Bedlam Farm Wool For Sale. Winter Special….

November 13th, 2017

 

Izzy, Suzy and Griselle, Pumpkin, Rosemary, Zelda, Liam and Kim, Socks and Biddy

I’m having a Winter Special Bedlam Farm Wool Sale.   Buy 4 or more skeins of yarn you get a 10% discount.

This year, I’ve combined some of the wool from different sheep together and have a new mix of yarn.

Each skein is 200 yards and they are $25 each, with 10% off if you buy 4 skeins or more, plus shipping.

Shipping is $5 for one skein, $8 for 2-3 skeins and $10 for 4 or more.  Shipping is a bit more outside the US.

If you’d like to buy some Bedlam Farm wool, you can email me here at [email protected].

I take checks (made out and sent to Full Moon Fiber Art 2502 State Route 22 Cambridge NY 12816)  or I can email you a paypal invoice.

Here’s what I have for sale:

Izzy

I have 8  6 – 200 yard skeins of  Izzy’s wool.  It’s 3 ply worsted and 100% Romney.

Suzy and Griselle

I have 16  5 – 200 yard skeins of Suzy and Griselle’s Wool.  It’s 3 ply DK and a mix of Border Leicester and Romney.

Pumpkin

I have 16  7 – 200 yard skeins of Pumpkins wool.  It’s 3 ply worsted and a mix of Border Leicester and Cheviot.

Rosemary, Zelda, Liam and Kim

The white wool is Sold Out.    I have 18  9 – 200 yard skeins of White wool.  It’s 3 ply worsted and  a mix of all my white sheep, Romney, Karakul, Cheviot and Border Leicester.

Socks and Biddy

I have 19 4 – 200 yard skeins of Socks and Biddy’s wool.  It’s 3 ply worsted and is a mix of Romney and Border Leicester.

Rosemary, Zelda, Liam and Kim

I also have 5 – 8oz  and one 10.4 oz bumps of white roving.    It’s a mix of Romney, Karakul, Cheviot and Border Leicester.  The 8oz bumps are $25 each and the 10.4 oz bump is $30.  Shipping for the bumps is $15.

Sampler

I also have a Sampler of Pumpkin, Izzy and the white wool.  It’s Sold $30 + $6 shipping.

 

Good Monday Morning From Bedlam Farm 11/13/17

November 13th, 2017

Picking Up and Dropping Off Bedlam Farm Wool

November 12th, 2017

We dropped off nine bags of wool at the Vermont Fiber Mill this afternoon. Gus came along for the ride and after barking at the Alpacas, he settled right into the place.

Deb brought out a book of color swatches for dying the yarn.  There were so many choices, but I decided on a coral and a teal.  I thought they’d work nicely with the natural gray and brown wool.

I mixed all the white wool together, Romney, Karakul and Cheviot.  For the browns and greys I mixed the Border Leicester with Romney.

I also picked up two boxes of yarn made from last winter’s wool.

I was once again surprised at the change in the colors.   Suzy and Griselle’s wool came out a beautiful light gray and Izzy’s a deep brown.  Pumpkin’s is a deeper shade of gray, his wool gets lighter every shearing.

I’ll put the yarn and some white roving up for sale on my blog tomorrow.

Last winters wool, I’ll be selling here on my blog tomorrow.

 

Eating Volunteer Pumpkins

November 12th, 2017

The sheep are feasting on the volunteer pumpkins that grew in the barnyard this spring and summer.  I’m hoping that will result in more volunteer pumpkins next year.

Today were going to the Vermont Fiber Mill to drop off this Summers wool and pick up the wool, made into yarn and roving from last winter.

I Didn’t Expect The Anger

November 10th, 2017

My underpants

I wasn’t aware of the crack, the breaking of something inside of me.

I wasn’t surprised to hear of one more man sexually abusing a woman or a teenage girl. Like most women, I expect it.  I know it as a truth, as “the way things are“.

It’s such a good thing what’s happening, women (and with some men too)  finally feeling safe enough to speak out.  Finally being heard and for the most part actually believed.

What I didn’t expect was the anger.

