From My Stash: Icelandic Minis

Today is the one year anniversary of my trip to Iceland. It’s hard to believe that it has already been a year since I packed my oversized camping backpack, boarded a flight, and landed in a country where the sun doesn’t set until 11 PM and where 45 degrees in May is considered balmy. Where nearly all of the vegetables are imported and where cities feel like they haven’t aged in years.

That trip was big for me for so many reasons, but a highlight that I still treasure the most while traveling with my group around the western coast was the afternoon we spent learning about Icelandic traditions of natural dyeing with Gudrun Bjarnadottir. (You can read all about that day and the incredible people we met here.) I got a chance to purchase these mini skeins from a local wool cooperative outside of Reykjavik, naturally dyed by local artisans and made out of, of course, single ply Icelandic wool. Unfortunately, these skeins can’t be found online, but you can find naturally dyed Icelandic wool in full skeins at Gudrun’s Etsy store, or by searching for Hespa yarn, and a very similar single-ply base in the wool called Einband.

I still remember SO VIVIDLY standing in that co-op agonizing over which of these skeins to bring home because each of the dozens of shades on display was so lovely and I had such a hard time choosing. I have a lot of dreams for what I would like for these skeins to be but even now, a year later, I am perfectly content admiring them and making as careful of a decision for what they will be as I was in choosing them in the first place. Their colors haven’t faded even a bit from their original beauty and I know that they will be skeins or finished pieces that I will share with my loved ones for many years to come.

Iceland Part 6: Wool from start to finish

On our last day together as a group, we started the day by prioritizing one of the most important things: pastries. We grabbed rolls with ham and cheese and massive sweet rolls before hitting the road back south by a new route. At a local gas station off route 1 we finally saw a large group of tourists after many days of feeling very uncrowded, and I bought a green juice, trying to make up for the dirth of vegetables I had consumed over the previous seven days. Seeing all of those other tourists somehow made me so grateful for our knowledgeable guide and all of the experience and perspective she brought to our journey.

Our first step of the day was the Textile Museum in Blondous about an hour's drive from the northern city we had spent the last few nights. The museum sits on the coast of the fjord and is directly adjacent to the first women's college in Iceland, and which now serves as the lodging and workspaces for visiting artists in residence for the Textile Museum. While small, the museum was richly detailed, and I was shocked that the staff encouraged us to put on gloves and handle some of the pieces in the museum directly, getting to handle the intricate lace shawls, mittens, and more that were on display. After hearing all week about lace patterns, traditional shapes, and the fine history of Icelandic handknitting it was so exciting to see it all in person. After studying and creating spider lace, eyelet patterning, eight-point flowers, and natural gradients, it was inspiring to see these elements throughout all of Iceland's knitting history. The mittens were some of my absolute favorites, and I look forward to recreating some someday for my own everyday use.

In Blondous, we also visited the first step in the process of wool becoming yarn. Istex, the company that produces 90% of all of Icelandic yarn in the country, operates different pieces of the process of making wool into yarn throughout the western regions in Iceland. Our first step on this journey was the intake of all of the raw wool that will transform over many stages, hours, and machines to be suitable for knitting. Giant bales of raw wool filled the processing center where the fleeces are sorted by color and grade, washed, scoured, and dried. Naturally-colored wool is becoming increasingly rare in Iceland, as Istex dyes all of its wool for its own specific colors and drives a demand in the market for predominantly white wool from farmers. Helene shared that she would love to expand the palette of naturally-colored wool in her own yarn lines someday and work to rebuild the market for it in Iceland.

Examining a lock ready to be washed for quality and grading

We waved from our window to Hotel Hrausnef and the elves that guard its entrance on our way to Borgarnes, about 40 minutes outside of Reykjavik. Here, we also got to have our first experience shopping for yarn in a grocery store and to say I was overwhelmed would probably be an understatement. :)

Never mind the odd looks from the locals :)

The epicenter of all yarn-making in Iceland is the Istex mill outside of Reykjavik, where freshly-washed wool becomes yarn in a hundred colors. The people who work here have so much knowledge and experience in yarnmaking and honing their process and craft. They were really generous to share it all with us and answer all of our questions.

Mountains of wool awaiting their turn to be carded & spun

The final step in the yarn's journey to become a finished object led us to Helene's own studio in a cozy neighborhood inside the city. A light-filled mid-century studio full of knitted garments and modern interpretations of Icelandic wool blew us all away and was so inspiring. Spending time there I also began to realize a sense of nostalgia in our group, knowing that this would be our last stop in our journey together before parting ways, back to our homes across the globe after a life-changing week. We lingered long, wanting to absorb everything, and not wanting it to all come to an end.

