reign.  Her personal arms I found on OSCAR, a society-wide heraldry database; the stag chart came from a late-16th century German needlework book, the floral motif was inspired by similar charts in the same needlework book and extant pieces of heraldic knitting such as a Spanish cushion featured in Rutt's A History of Hand Knitting, and the oak leaves and crowns were designed by me, though a trial and error.  At Gulf Wars I took a class on knitted pouches, and the teacher pointed out the utility of incorporating simple horizontal bands to give the composition structure.  After arranging the major design elements, I added in the checkerboard bands to separate the pattern blocks and add some height to the finished piece.

The extant relic pouches and cushion mentioned above were knitted of very fine silk.  As much as I would enjoy the challenge of knitting with silk, my budget absolutely does not allow it.  As a substitution, I chose to work with 5/2 mercerized cotton (purchased from a Gulf Wars vendor), which has a sheen similar to silk, and is not as likely to stretch as wool.  The ground color is a deep royal blue, which would have been achieved in period by dyeing with indigo, and the foreground color is a vivid gold, which can be produced from a number of different flowers or yellow onion skins.  Cotton and other plant fibers are less apt to absorb enough natural dye to hold a deep hue than protein fibers such as wool or silk, but the commercial dyes used to produce the materials I purchased mimic the aesthetic results a dyer could achieve with silk and the proper plant dyes.

That's all for today.  I leave you with a pair of pictures, one showing the public side of the work, and the other showing the inside, which will soon be covered with a lining to prevent the floats from snagging.

Fiber Prep: Tools of the Trade

While it may appear I've been in hibernation for a while, I have, in fact, been accumulating a stash of raw wool and the tools to clean and process it into yarn.

Combs:
Wool combs are great for removing second-cuts of fiber and vegetable matter from washed fleece.  They're also great for separating the longer, coarser outer coat from the shorter, finer, downy under-coat of dual-coated fleeces.  The usable fibers can be pulled off through a diz to create a thin roving for worsted spinning, or pulled off by hand for carding into a rolag or batt.  There is more waste involved in combing than carding, but the end product is less likely to contain nepps, noils, and bits of trash from the pasture.  English combs can have as many as four or five rows of tines, and are very heavy (and pricy), but supremely effective for processing long wools.
For good quality at a reasonable price (and no months-long waiting time), I like Valkyrie combs.  I currently have a pair of their single-pitch fine mini combs.  (Wish list: Valkyrie double-pitch vine mini combs and combing pad.)

Hand cards:
These are used to blend fibers and create rolags (rolled-up tubes of loosely aligned fibers) for woolen spinning.  The supply of hand cards is (anecdata alert!) a bit more abundant than combs, and they can generally be purchased new for between $50-75 per pair.  I use a pair of Ashford curved-paddle carders, bought second-hand through Ravelry.

Spindles:
Hand spindles, supported spindles, and drop spindles have been used for eons to spin fibers into yarn, cord, rope, etc.  They are generally inexpensive (heck, if you have a turnip and a skewer you have a spindle), but some specialty spindles can cost upwards of $75 each.  I'd recommend that new spinners start out on spindles, because of their affordability, portability, and mechanical simplicity.  I've taught somebody to draft fiber while using a wheel, but it wasn't quick or easy.  The only real down-sides to spindle spinning are the stop-and-go pace of spinning a thread until your arm just can't stretch any more and having to stop to wind it onto the spindle shaft, and the potential for arm and shoulder strain if you simply refuse to stop spinning before having to raise your fiber-supply hand above chest level.

