You can see the first colour in the roll of fibre on the left of the pic. The first 50 grams or so were this light silver-grey colour. The remaining fibre is at the top and right of the pic. It's definitely a darker brown. What you can't really see is the gradual shift between the two shades. After getting over my surprise, I'll have to decide how to use the colour change. And I have yet to see what colour will come through the remaining hundred grams or so. I'm tempted to make the most of the contrast, rather than try to disguise it. For now, I'm just going to keep spinning and see what happens.
It's the teeniest tiniest loom I've ever seen. It's a version of the "weave-it loom" and I'm glad to find room for it at my place. It could pretty much fit in my pocket and might even make it past airport security, since the needle has a blunted end. I'm not going to try that, though because it's a precious little thing. It came with lovely clear instructions. They turned out to be as easy as 1, 2, 3--and the numbers are branded on the timber, so it's extra clear.
This pen and it's immediate neighbours belonged to Deb and Clive. I had a friendly chat with them and their two teenage children. What I noticed was their obvious devotion to their work. What's more, when I went through my speil about the fleece I was after, Clive quickly got beyond the incredulous look to the necessary willingness to help. Let me explain the incredulous look. Handspinners in Australia mostly do worsted type spinning. In worsted spinning the wool fibres are all lined up parallel to each other. The aim is a smooth even yarn with very little air trapped in it. Woollen spinning is just the opposite. The fibres are carded so that they are all mixed up at random angles. The aim is to trap as much air in the yarn as possible, and the technique is much more relaxed. The different style of spinning requires a different style of fleece. So whereas most handspinners are looking for a long-staple fleece with an even crimp, here I am searching for a short springy one. Hence the incredulous look. What's more, the breeds of sheep that produce this wool are usually kept for meat production, so there isn't a lot of focus on the fleece quality. And I'm after as fine a fleece as possible. And as clean as possible. So you see, I wasn't quite on a needle-in-a-haystack mission, but definitely heading in that direction. So meeting up with a prize-winning breeder, who's willing to go to the trouble of getting me a nice fleece was a very special thing.
Going to the wool show on the train means at least five hours of travel. I did that sum on Friday night as I was setting the alarm to wake me in time to make it to the station. So, before I did anything else, I made provision for five hours of fibre-loving travel. First I packed my favourite drop spindle with the Finn-cashmere tops I'm currently spinning on it. That was perfect for my first class seat on the way up in the morning. Then I packed this Alpaca-wool-mohair yarn and a pair of knitting needles. The yarn is hand-spun, semi-woollen, so it's nice and fluffy and quite soft. you can see there's lots of variation and interest in the yarn itself, so it was just the thing for the journey home. The roomier first class seats were booked out and I was too tired to concentrate much. So a garter stitch scarf filled my hands and mind beautifully while we talked over our day and got to know our fellow passengers a little.
We shared a carriage with a fantastic sock-knitter: interlacing cables in a wonderful red!--and a family who were cooperating on a project made from their Bendigo treasures: he was flicking out the dyed English Leicester fleece while she twisted it in her fingers and incorporated it straight into a crochet piece. Meanwhile the little boy "helped":) I wasn't even the only knitter on the suburban train which took me home!