My anger. I didn’t even know what it was when it started to bubble up in me last night.  I only knew I was feeling something that I didn’t recognize.  Something I  didn’t know what to do with.

At that point, what came to my mind were the few pairs of white underpants in my dresser drawer.  I never wore them, I don’t like white underwear, but they came in the package with the other colors.  Suddenly I was driven to make those underpants mine.

I sat at the dining room table with a couple of black markers and started drawing on my underpants.

I couldn’t tell you why, but there was nothing else I wanted to do at that moment.

Then I had a dream…

I was in a museum or zoo.  There was an old Chimpanzee and a deer-like animal sitting on a couch together cuddling, as if they were on display.  The Chimpanzee was aggressively massaging the deer and singing a song called “What is Love ?”  I knew, in the wild, the Chimpanzee was the predator and the deer the prey, but the Chimpanzee had no teeth and his nails had been removed.   So at first what looked like a loving relationship between the two animals turned out to really be a predator trying desperately to kill his prey, but unable to.

Maybe I was creating a shield, claiming my body as my own by drawing on my underpants.

In Sue Monk Kidd’s book The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, she writes about the myth of the Minotaur.  The Minotaur is a creature, half man and half bull.  He lives in a labyrinth under the palace of King Minos.  The Kings daughter Ariadne, helps Theseus find a way out of the labyrinth after he kills the Minotaur if he promises to marry her and take her away from her father’s kingdom.

Kidd writes:  In the female psyche, the Minotaur represents negative, uncivilized (beastly), masculine power, the part the old King had driven underground.  …the Minotaur is the bullish, bullying, bulldozing force of the patriarchy internalized in the cellar of a woman’s psyche. It is a presence that works invisibly, hampering, limiting, driving, even destroying a woman’s inner and outer life.

When I read this, I immediately thought of Donald Trump.  How with his being elected president, the “old part of the king” (or as in my dream, the true nature of the Chimpanzee) has risen up from the underground, how, now it’s all out in the open.

I’ve been silently cheering each time another woman comes forward and tells her story.

I’ve been allowing myself to feel so good about it, I forgot to let myself feel the pain of it.

And then, last night, the anger.

Slowly seeping through the  widening crack,  till it broke wide open this morning.  It crashed through my body, coming out in curses and tears. A life time of  internalized anger.  My very own underground…surfacing, spewing hot rocks and fire.  “I’m angry”, I yelled through tears, “I’m so fucking angry.”

It came in waves and bursts lasting an hour or so.  I let it come, working its way though me.  I’ve felt anger before, but not like this.  It wasn’t free-flowing, or misdirected.

I knew what the anger is about.

It’s about my personal experience of growing up in a family where my sister and I weren’t seen as  equals to my brother,  and  my mother  was  subservient  to my father.    Where I was told that if  I walked past a group of men, instead of crossing the street, it was my fault when they made lewd remarks about me.  And how that dynamic lead me into an early marriage, that I thought was an escape, but turned out to be  another relationship where my feeling and thoughts were dismissed and ignored.

It’s the anger that comes from with living in a society that accepts sexism as if it’s normal.  That in so many institutionalized ways tells women and girls that they are subordinate to men.  A society whose culture is to silence women through intimidation and fear.

It’s the anger I tucked away, replacing it with fear, shame and confusion.  Blaming myself for men’s inappropriate sexual behavior and at the same time wanting a man’s approval at almost any price.    And the frustration of not being able to understand or articulate it all.

It’s not one thing, not one incident in my life, but a million little things.  Words, images, touches, gestures that over a lifetime have made me feel inferior to men.  And I sometimes wonder what my life could have been like if I hadn’t believed that lie for so long.

The anger has subsided now.  Maybe I released it all.  Although I have a feeling there’s more inside of me.  I do feel like there’s some healing going on.  And somehow, drawing on my underpants, telling my story that way, is a part of it.

 

 

 

“Plaza Blanca” A Wall Hanging, For Sale

November 9th, 2017

Plaza Blanca

Inspired by the place itself and by Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings I finished my wall hanging “Plaza Blanca” yesterday.

I saw the lace and doily rocks when we were there, meditating at Plaza Blanca.  The foreground didn’t come to me till I was home in my studio for a week or so.