Spinning wheels:
The spinning wheel sacrifices the portability of the spindle for greater endurance, allowing the spinner to work for a greater length of time, and possibly produce more yardage per minute than s/he might on a spindle.  Spinning wheels fall into two families, spindle wheels and flyer wheels.  Spindle wheels are, in essence, a spindle mounted to a frame and attached by a drive band to a larger wheel.  By holding the fiber at an angle nearly parallel to the spindle shaft, the single is spun, and by switching to an angle perpendicular to the shaft the single is wound onto it.  With practice, this allows the spinner to spin and wind continuously.  I don't have one of these.  Yet.
Flyer wheels do the spinning and winding at the same time - the turning of the flyer (a mechanism with a metal shaft and a pair of arms that resemble a wishbone) twists the thread, which is fed onto the bobbin through hooks on the flyer arms, and the speed differential between the bobbin and the flyer pulls the thread onto the bobbin.  There's a bit of math involved if a spinner wants to get really technical about whorls and ratios, and whether double-drive or Irish tension or Scotch tension is the best setup for a particular spinning project.  But that's further down the rabbit hole than we're going to venture today.  Spindle wheels are documentable in-period, as are hand- or crank-driven flyer wheels.  There is currently debate about the period-correctness of wheels that employ a treadle mechanism to power the drive wheel.  I have the Babe Pinkie wheel that I wrote about previously, and now a very nice American Civil War -era Saxony flax wheel that I re-homed from a spinner in Alabama who is unable to continue spinning due to arthritis in her treadling leg.
Spinning wheels come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and materials.  Some, like Critter, my Pinkie wheel, are designed to have small footprints or fold up for ease of transportation (still doesn't fit in a small purse, though), while others are quite large, such as Appalachian great wheels, which can stand shoulder-height or more to an adult.  Functional wheels can be constructed out of inexpensive or recycled items (search for "Dodec wheel plans").  Commercially-manufactured wheels are available in a wide array of styles and price points, and spinners often sell wheels second-hand when a "herd" has become unmanageable, or if they've simply outgrown a particular wheel, or it doesn't jive with their spinning style or decor.  Novices are not advised to choose an antique wheel as their first purchase, since these can be quirky (or cranky!) and most have been out of commission for an extended length of time need to be repaired or reconditioned before they become cooperative.

Niddy-noddy:
Kinda looks like two T-squares stuck together.  This tool is used to wind yarn off the bobbin and into skeins, as well as giving the spinner a good yardage estimate for that particular skein.  Again, maths.

Well, those are the basic tools.  I'm going to go ahead and post the text now, and slide in some photos later.  Off to get dressed for the weekly spinning session at the local yarn shop.

Have you any wool?

Did a bit more shopping (and now I MUST STOP ... unless I run across a great deal at a fiber festival), got myself a pair of barely-used wool carding paddles (documentable!) and that black Shetland fleece I mentioned earlier.  And a copy of A History of Hand Knitting, but that's still in transit from the UK.  Naturally, the first thing I did upon receiving my box-o-sheepy-goodness was to spread the raw fleece out in my living room floor.  I'm now slowly picking through the wool by hand to separate the longer, coarser outer coat from the downy under-coat.  Still looking for specific information about how fleece was cleaned and scoured in-period, but in the meantime a cold water soak to loosen some of the dirt and vegetable debris won't hurt.

I have established a line of communication with a shepherd in the UK who raises coloured Ryeland sheep (documentable!) and is willing to ship raw fleeces to the US.  Alas, due to unforeseen veterinary expenses (the dog is fine, btw, just having some itchy skin issues that seem to be clearing up), and the cost of shipping something as large as an adult fleece I'll have to wait until the spring shearing before I can have one sent over.  In the meantime, I'll carry on with my Shetland substitute, and see if I can convince the Husbeast that starting a small fiber flock is an awesome idea.

SHOPPING!!!

So, guess what I just bought?

Guess?

GUESS!!!

My very own spinning wheel, that's what.

It's not a beautiful hand-crafted wooden wheel - it's not even new, and needs a replacement drive band and a bit of a clean-up.  But it's mine.  And a heck of a steal, too, $85, shipping included.

I'm also communicating with a Shetland sheep breeder about purchasing some raw black fleece.  I've looked and looked, trying to find a good deal on Ryeland wool for my medieval caps project, but haven't had any luck.  Shetland seems to be a reasonable substitution, as far as wool characteristics are concerned, and is more readily available in the US market.

So basically I'm turning a knitting design project into a more expansive meta project - preparing fibers, spinning and plying, and finally cap production and finishing.  It will be a big project, and I will be moving to a different city sometime in the middle of it all, but this is what currently makes my socks roll up and down, so here's to jumping in the deep end!

And they called it Chiengora

In case you haven't already noticed, I'm just the tiniest bit insane.  Today, to illustrate this fact, I am preparing fur harvested from my dog, Max, to spin into yarn.  So far, I've soaked it in a small tub with nice-smelling shampoo and cold water, then rinsed and rinsed until the water ran clear.  Now I'm off to drain off the last bit of water and set the fur out in the sun to dry.  Tomorrow I will card the fluff using a pair of slicker brushes ($2 - $3 apiece, so not a huge investment if you would like to try your hand at carding fiber for spinning) and pre-draft it into pencil roving to spin at the earliest convenience.

