Our Passover celebrations this year involved something new for the lambs... shearing. It turned out that the day the shearer came to town was moved to happily coincide with our visit to Ukiah, California. We helped load cousin Elizabeth's three ewes and two lambs into the back of the truck and bounced them over backroads to a friend's barn where there were sheep-a-plenty. Fascinating to see all their different faces and fleeces! The shearer made quick with his work, and we returned with the naked sheep in plenty of time to make the matzah balls.

I organized a field trip to the Alpaca Valley Ranch last weekend. The more I learn about alpacas, the more I like them. Environmentally, they live lightly on the land compared to other domesticated animals. When you hear about the realities of Chinese cashmere farming , it makes you think harder about your choices in luxury fibers. Locally grown alpaca, processed nearby and available in a range of natural colors seems like a choice you can feel pretty good about.

And besides, the alpacas were pretty darned cute! We had a marvelous afternoon getting to know the critters. They're very calm and quiet, a bit skittish, but really pleasant animals. Less smelly and dirty than a dog, and, according to our hosts, Kari and Wythe Davis, easier to take care of.

And their fleece? Delightfully soft. Warm and light (alpaca hairs are hollow which makes them marvelous insulators). And much cleaner than sheep's wool because they don't produce lanolin. Even an unwashed fleece seemed at most "dusty" rather than dirty. The hairs are shorter, straighter and slipperier than a nice crimpy sheep's wool, but even as a neophyte, I didn't find it much trouble to spin. Alpacas come in a range of colors from a rich chocolatey black to creamy white. So even undyed, the color choices are interesting.

We got to wander around with the alpacas in their pen and learn about them and finished up our visit looking at the fibers, fleeces and yarns Kari had for sale. Meanwhile, the children were entertained with a box of kittens. Really. So if you're interested in alpaca yarn or fiber drop the Alpaca Valley Ranch a line. She's happy to ship fiber... but not kittens.

As far as what I'm knitting, I agreed to give myself a little vacation from my current must-knit, 3/4-done, all-the-mystery-is-gone project and cast on with my creamy fingering weight alpaca. What's on the needles? A pattern I've been rhapsodizing about for a long time, Hanami from Pink Lemon Twist. I have just finished the first repeat of the basketweave pattern. I have no expectation of getting it done quickly. I think it's one of those things your relish slowly.

*Or, one llama named Tina and some alpacas.

The girls and I were experimenting with making felt wrapped soaps. I left them out in the backyard to dry. The next day I discovered that one was missing and the other had significant bites taken out of it. I can understand that perhaps a curious animal might take a little nibble, that wool and Ivory might pique the senses, but after one bite, who on earth would go back for more? Or find it so tasty that you'd either gobble it up or take it home for a midnight snack?

I've been reading about the yarn harlot's isolated adventures in the snowy cold. Walls of snow piling up. Having to seriously limit exposure time to avoid death. She might as well be on Mars. Her locale is just as exotic.

Here, I am happy to report, it is spring. Anyone taking me as harbinger will know that spring arrived officially last Wednesday. I wore white. I wore culottes. I was greeted by the wafting scent of orange blossoms as I came out the back door.

I have plotted and schemed. I have dug dirt. I have lugged $40 worth of craigslist bricks into the car, out of the car and placed them artfully in and about the front yard. I have brought out the pushmower and given our token lawn the once over. I have cleaned out closets. I have re-organized drawers.

The fruit trees have budded. The first rose has bloomed. There are enough peas to make a serving. Birds are chirping and looking at one another suggestively.

Oh, and you could be outside way longer than twenty minutes without risking bodily harm.

With much help from an old friend, who tired of my antiquated blog lacking things like built in comments or RSS feeds, after 543 posts over nearly 6 years, I've moved the blog here, to it's new home domesticsphere.com. So bookmark it, subscribe to the RSS feed, enjoy browsing the archives once again.
And yes, I'll try to blog more frequently!

Here's a recent spinning effort: it's hand-dyed merino that I purchased off Etsy. While I liked the colors individually, I thought the green was too bright and too strong while it was in its nascent roving form. But since spinning still surprises me, I gave it a go. As singles, the green was still too strong. But maybe plied?

On the left you see it as it looks plied, though the colors aren't very true. The green is really the brightest, unsubdued chartreuse. My thinking was to either grey it or pink it, so in the interest of expedience I dashed the smaller skeinlet into a bath of boiling cherry kool-aid. Amazing what a little pink will do. The green tuned variously pink, orange and brown, the purple got rosier and the browns got warmer. All what you'd expect I suppose, and much more something I'm likely to knit or wear.

I have a collection of etiquette books. My first and favorite was found in the free books box outside of Powell's in Hyde Park. It's Vogue's Book of Etiquette, published in 1948. The author is Millicent Fenwick, an associate editor of Vogue. That a Vogue editor would write an etiquette book and that she should have such a perfect name for the task makes my heart beat just a tiny bit faster.

Anyway, here's a tidbit to amuse you in these days of informality.

A man addressing a woman always waits to call a woman by her first name until she has taken the initiative. A woman may make a point of the change by saying, "Please, don't call me Mrs. Edwards"; or she may simply start calling the man by his first name. But, unless the man is very much older than the woman, he should never fall into the modern rudeness of saying, "Do call me George."

So I was doing a bit of the "from the thrift store you came, and to the thrift store ye shall return" yesterday and decided to pop in for a look around. You get rid of some stuff and you make room for more stuff. I spotted this cabinet.

Which turns out to be a sewing machine cabinet. The "drawers" are a facade for a built in bench with underseat storage! How sleek and built in. How mid-century!

In that miraculous interchangeability of sewing machines built in the days before planned obsolescence, the old pink Brother fits right in. This is maybe one of the most loveable things about sewing machines. Need a belt? Need a bobbin case? A cabinet? They're all standard sizes. Across brands. Across decades. Plus you can actually observe all the moving parts and figure out which one isn't moving the right way. No mysteries. No chips. It's an actual machine.

The machine in the cabinet seems very close to working -- needs a new belt and a new slide plate, but I think I can find those without much ado. At first I thought I'd get rid of it and just use the cabinet for the Brother, but I tried it a bit and I think it might be a winner. I've never heard of the brand and couldn't find much on the internet -- it's a Radi-O-Matic, and has enough levers and dials to get a man on the moon. All metal. No plastic. And it's got the manual with it. And if there was any doubt about it, it's very Modern. It's even labeled.