For it, I tried to capture the feeling of the ground we sat on while we meditated.   I  also looked to Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings for inspiration.

Georgia O’Keeffe said it was easy to paint a realistic image of what she saw, but she was interested in abstracting it and bringing in the feeling of what she was experiencing.

Of course my rock towers would be made of doilies.  Fabric is my medium and those towering, white, limestone pillars at Plaza Blanca had a softness to them.  They can literally crumble underfoot.

The ground around the  towering pillars was hard packed sand, spotted with pale scrubby underbrush  and littered with so many different types of rocks all different sizes.  I took with me a piece of pumice and quartz,  and a tiny white bone.  I took with me a vision of rocks made of doilies.

Plaza Blanca is for sale.  It measures 35″ x 52″ and is $350 + $20 shipping.  If you’re interested in it you can email me here at [email protected]

Misti Again- A Memory by Georgia OKeeffe. This is one of the images that inspired the foreground in Plaza Blanca.

Sewing in the Afternoon

November 8th, 2017

I finished sewing “Plaza Blanca” today.  But by the time I got done it was dark out and I couldn’t get a good picture of it by the lights in my studio.  I’ll post it tomorrow.

The Glamour of Painting

November 8th, 2017

The newly painted kitchen

I think of it as The Glamour of Painting.

It’s when I finally get to roll the first coat of paint on the wall.  It covers enough so I know for sure what it’ll look like when it’s all done.  Big swipes with the roller covering huge areas of wall.

It’s quick and satisfying.  It’s actually fun.

Then comes the trim, not as glamorous, but when I just start painting, I have the patience and skill to do a good job.  My lines between ceiling and wall are pretty straight, even compensating for the wavy plaster of an old house.

I cheat on some of the moldings, painting the sides no one will ever see, unless they intentionally look,  the same color as the wall instead of the color of the molding that it should be.

By the time I get to the window sashes I’m getting bored.  The only thing that keeps me going is that I want to see if they actually look how I imagined they would.

That’s the good part.

But before I get to The Glamour of Painting there’s the prep work.

Pulling all the pictures off the wall, removing the nails and picture hooks and spackling the holes.  Wiping down the walls with soap and water,  which are so much dirtier than I ever imagined.

When I move the stove to get at the wall behind it, there’s two years of dust and a decaying pile of mouse droppings under it.   I decide not to paint behind the fridge.

Everything I moved out of the kitchen on Saturday is still sitting on and under the dining room table.

There are three walls that need a third coat of yellow and I still have to scrape the widows.

Then there’s the touch up.

The first time I dragged a cart full of wood through the kitchen doorway I scraped the paint off down to the white.   That’s exactly why I didn’t paint over the white cabinets.  Before long they’d be chipped and peeling with all the use they get.

I’ll give them a fresh coat of white another weekend, when I’ve forgotten about the reality of the drudgery of painting and the clean-up.   When enough time has passed that  I can once  get excited at the idea of having cabinets look as good as the walls.

But for now, even though the painting  still isn’t completely done, and every time I want some cheese puffs I have to wander the dining room looking for them among the piles of kitchen stuff on the dining room table, when I walk into the kitchen I love the way it looks.

And so I’m glad I took the trouble to do it.  The bright colors give me lift and make me smile, especially on these dreary November days.

 

First Hay of the Season

November 8th, 2017

We gave the donkeys and sheep hay this morning for the first time this fall.  They ate it hungrily.  There’s still grass for them to graze but it doesn’t hold the nutrition that spring and summer grass has.

It was telling that they left some of the hay behind and grazed in the afternoon.  They would prefer to graze when they can.

Bless My Bookkeeper

November 7th, 2017

 

Where I spent my day, in my office/ guest room.

Paperwork it’s no fun
but still, it has to be done.

Shipping’s better,
Thank You hats for Connie’s Chair
Potholders from India and my studio
a quilt on its way to a friend.

Wendy at the Post Office
Lunch in between
Chocolate Cake with soup for dessert.

Then back to the books
Numbers and figures
they never work out
I’m always off,
till Anne gets hold of them…

Bless my Bookkeeper she straightens it out.