I've also harvested fur from Nina, our Australian Shepherd.  Her undercoat is a blend of tan, grey and black, while Max's is a more uniform fawn color.  I may spin singles from both dogs and then ply the contrasting singles together.  I don't imagine I'll have enough yarn to make anything substantial, but to a spinner, sometimes a ball of unique yarn is its own reward.

Brown Monmouth - FINISHED

Knitting the latest Monmouth went fairly quickly ... at least, until the time came for the three-needle-bind-off.  There's a lesson in this.  I took my very-nearly-finished hat to the event where my apprenticeship was announced,* but I failed to pack along a set of one-size-smaller DPNs to do the bind-off.  Trying to do this thing with all the needles the same size is a MAJOR PAIN and I do not recommend it.

So I got frustrated and put it back in the basket.  And it sat in the basket for two months while I happily cranked out socks and perused mundane sweater patterns and did everything in my power to avoid making eye contact with that frustrating little wad of wool.  But I finally shamed myself into picking up the right needle.  And whaddayaknow, I practically flew through the last bit of bind-off and the icord loop.  All that was left was to felt and block it.  I don't know if I got the agitation motions down faster this time, or if the wool was simply more enthusiastic about the process than the oatmeal-colored stuff, but it seemed to take no time at all for the material to firm up.

Right!  ...  So now I get to jimmy around with my documentation ...  Woo?

* If you read my sewing blog, this is no surprise.  I'm belted to Mistress Margot du Bois, who is awesome.  This was back in April.

ALSO, since this is a hat-related post, the Museum of London has uploaded SEVENTY-THREE sixteenth-century caps, cap linings, and fragments to their online collection.  You can follow the link here ... and if it doesn't automatically give you 73 knitted caps, just type "cap" in the searchy box.  I was tickled pink by the lovely earflap caps, particularly because that's one of the next items on my to-do list.

Catharsis

Mundane life of late has been a bit of a headache.  Thank goodness for fiber arts to give me a little distraction, stress relief, and a sense that I'm accomplishing something useful and tangible.  I finished my second pair of knee-high socks - I had a brain fart during the toe wedge and forgot how to m1 without creating a hole, but rather than rip back to the beginning, these are now a "ventilation feature".  I wore them during a visit home to celebrate my sister's graduation from university, and she and my mom accepted my offer to make them each a pair of crew socks.

In spinning news, I ordered some roving from Knit Picks and some old wooden textile-mill bobbins from an Etsy seller.  Funny story - I asked for my husband's input when deciding which colors I wanted to order.  I had already settled on blue, but was waffling between a mossy green and a rich magenta/purple.  He argued that purple was the better color "because it has more blue".  Whatever.  I ordered all three in the end.  After a few sessions with this roving I can already see an improvement in the uniformity of the singles I'm spinning with my top-whorl spindle.

Life-to-fiber comparison: Sometimes it's nice for things to be soft and loose and fluffy.  Other times you need a little stress and tension and pent-up energy.  Then, in the end, when you get your head wrapped around everything, it all becomes balanced (with the help of a dip in a hot bath).

New toys!

I now own a pair of drop spindles: one top whorl, the other bottom whorl. And the seller included a bit of roving to ensure that I'd get hooked.

It worked.

Pardon me while I part Mr. Max from his undercoat.

Well, duh.

I finished the outer shell of Monmouth #3 this morning and am now in the process of picking up a row of purl stitches inside the brim. I'm cheating a bit by picking up a few stitches on a DPN and transferring them to a circular needle, but it's still not a fun process.

(To be fair, my DPN set isn't long enough to accommodate all 120 stitches.)

The extant piece is knit at a larger gauge, so fewer stitches, fewer rows, and fewer pick-ups means much faster, less tedious work. The ability to quickly produce this in-demand item means more money for the local cappers' guild. I've found a chunky natural wool I'd like to order in the very near future. It knits at a slightly finer gauge than the wool used to produce the Nelson Museum's cap, but it's a heckuva lot closer than the worsted weight I'm using at present. When I get my hands on that yarn and some DPNs in the right size, I plan on doing a speed challenge, just to see how long it takes me to construct the hat from start to finish. Fulling not included :P

Period source: Monmouth for women, too?

January Labors, from an early-16th century Flemish Book of Hours, attributed to Simon Bening. The woman in the lower right-hand corner appears to be wearing something rather like a dark grey Monmouth cap.

