Fiber Gathering: Knit, Crochet, Spin, and Dye More than 20 Projects Inspired by America’s Festivals
Hi, visitors! I’m Terri Shea, and I’m so glad you stopped by. I got hit by a nasty hacker last month, and haven’t fully recovered. Sorry about the sawdust.
I’ve known Joanne for a few years; we belong to a private, intimate online group, and she has always been one of my favorite voices. Maybe because we agree on so many subjects. :) At any rate, I was thrilled when she invited me to design for Fiber Gatherings, and overwhelmed when she said my design would be related to Black Sheep Gathering.
This is an interesting time for me to write about Black Sheep; this is one of the times when life and art intersect, feed on and nourish the other. I’m a bit maudlin tonight, so forgive me if I get mushy. Or my sentences make no sense.
It was the same when I attended my first Gathering in 1992. My father had died just a month before. My beloved sister wasn’t speaking to me. My fiancé was cheating on me. My business was stagnating in the depressed Oregon economy. I lived about a quarter mile from the Lane County Fairgrounds, and it was a lovely spring day, so I walked over to see what this thing was all about.
At this time the vendors filled one room of the main building. (Now they fill three or more.) Right in front of the door stood a small, elderly man and a collection of glossy wheels trimmed in brass. Wallace Van Eaton made them in his garage in Yakima, WA; his wife said he needed a hobby after retirement as a chiropractor. They were all beautiful, all unique, but my eye went to the one with the subtle patchwork of mahogany tones in the wheel. I asked if I could sit and try it out, having never spun on a wheel before, and Mr Van Eaton graciously handed me a bit of merino he’d been teasing by hand.
I must have played at that wheel for an hour before I realized I was being rude and thanked him. I walked the show, not buying anything because I really was broke. Like, baloney and ramen for lunch every day for months broke. I kept drifting back to those beautiful wheels, and my favorite one, stroking it, treadling it, trying another handful of teased merino.
Eventually it was time for the show to close. I was back at the door, looking longingly, and Mr Van Eaton approached me. “You know,” he says, “I”d rather sell this thing than pack it back home again. It’’s different from the others, got that patchwork look, which I like but customers dont’’s seem to like it as much. I”ll sell it to you for $200 just to unload it.”
Mind you, his wheels are worth at least a thousand.
This kind, gentle man took not one but two post dated checks, each one hundred dollars, and let me carry that precious thing home with me. And the matching lazy kate.
So that’’s the spot right there. Right There. That spot of floor is holy ground; that is where my life as a fiber artist began.
I already knew spindle spinning, and the wheel was an easy transition for me. In many ways I am a process spinner. I can spin to produce a specified yarn, very technically, but I prefer a relaxed, wabi-sabi approach. My yarns are even and balanced, fine or heavy, but I don’t work hard to remove the hand-spun feeling. If I want millspun yarn I’ll buy it. Lord knows I have enough already.
The wheel became my refuge while my world collapsed. It took nearly two years for me to get out of a very bad living situtation, and I think I spent the entire time pulling yarn from the pile of fluff. Turning chaos into order. When I did finally get the strength, courage, and financial ability to move, I headed straight for Seattle and never looked back.
I met Brian almost immediately. He was a manager at the company where I got my first job up here. It was a crappy job, but it paid my rent. I kept spinning; the piles of fluff were replaced with piles of yarn. In 1997 I worked at one of Seattle’s leading web development studios with Liz Clouthier, who taught me how to cast on and form my first stitches. Knitting would use up some of that yarn, and it provided a welcome retreat from the sixty and seventy hour work weeks.
Little did I know how much my yarn stash would grow, rather than shrink! By 2002 I was a stay-at-home mom with nothing to show at the end of the day. My career as a knitwear designer began when I needed some projects to keep me motivated; something outside my own head, with deliverables and expectations. I submitted original designs to magazines and yarn companies, and they actually bought them!
