Winding Wool

Shetland Two Ply Hand Spun Yarn

This morning I sat in my big window, winding yarn and watching the birds as they flocked to the feeders. The black cat purred on the back of the couch, twitching a lazy tail when a bold chickadee snatched a seed from the feeder by his head. A sleeping spaniel, tired from a romp outside with her puppy, rested her chin on my ankle as I worked, and the puppy curled on the rug at my feet in a rare moment of restfulness.

The Shetland from Thistle Cove Farm is lovely to spin. I have a nice two-ply, two ounce start on the six pounds of lovely wool and have barely made a dent in the fluffy cloud that I washed. Plenty of beautiful shawls in the future. The color is hard to describe. Sort of cream with a few strands of dark running through it. There's a sheen on this yarn that I haven't seen in the previous Shetland I've worked with.

Yesterday I went to the little town at the foot of the mountain to talk to a fellow about setting up an accounting system for his business. He lost his office help who had been doing the work for 19 years, and wants to have the new young lady put everything on the computer. I'll probably go down next week and spent a day setting things up. I wasn't able to get the bunny bottles done before leaving because it was so cold. So most of the afternoon was taken up with the regular morning chores. Very unsettling! Last night I finished the Shetland bobbin and plied it. I love plying; it's so fast!

My young friend lost her dear dog this week. I haven't been able to talk directly to her about it yet but I know she's having a hard time with it. Things were very bad for poor Roxy, though, and it was time to let go.

It was really cold this morning but it's warming up fast. I went out early to feed the birds because they were flocking around the feeders. A lot of birds out there today; finches, with the goldfinches starting to look more yellow than green, bossy blue jays that scatter the little birds when they bomb down and stut about, juncos, sparrows, chickadees, a sassy little tufted titmouse. There was a wren on the roof outside the bedroom window on Sunday; I'm not sure if they visit the feeders, though. Sometimes it looks like a sea of little bobbling backs on the ground under the old apple tree.