All good things do come to an end, however, and almost a year later I cannot believe that I had the chance to go on this amazing trip, to experience this journey in myself and within this beautiful group of women who believe in the magic of two sticks turning wool into something warm. I cannot say enough good things about Helene's knitting workshops and would be happy to share any more information about my experience traveling to Iceland or about this retreat specifically. Now that I am finally caught up on sharing about this amazing trip, I'm also excited to share about the yarn I brought home, and the garments I've been knitting with Icelandic wool. Coming soon!

Iceland: Part 5 (Up North, the Glaumbær Turf Farm & Spider Lace)

The next day, we continued our journey north. We drove on roads so elevated and narrow that in the wintertime, they become impassable, and we also learned about the unique sheep herding culture in Iceland. We passed a sheep pen which had many smaller pens inside of it, used annually by farmers. In Iceland, all of their sheep roam completely free throughout the spring and summer with no boundaries of a traditional farm, and come the fall farmers work together to round up every sheep in the countryside. Then, they meet to divide the sheep according to the farmers who keep them and ensure they stay safe for the winter. In the spring, they are shorn and released back out again to roam and grow another season.

We visited the Glaumbær Turf Farm, one of the last in Iceland of its kind, where the homestead was literally built into hills in the earth for insulation and protection, long hallways connecting rooms for every function a family would need throughout each season. Larders, kitchens, laundry rooms, sitting rooms, spinning rooms, everything was accessible through internal passageways that eliminated the need to let in the cold. I loved those yellow doors! It makes me want to paint my front door yellow, but I doubt I could pull it off as well. Everyone in the household slept in one big room in bunk-style beds which was also where much of the women’s work, spinning and knitting and braiding horse hair and all of the essential crafts occurred. On our visit, it was actually a special exhibition day where actors representing women’s traditional crafts and costumes from many different eras of Iceland’s history came together and demonstrated their skills, and how it might be like to all live and work together in one place at the farm. Seeing this unfold, I was once again amazed at the resilience, resourcefulness, and determination of the Icelandic people. Their relationship with wool was born of necessity, but grew beyond subsistence into artistry and love. It was bitterly cold by my estimation on this spring day and it gave me a whole new appreciation for their way of life.

Wearing my plotulopi sweater!

We ate lunch (salad sandwiches, pasta salad, yogurt, OJ) and finished our journey to Skagafjörður, a tiny, sweet town on the northern coast. We toured the only tannery in Iceland, if you can believe it, considering all of their sheep, and visited a local grocery store to peruse their YARN (something we were all in disbelief about) but alas! We arrived at around 3:50 PM and this grocery, in a tiny town at the top of the world, closed at 4 PM on Saturday for the whole weekend. Despite our collective disappointment, I had to smile. Sometimes it felt as though traveling in Iceland was like traveling back to a simpler time. Of course, everyone has internet, and modern amenities, they travel and go to school and do so many things like I do. But here, the grocery store closes at 4 PM for the weekend, so you better get your goods before then because this grocer is getting a Sunday off. I love that defiance to our culture of needing everything right now.

That evening, Helene introduced me to and made everyone laugh with her obsession with the Eurovision. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this before! It was terribly awesome. The performances lasted at least 2 hours and we went to bed an hour into the judging, and they were maybe a third of the way through. Hilarious. She also demonstrated how she blocks her shawl designs and showed us an entire trunk full of various Icelandic designs and techniques for shawls. The shawls were all Icelandic in tradition but original in design, each with a unique variation and color story. Lots of undulating lace patterns, natural gradients, triangles, and lace borders.

The entire next day, we knit. Helene shared with us the basics of spider lace, a simple pattern to follow, and let us loose with a bag of yarn. I don’t think I’ve ever knit that long, with that fine of a yarn, and enjoyed it so much. Before I knew it, three hours had passed. All of us, sitting in an old church and knitting for hours. Quite reminiscent of the women we had seen crafting away at Glaumbær. We broke for lunch, coffee and to begin planning out the yarns we wanted to bring home for various projects to make sure we got them the next day (our last day), and then continued knitting until dinner. The result? By the end of the day I had made a tiny, traditional shawl, and Helene had taught me how to block the heck out of it as lace should be blocked (as in, I thought I had blocked it aggressively, but Helene saw my work, removed half of my pins and nearly doubled the size of my shawl).