I interned at the Nordic Heritage Museum in 2005, and my book Selbuvotter was conceived. I had hoped that my reputation designing single patterns would help me finding a publisher. No dice. ”Sounds great, doesn’t fit into our marketing schedule!” I heard some variation of this over and over.
That June I went to Black Sheep Gathering with Karen Campbell. It was the first time I’d been back to Eugene since leaving eleven years earlier. The festival had grown, filling the whole building and spilling into the parking lot. I bought several fleeces, all ribbon winners.
Karen asked about my mitten project on the drive home, and I told her my status; that I had charts and patterns written, samples were in progress, I was finishing my historical research, but the publishers weren’t biting.
“Have you thought about self publishing?” she asked.
And I had, but I had serious reservations. I knew that I had the technical skills to pull off the desktop publishing side, but the printing side, the marketing, distribution… it seemed daunting. And I didn’t want to be one of those kooks with a garage full of books no one wants, on some obscure topic like, say, Norwegian mittens. And I began to argue for my obstacles.
“Well, yeah, I suppose I could. But I don’t know anything about printing. And it would take a long time. And I’d have to do everything myself. I’m sure a real photographer would get much better shots. And it would cost a lot.”
Karen drove silently, ocassionally nodding. “Do you have the money?”
“Well, yeah. I have some money left over from my dot.com days. But I’m not sure I want to sink everything I’ve got. I just don’t know.”
We sat silently again. Then Karen started rummaging around her car. “I don’t usually listen to this music. It’s my daughter’s CD. But, Oh, I’m just in the mood for this song.” She popped in the CD. It was bubblegum pop, not what I expected, but I hadn’t heard it before, so I listened more carefully than I might have otherwise.
And then I heard the chorus. “Take a chance you stupid whore!” This was definitely not what I expected from Karen Campbell. (Those of you who know her are probably rolling on the floor. Karen is a lovely, warm, wonderful woman. With impeccable manners. She was a high school English teacher. You watch yourself when she’s around. In the nicest way.)
And it wasn’t until I got home that I realized she’d been giving me a hint!
So there. Two stories where Black Sheep Gathering changed the course of my life.
As an Epilogue, let me tell you a third story. I posted the first tale after the BSG with Karen, and Someone Out There forwarded the URL to Mr. Van Eaton himself. I wasn’t even sure if he was still living, so the email he sent me was pure pleasure! I thanked him again, effusively, and he’s put me on his email list.
And last year, just after I finalized my divorce, he sent me another note. He was working on his last batch of wheels, getting ready to retire again, and offered me first call. I actually thought about turning it down, and then I realized that this was the Gift I was looking for. The “Yay! My Divorce Is Over!” gift. I ordered a folding wheel in black walnut. And it’s my favorite wheel ever.
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Ok. Contest time.
Rules: I’ve been depressed lately. Leave a comment with your favorite joke. The one that makes me pee my pants wins a bag of Jo Sharp DK Wool in color “Embers”, a rich heathered rust. It should be enough to make a vest, and I have a pattern in mind.
I’ll email and announce the winner on April 15th. Winner, you need to give me a good email addy and respond with your mailing address. If I don’t hear back from you within a week, it will go to the next funniest joke.
That’s It. If you have a few minutes, please take a look at my own book, Selbuvotter :: Biography of a Knitting Tradition. It’s about Norwegian Mittens. Seriously.
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Next on the BlogTour
March 31st Joanne Seiff, author - http://www.joanneseiff.blogspot.com/
April 1st Kim Guzman, designer - http://kimguzman.wordpress.com/
April 2nd Rosemary Hill, designer - http://www.rosemarygoround.blogspot.com/
April 3rd Donna Druchunas, tech editor - http://www.sheeptoshawl.com/blog
April 4th Cathy Adair-Clark, designer - http://www.catena.typepad.com
April 5th Terri Shea, designer - http://www.spinningwheel.net/
April 6th Chrissy Gardiner,designer - http://knittinmom.blogspot.com/
April 7th Jeff Marcus, photographer - http://www.joanneseiff.blogspot.com
April 8th JoLene Treace,designer - http://jolenetreace.wordpress.com/
April 9th Cindy Moore, designer - http://fitterknitter.livejournal.com/
This is one of my favorites, but I don’t really think it is pee your pants funny, it is more of a chuckler.
