I learnt to spin in junior high school, in Textiles and Design class at The Rock Central School. It must have been 1983. I was fifteen and sufficiently impressed with this new skill to ask for a spinning wheel for my sixteenth birthday. Mum and Dad ordered an Ashford from New Zealand. It arrived in a big cardboard box and required assembly. It is identical to this one, but mine is oiled, not varnished.
We lived on a farm, but my parent’s raised cattle, not sheep. So, my dad got me a fleece from neighbours at Tootool; in exchange for his services, dragging away their dead horse. This family had a small block in the nearby village, and they didn’t own a tractor. It was a black fleece and I carded it by hand with a dog comb. I have always done things the hard way.
My first efforts at spinning were very lumpy and I didn’t know how to wash out the lanoline. The jumper I knitted was very waxy and smelt like a sheep. It took years of persistence to achieve a clean and fine thread.
I’m still learning to manage this blog and expect that the results might stink for a while yet. They certainly won’t be four-ply equivalent.
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