One of the good, wonderful realizations that I had on this trip was that every one of us on this trip approached making in a unique way. I find it so easy to become enamored with the “things” you “need” to knit - the culture, the brands, the American way of having a special bag and a special tool for each thing. I love those things, and I love supporting makers who elevate my crafting experience. I think it’s worth it to invest in the things that make you happy. But this trip reminded me that sometimes, all you need is a cooking pot to block lace, that you can knit a baby sweater on old, straight, aluminum needles if you like, and that some knitters never use patterns. My roommate Kris was one of those, and during the week we spent together she wore a different sweater each day - completely unique, completely designed by her based on ideas that she had collected on a Pinterest board and which fit her perfectly. I don’t even think she used Ravelry. When you take away everything else, the one thing we all had in common was the act of knitting, looping wool over wool. How great is that?

Never been so proud of something so small

Iceland: Part 4 (Knitting workshops and plotulopi)

Our country hotel was my favorite place that we stayed the whole week. Right off of the main road leading north, it was flanked on both sides by wide, hilly fields and mountains that were obscured by clouds. Cows, pigs, sheep, ducks, and chickens had their homes near the cottages covered with mossy roofs and two hot tubs overlooking the river. Our first lesson, which took place in a room behind the restaurant, involved all of the varieties of Icelandic wool and how they are made: the plotulopi, lettlopi, alafoss lopi, einband and everything else that Iceland has to offer.

For centuries , all of the wool raised in Iceland was cleaned by hand, combed by hand, and handspun extremely fine lace. Today, it is nearly impossible to find that kind of yarn unless you spin it yourself, and so a few years ago Helene worked to develop her own lace-weight single-ply Icelandic wool in the old traditional way. A century ago, women rarely wore coats or jackets to stay warm like we might assume in modern times, but instead would layer wool shawl upon wool shawl, plenty long and tied in the back for warmth. And warmth, as you can imagine, was of the utmost importance to make it through incredibly long winters.

We spent the morning cozy inside with plenty of coffee, working with plotulopi, playing around with lacy eyelet designs, several cast-on and color-changing techniques, broke for lunch, and picked it all back up again. Mid-afternoon we stopped for coffee and waffles (a tradition I would very much like to keep up in my every day life) and then had some free time to explore.

I took a hike up the mountain which turned out to be much more of an adventure than I had bargained for. As I passed each animal’s pens following the river towards the mountains, I realized that the pigs were following me along the length of their fenced pen. “How fun!” I thought, “They’re taking a walk with me!” And fun it was, until I realized that at the end of the pen, some pigs had dug a trench under their fencing and decided that they WOULD in fact go on a walk with me! Not normally scared of animals and knowing that pigs were not known to be aggressive, I was nevertheless alone and several hundreds of pounds of pigs were headed in my direction and at a fast clip. I quickly diverted my direction back towards the farm, just in case I needed to call for assistance, and the pigs continued to follow me at a distance. I found a grassy ledge off the path with a small pebbled path running in front, and much to my relief the pigs decided to continue along their path and towards, I am sure, a favorite pasture. Crisis averted.

Some hiking, some journaling, some dinner, and of course a pre-bedtime dip in the hot tub, followed by a dip in the icy cold and clear river. And as if the day couldn’t get any better, I found out late that evening that I had a new niece waiting for me back in the States and I got to Skype with Lila Kate on the day she was born just outside the restaurant, overlooking the mountains. It’s a moment I will never forget.

How I loved you, country hotel!

a long spring

This year is not quite shaping up the way that I had anticipated at its genesis. In February, we decided we were going to try to buy a house. And after 7 offers, 3 months and one drawn out conversation with our mortgage lender, we are walking away from that prospect for another year. But it took a lot of time and a lot out of us, and so many things have had to take a spot on the back burner. 

And unrelated, but I'm on my 5th pair of knitted socks for this year. Fifth! I never dreamed that I would knit so many pairs in 2016. It certainly was not on my list of goals for the year, but here we are. Magic loop method and friends who are beautiful indie dyers are to blame. They're quick and portable and I have read Cookie A's book on Sock design several times already thinking through the many ways they can be customized. So fun. 

There have been lots of good things this spring, the Mr. graduating from medical school, Nash surviving a harrowing vet visit, starting on my first weaving adventure and lots of time with those we love via family vacation. 