A man walks into a wood carvers shop, and is looking around at all of the carvings. He saw a wood carved rat, it was extremely lifelike. He asked the carver how much the rat was, and the carver responded he could have it for free, but with one condition, he could not return the rat carving. The first man agreed and took the rat.
The man was walking down by the wharf, in a not great area of town, lots of run down buildings, vacant lots, abandonded warehouses. As the man passed by, rats would pour out of each building and follow him and the wood carving of the rat. It really creeped him out to have all the rats following him. Finally, he walked to the end of the wharf, and threw the carved rat out to sea as far as he could, and all of the rats followed.
The man then walked back to the wood carver’s shop. As he walked back into the shop, the wood carver said “No, I will not take it back, I named the condition.” The man held up his hands, “No, no, no, I don’t want you to take it back. I was wondering if you could make a wood carving of an attorney?”
Anyway, that should start the comments!
Hi, Terri:
Thanks for one of the best blog tour stops I’ve ever visited. Well, I came because I read your blog (although I’m a bit behind on everyone’s blogs today). That’s what festivals are about.
One of my best memories is of Maryland Sheep and Wool, sitting on the grass (dirt) outside what was then called Building V (now the Main Building) talking with ALBC director Don Bixby and hatching the idea for Save the Sheep. In its own way, as emotional and life-changing as your wheel experiences.
Deb
Lovely blog post! It also fills in a bit more of what I’ve missed in the intervening years. Life is definitely an unforseeable journey! Seems odd to follow that with a joke, but you’ll totally get it from time long since passed. I think it was a favorite of mine even back then, since I collect them in this category…
Why did the blonde have a bruised belly button?
Cuz her boyfriend was blonde, too. ;)
here’s a double dip take your pick:
you know you’re an ex new yorker when yellow light means speed up.
(i don’t know why this one always cracks me up except i quess picturing the inane wild eyed grin on my face when i floored it.)
you know you raised your child well when they prefice any request with
“mommy can i ask you a question, or are you counting?”
What a wonderful story about your fiber world. This was my first visit to your blog, but it won’t be my last.
I don’t have a joke, but I do have a story to tell about my 10 yr old who is a budding cartoonist. She has created cartoon characters called sheep nerds (the nerd side coming from the fact that I work as a chemist and the sheep to represent the big fluffy stash of yarn that I own). The other day she created a cartoon with George the Sheep Nerd. George who wears glasses, has buck teeth and a pocket protector was wearing a sign on his back. The sign simply said “Knit Me”. I was cracking up.
I enjoyed this post about the Eugene fiber fest. You never know what or where will be the catalyst for a life changing experience. I met Roxie at the Oregon State Fair in Pioneer Village and she let me try her spinning wheel, then she prodded me in to more and better knitting and into taking her place the next year at the fair. My Lendrum travel wheel has been my companion for more than ten years and 3 moves.
OK here’s a joke best understood by people from the Pacific Northwest:
Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.
Why did the rooster cross the road? He followed the chicken.
Why did the opposum cross the road? We’ll never know. No possum has ever made it across!
Those are great stories. :)
I can’t think of any jokes, but I can think of something that made me laugh like crazy! I was forwarded a list of mistakes made by fifth grade students in their essays and this was my favorite:
“In 1492, Columbus circumcised the globe with his clipper.”
Here’s a link to my all time funniest favorite. It’s kinda long but makes me roll in the floor every time! It’s called “Lamentations of the Father,” by Ian Frazier
http://www.theatlantic.com/issues/97feb/frazier/frazier.htm
Congrats on the tour!
