“Jon”, I yelled,” I forgot I have to skirt my wool.”
It was about 9pm, I was sitting at the dining room table, my computer open to my bank statement and my check book next to it. I was figuring out the financing of picking up my wool the next day. As I considered that I’d have to put a down payment on this falls wool, I remembered that not only was I picking up the finished yarn, but dropping off this fall’s raw wool.
“I’ll help”, Jon called back from his study where he was working. “I just have to post this piece.”
A few minutes later Jon put on his apron and sat across from me at the dining room table picking burrs and twigs and feces out of the Izzy’s wool.
I only have six small bags of wool this season. We had the sheep shorn so late last summer, most of the sheep’s wool wasn’t long enough to shear.
I can’t wait to see what the yarn looks like. It’s the first time I dyed some of the grays and browns. I can’t even remember what colors I dyed them. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they came out well. Deb told me, with the darker colors it sometimes doesn’t always go as planned.
Now I’m brewing a cup of tea to take on the ride to Brandon Vermont. Jon will pick up a cup of coffee at Stewarts and in an hour and a half we’ll be at the Vermont fiber Mill.