And so we arrive at June. And to celebrate, we are having a shop update this evening. Lots of lovely naturally dyed, handspun goodness. I'll be taking a little break and closing up the shop when we move next weekend, so be sure to scoop up everything you want before then!

Happy Summer everyone. It promises to be eventful, and wonderful. 

Weaver's Packs and a new logo

As warmer months are approaching and I'm thinking about my fiber practices as I try to keep wool off of my lap, I have put together some natural weaving packs for Goodstitch Fibers! These were so fun to put together. Each one has three mini skeins included, a natural gradient pack, natural texture pack, and a love & chocolate pack. They contain handspun, naturally colored or naturally dyed yarns and come ready to gift tied with a ribbon. 

The raspberry-dyed yarn is beautiful and variegated, and no two yarns are alike. I can't wait to do more solar dyes this summer and experiment with different fruits and dye plants, and am creating a list of the dye plants I'd love to grow in my garden. In the natural texture pack are a few mini skeins of some Corriedale wool that has been raised and processed all within a 50 mile radius of my studio! They're the first products from the fleece that I am working with from Rising Meadow Farm in Liberty, NC, and are crazy textured, variegated grey. I love them. 

I have also been working recently with Julia of WoodFolk Knits to design a new logo for the shop. Her artwork is incredible, organic and expressive, and when I found her I knew I wanted her to work with me on this project. You should absolutely check out her work on Instagram and her online shop. Even her sketches seem like gorgeous works of art. 

Have a wonderful week!

Leah's fleece

Sweet Leah, the ewe who gave me this beautiful fleece! Unwashed, it weighs in just under 5 pounds. The majority of the fleece is grey, but it's speckled with brown, black and tan bits that I've been carding to make a gorgeous heather. I've been working through it slowly and deliberately, savoring the feeling of lanolin on my hands and taking the time to admire every perfect lock. They're still so connected when you pull them out and away from the fleece, all bundled up in a ball in its bag, you can still see the clear lines of where the shearer cut the fleece away from the sheep and how it all was laid out in one huge motion. It's as close as I can get to this farm without actually living there! 

When I step back to think about it, working with these fibers sometimes seems crazy. I live in suburban North Carolina, and much of the processing that I do happens not in a farm yard in work boots amidst flocks of animals, but on my 10x10 back porch and in my kitchen sink. My fleece dries in our spare bedroom. Moreso, though, it makes me grateful for where I live, that my husband can pursue his passions at a major medical center 15 minutes away, and I can drive less than an hour out in to the country and bring back treasures like this one. Farmers are closer than you probably think! And to get to experience their way of life and the fruits of their labor is why I'm so passionate about this work. It's a really amazing thing.  

I hope this Wednesday, you get to work on projects that bring you joy! 

shearing day

Shearing Day, at Rising Meadow Farm in Liberty, NC. You could feel the excitement in the air - the culmination of months of waiting is this morning, when the 75 beautiful rams and ewes of Rising Meadow lose their fluffy winter coats and usher in spring. And the weather did not disappoint! Cloudy, but nearly 60 degrees. This is why we live in the South, for Februaries like these. 

The rams are being shorn today, and one by one they move from a holding pen inside the barn to their stage, a wooden platform where two strong shearers take on between 4 - 10 pounds of fluff. It is magical - seeing the outside of the coat be slowly snipped away to reveal, sometimes, completely different colors and textures underneath. The rams are atypically calm during this process, lying on their backs in strange angles, and yet totally at peace with this process. It's amazing to witness. The whole fleece gets picked up and carried out to the skirting table, where the fleece is picked over, weighed and bagged, to the delight of spinners and fiber enthusiasts roaming around, checking out all of the beautiful fibers for sale. 

There are CVM Romedale, Corriedale, Navajo Churro and Dorset, all with different locks, crimp, staple length, smiling eyes, and personalities. How am I supposed to just pick one fleece?! I decide on a heathery grey Corriedale, with flecks of tan, brown, black. I love the way that the lanolin feels on my hands, and at the same time I can't wait to get it home, wash it out and card it up to see what it will become. 

For lunch, we have lamb chili and homemade bread, sweet conversations and strangers becoming friends, neighbors reuniting. It was fun to experience both as someone new to the area and the community, and someone who felt instantly at home, even amongst folks I had never met. After saying goodbye to the llamas, alpacas, ewes, chickens and cows, hauling 4 pounds of Leah's fleece to my car and driving home with sheepy smells and fond memories in tow. For me, the banner displayed proudly on the shearing barn says it all: great wool grows in North Carolina. I am so happy to call this place home.