Let's zoom in for a closer look, shall we?


Perhaps!

Eureka?

Within the past ten minutes I've had a Thought, regarding the 3-needle bind-off at the brim edge of the extant Monmouth cap. I think the bind off would "point" in the opposite direction if the inner brim layer is the one being picked up ...

This calls for some experimentation.

Back-tracking

I'm wracking my brain, trying to remember what triggered this obsession with medieval and northern renaissance hats. And I'm drawing a blank. I know that it happened late October / early November of last year, and shortly thereafter I took the all-important first step into knitting in-the-round (an essential step for anyone desiring to replicate period knitwear). Don't know how I first stumbled across the Monmouth cap, but that's all the bait I needed to get absolutely hooked.

For those of you who haven't had to endure my process of exploresearch (heylookshiny), the only extant example of a sixteenth-century Monmouth cap is housed at the Nelson Museum in Monmouthshire, Wales. It is knit from a rather chunky wool, requiring less than sixty stitches to reach all the way around a 22" circumference head, and shows signs of fulling or felting, a process that makes the final product more water-repellant. It is somewhat like a modern beanie with a double-layered brim. The cap also features a loop at the bottom edge of the brim (perhaps used to hang the hat from a peg or a belt) and period text sources describe a "button" at the crown. There's some debate whether this was a functional button or just a bit of material that got bunched together when the final few stitches at the crown were gathered shut. This style of cap is documented from the late medieval period through the colonial period as a most useful item, commonly ordered in mass quantities to outfit soldiers, sailors, and settlers. Peasant laborers and nobles alike appreciated the cap's utility, and Shakespeare even included a blurb about Welshmen wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps on St. David's day.

Hm ... Maybe this just seemed like a really good idea, since winter was bearing down on us and my only knit cap was missing ...

For my first attempt at period capping, I used a mustard yellow, worsted weight wool-dominant blend (3% polyamide) yarn and size 7 knitting needles. It's not all that authentic. I double-knit the brim, then joined the two layers into a single layer for the crown. The "button" for this one was a short chain stitch loop, and I used the tail from the cast-on edge for another chain loop at the brim. I didn't full this cap, so it became a jumping-off point for later patterns.



For round two I referenced Jennifer Carlson's construction method. Since I didn't have any chunky wool yarn on hand, I used LB Fisherman's Wool worsted-weight yarn. After knitting and felting a test swatch of my wool, I determined that the felting process for that particular gauge has a negligible effect on the width, but shortens the length by about 20%. I did some quick calculations to determine how many extra rows I needed to add to my existing crown pattern to get a proper fit. I also added a few extra knit rows to make a round button on top. Oh, and I cheated to get the bottom edge to mimic the extant piece. Used a crochet hook to chain through the purl edge and make the loop.


(Cap #2, straight off the needles, with the brim folded down.)


(Same cap after felting.)

Wool needs a few things in order to felt: moisture, heat, alkalinity and agitation. I used a bathroom sink basin filled with hot water and a squirt of dish soap, a plastic slotted spoon and my hands. I added the hat to the hot, soapy water and stirred with the spoon until everything cooled off just enough that I wouldn't scald my hands. Then I rubbed the wool between my palms, alternating back-and-forth and circular motions over the entire surface area, re-wetting now and again. When the water got too cool, I emptied the sink, re-filled it and repeated the process. Once I felt the material was thickening up to my liking, I rolled a bath towel into a rough head-shape and put the cap over it to dry.

Since completing the second cap I've done some more reading in the Historic Knitter's group on Ravelry, and I've joined the Historic Knits Yahoo! list. I'm starting another cap, again using my worsted gauge, so I'll be following the general directions, not any stitch-for-stitch pattern. This involves picking up a row of stitches inside the brim for the inner layer after finishing the basic cap. Once the inner brim layer is the same length as the outer layer, I'll join them together using a three-needle bind-off for the edge treatment.

It's a Spin-off!

Welcome to my new off-shoot project, a companion to Mathilde's Sewing Box.
Lately I've been doing a good bit of investigation into historic knitting and I decided this would be a good tool to help me organize (as much is possible, given my rather "cluttered" nature) my thoughts and keep track of my sources.
For the next several months I will be focusing on knitted hats and caps from the late Medieval period, trying to produce finished objects that look and behave like those in period imagery and extant items in museum collections.
I invite you all to share in my insanity - it really can be quite fun!