As I hoped, these jokes made me smile - your festival story was terrific!
An old couple goes to an attorney The wife wants a divorce.
lawyer: Do you have grounds?
wife: About an acre and a half.
lawyer to wife: Do you have a grudge?
wife: We’ve got a carport.
lawyer to wife: Does your husband beat you up?
wife: I’m up an hour earlier than him every day.
lawyer: Why do you want a divorce.
wife: We have trouble communicating.
Did you hear about the Texas teacher who was helping one of her kindergarten students put on his cowboy boots? He asked for help and she could see why.
Even with her pulling and him pushing, the little boots still didn’t want to go on. Finally, when the second boot was on she had worked up a sweat.
She almost cried when the little boy said, “Teacher, they’re on the wrong feet.” She looked and sure enough, they were. It wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it had been getting them on. She managed to keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on, this time on the right feet.
He then announced, “These aren’t my boots!”
She bit her tongue rather than getting right in his face and scream, “Why didn’t you say so?” like she wanted to. And once again she struggled to pull the ill-fitting boots off his little feet.
No sooner they got the boots off than he said, “They’re my brother’s boots, my mom made me wear ‘em.”
Now she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. But she mustered up the grace and courage she had left to wrestle the boots on his feet again.
Helping him into his coat, she asked, “Now where are your mittens?”
He said, “I stuffed ‘em in the toes of my boots.”
Her trial starts next month.
We’ve all been there and now we’re doing it with the grandsons! Hope this helps - See you at Black Sheep - Ann
This is not really a joke. These cartoons are great. They made me laugh. Enjoy!
http://www.wagnerstudios.org/Calvin_and_Hobbes_Snowmen.htm
Hi, long time read, first time commenter, just cause I really wanted to share this one
*This must be read in a thick south Boston Irish accent*
So these two guys are wandering around Southie on St Patties day, going from bar to bar and at each place one of the guys asks the bartender the same question.
“Have you seen any small nuns about lately?” He asks “Im looking for a small nun, she could be quite small indeed, a novice perhaps, you’ve not seen any wee nuns?” The bartender says “No” so they head to the next bar where he asks again “You havent seen any wee nuns by any chance? Its very important, Im looking for a wee nun, very wee indeed, you’ve not seen any about have you?” Again the bartender says “No” and they move on. Finally, after 15 bars and more permutations of the “wee nun” question that he can stand the other guy finally bursts out “SEAMUS, FACE IT, YOU FUCKED A PENGUIN”
Heres another one
So this guy inherited a parrot from a friend in the navy and the parrot adapted really well to living in a cage in suburbia, as opposed to the wide open spaces of an aircraft carrier, except for one thing. The parrot swore a blue streak every time he opened his mouth. Now while the guy was young and a bachelor this was fine and at frat parties the parrots raunchy comments about girls were amusing as was his grade A heckling at sports games. But as the man grew up the parrot started to be a problem. It insulted girlfriends, bit the neighborhood kids, screamed obscenities at the guys sister in law and generally became unacceptable. Finally the guy got totally fed up and asked a pet psychiatrist what to do. He said that the next time the parrot acted out the guy should put him in the freezer for a while as a punishment (keep in mind, this is a joke, I do NOT recommend EVER doing this to any living creature). Well the next time the parrot acted out it was a doozie. The guy and his fiance held a dinner party for the guys boss and his wife and the second the bosses wife walked in the parrot let out a wolf whistle and hollered “Look at the rack on that one!” The boss and his wife left in a huff and, in a towering temper, the guy shoved the parrot into the freezer and instructed him to think about his behavior. After 20 minutes he opened the freezer door and the parrot walked out with his head hung low.
“Sir” he said “I humbly apologize for any distress I may have caused you or your lovely fiance and I wish to extend my deepest apologies to your employer and his lady wife. I have behaved terribly and from now on I intend to conduct myself with the decorum befitting a bird of my age and breeding. I am a reformed character. But I must ask you one thing- what did the chicken do?”
