A few months ago, I bought a big honkin’ hunk o’ fiber. Well, several, actually, but this was 10.3 ounces of gorgeousness. I had to have every bit the vendor had on hand. It was a lovely combination of streaks of blue, dark blue, black, and white merino and tussah silk. It was called “Bay Breeze.” Perfect for little ol’ (temporarily) landlocked me!
I started spinning it on my brand new Trindle. The Trindle is a great drop spindle, with super-smooth spin-action, and I was really happy I forked over the dough for it. I was so proud of how thin I was able to spin my new fiber on it, too.
I had a question about the Trindle (now I’ve forgotten the question, let alone the answer), so I went back to the lady who sold it to me. She commented on how thick my yarn-to-be was. I tried not to take offense. I realized she did not know how thin it relatively was. Other than that, she answered whatever my question was, and all was well.
I filled up the Trindle once, I filled it twice, and in between I wound the results onto a nostepinne so I could make center-pull balls and ply them together later.
Then I got the Victoria wheel. For some reason, I was automatically able to spin a finer thread on my sweet little wheel, and it was coming out all lacey and denim-y (den-yummy!) and delightful. Well, maybe not lacey, but fingering-y.
So what did I do? I not only spun all the remaining Bay Breeze on the Victoria, but then I unspun and respun all the many yards and yards of fiber I had spun on the Trindle, so it would all be the same weight. Have you ever tried to untwist your fiber? Is this even wise? I did it anyway. This took many hours. My thumbs hurt.
And then I still needed to ply.
I had bobbin upon bobbin of Bay Breeze future-fingering-weight, and I began to ply it onto the bigger wheel, and I kept plying and plying and it never seemed to make a dent in the amount of plying I would need to do, and I looked at those big, fat bobbins and thought, “This is going to take me the rest of my life.”
I did take breaks from time to time, but I kept eyeing the plying to come. I didn’t have fear of plying, per se, but rather, fear of never getting to spin anything else.
But the result? 882 yards of pure “worth it!”
Now begins the hunt for the perfect pattern!