I just loved your stories - it’s such a blessing to recognize those gifts when they come to you. Sweet.
We have always done our trick or treating in the old town section of Leesburg VA, since we live way out in the country. There is a family there that has a party every Hallowe’en, and if you trick or treat their house, they ask you to tell a joke or recite a poem or sing a song. One year my youngest daughter & I went and she told this joke:
There was a farmer who had 3 daughters, but he wouldn’t let them date for a long time. Then he decided that they could date, but only if the young men came to the house to pick them up, and if the young men spoke in rhyme.
So one night all three girls had a date. The farmer answered the doorbell with his shotgun in one hand. The first boy said, “Hi, my name is Freddy. I’m here for Betty. We’re going for spaghetti - is she ready?” The farmer grudgingly allowed Betty to go off with this young fellow.
The next boy arrived and said, “Hi, I’m Joe. I’m here for Flo. We’re going to the show, is she ready to go?” And off these two went.
The third time the doorbell rang, a young man stood on the stoop and said, “Hi, I’m Chuck!” and the farmer shot him.
But the best part was a boy of about 8 who was attended the party and listened to my daughter tell the joke. At the end, he said -”I don’t get it!” and we all said, “Good!”
Well, the first chorus of the song goes: “Take a chance, ’cause you might grow!” That’s the message. ;-)
Thanks for the mention.
I’m slow, but I catch on eventually…
Hey! I typed in a long but funny joke about New York - where did it go? Did you get it?
okay, this is a really dumb joke, but it’s my favorite: why do seagulls live by the sea? Because if they lived by the bay they’d be BayGulls (get it, bagels?)!
I loved your post, your honesty…hope you are feeling cheerier!
tracy in ky
Oh Terri, what great stories! I have what has become a pretty infamous knitting joke in my circle of friends. It’s more of a story, but it should do.
I was knitting lace while drinking on a friends patio. One of my male friends turns to me and says, “I can knit that you know”. I looked at him, smirking, and said, “You can’t even read the pattern.” Undaunted, he grabs it from my hand and starts reading. “Kay tew togg, kay tew togg, tibble, yo, tibble, yo, tibble, kay tew tog, tibble, yo, tibble, yo…” There was a pause, and then he threw in, “HOLLER!”
I was in stitches :)
Here is one for lent for you.
A young newlywed couple, also new to their Catholic neighborhood and church and eager to fit in, were meeting with the priest and discussing what they could give up for lent. It was an important congregation, and part of the rite of joining was demonstrating faithfulness and service.
It was a long meeting, and the priest felt they would truly show their faith best by giving up sex for lent. They agreed and decided to meet with with priest in one week.
As the week went on it became more and more difficult, until finally the young couple could not even stay in their home together. A chance accident left them undone and mortified. It was with much uncertainty that they met with the priest. “My children, how is it going?” “Well”, the husband cleared his throat, nervously,”we started out pretty well…and as the week went on it was so tempting, we couldn’t even stay in the same house. We were going to have dinner together one night, and she dropped the can of peas…it was all over from there…I am so sorry father, I..”
“I am sorry, my son, but we just cannot let you join. I hope you understand.”
“That’s okay”, he sighed. ” They won’t let us back at the Super-market either”.
Tommy’s joke about the parrot is my favorite!
i LOVE your mr. van eaton stories :-)
Enjoyed your story and have admired your book in my local knitting store. Here’s a joke someone forwarded to me in a whole list of funny things kids say:
A first-grade teacher was reading the story “Chicken Little” to her students when she got to the part where Chicken Little goes up to Farmer Brown and exclaims “The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!” The teacher paused and asked her students what they thought Farmer Brown would say back to Chicken Little. One young boy piped up and said “Holy sh*t! A talking chicken!”. The teacher was unable to continue reading….
Thanks Mickey for the joke! And I love the colors of your yarn, beautiful!