Bookmark Success!

After I wove off that pink warp, dyed with madder, I finally put a new warp on the loom. It’s a blue warp, dyed with woad, for more “Jack Frost” pattern bookmarks. Amazingly enough, the first three came out exactly the same length! This is a feat of consistency of which I am rarely capable, so I was pretty happy. Here they are:

consistent weaving

What I have been aiming for in my bookmarks is a woven length of 9 inches, with 1 inch of fringe on each end. This allows them to fit exactly into the stylish wrappers Matthew designed, which are 11 inches long.

bookmark wrapper

A brief moment of triumph!

Bookmark Failures (Successes Coming Soon)

This post is the latest installment in a longer saga about weaving bookmarks with naturally dyed 40/2 linen. The saga spans many months, if not years. I have posted about these bookmarks in the past. You can read my most recent post about it here.

Or you can just catch up on the back story in this post!

My linen bookmarks are woven with 40/2 linen. They are not too time-consuming to produce, though the pricing still works out to a meager hourly rate when I take into account all the steps involved in the dyeing plus the weaving.

On the other hand, since I love dyeing more than almost anything (except possibly growing the dye plants), I never really account for that part of the process when I think about pricing. I am so compelled to dye that I dye yarn even when I have no specific outcome or product in mind.

My bookmarks are a lower-price-point item than my currently non-existent books or my rya wall hangings, so they sell pretty consistently at the Shelburne Arts Co-op. I make some additional direct sales to co-workers and friends. Thanks to the fantastic invention of reading glasses, I can now hemstitch with increased efficiency. So, as a sweet little item for sale, it’s mostly good.

Here’s the bookmark back story. In January of 2014 I decided to weave a new batch of bookmarks with a darker shade of madder-dyed pink. Normally I use a very light shade of pink. But, I’d made some lovely darker pinks and wanted to use them. I made a few huck lace heart motif bookmarks from this warp, but I wasn’t entirely satisfied with them, so I didn’t weave off the warp for literally months.

There were two problems. First, the gauge of yarn seemed slightly more coarse than the 40/2 linen yarns I’d bought in the past from the same retailer. Just slightly, but enough to make a difference. I’ve had some discussions about this with another weaver who uses the same yarn, and with one of the folks at the store where I buy my yarn. They do not agree with me. So, maybe it was something else and not the size of the yarn. Whatever it was, I could not get the same number of picks per inch (threads in the weft) as I had in the past, and the heart motifs were all slightly elongated. I wasn’t pleased.

Second, the darker color did not work as nicely with the lace weave structure, in my opinion, as the lighter shades of pink. I have read that lace works best with light colored yarns. The structure involves horizontal and vertical lines (floats) which need to be viewed in a certain way in order for the design to be distinct. Light must bounce off of the yarn in order for the motifs to be clearly seen by the viewer. The more reflectivity (i.e., the lighter the color of yarn) the better the motifs will show. So, the combination of less reflectivity and less compact threads made the whole design less successful, in my opinion.

Due to life circumstances, for months I did not have the mental energy to tackle the relatively simple task of re-designing a new pattern for the number of ends in my warp and rethreading the warp (only 75 ends).

In September I was finally motivated to get the warp off the loom. First I tried a heart motif from Twill Thrills (scroll to the bottom of the page). The draft was designed to be woven with sewing thread. 40/2 linen is much thicker. So, it didn’t work at all. Pretty ugly.

white and blue heartscloser view of heart twill

Yes, the first heart (closer to the viewer) is upside down. No, you can’t see it at all. I reversed the treadling and tried with a darker weft color. Also ugly. Why not just start fresh? I was trying to use up the warp. Naturally dyed with madder, don’tcha know.

So, I re-threaded once again. This new pattern was much more satisfactory. The dark pink warp and extremely pale pink weft worked very nicely together. However, I couldn’t manage to beat it evenly. I wove three little bookmarks of various lengths and imperfect quality, and that was the end of the warp.

fancy twill motif

Now I have washed and ironed a couple of the bookmarks with the four-petaled flower-like motif above. They have a nice drape. Actually they are pretty cute.

pink twill motif bookmarkspink twill bookmarks with tape measureYou can see that the third motif from the left is short in both bookmarks. Matthew thinks they look like bacon. “You can see that the bacon is 11 inches long,” says he.

I think the lesson learned from this experiment is that I need to adjust the design so that the motifs are taller. And obviously be more careful with my beat.

Three Bags Full

About a month ago I was tidying up the crafts room. I was trying to get organized so I could weave a new crop of “Jack Frost” bookmarks before the winter holidays.

The crafts room is the room in our apartment which houses my loom, all my yarns, dried dye plants, dye equipment and materials, niddy noddy, swift, scales, carders, and drop spindles. It also contains two large book shelves full of books, a desk, a small filing cabinet, bookbinding supplies and tools, two antique scutching knives and an antique hetchel. The crafts room also contains a lot of dyed fleece and spinning fiber, hand-woven items, notebooks with all my dyeing, weaving, and teaching records, and some fiber magazines. Also, it’s where I store plastic bins with samples and materials for various fiber arts activities that I teach, and an ironing board and iron. And lots of other stuff like dye plant seeds and the beater and reeds for a 40 inch Macomber loom that’s been occupying my mom’s laundry room for a year while I try to figure out what to do with it. I know, that is a nutty list, and I didn’t even list everything. It is in a fairly chronic state of chaos.

There’s no flax in there, though. That’s all stored in the bedroom and the minivan. The spinning wheel lives in the living room.

Far more occasionally than I’d like, I wrestle the crafts room into a momentary state of order in which I can actually weave. This was one of those rare occasions. So, as I said, I was doing some tidying. I came across a zip-lock bag with soil inside, and to my surprise there were tiny little green sprouts growing inside.

Japanese indigo seeds germinatingI was briefly confused. Then I remembered that I had collected some Japanese indigo seeds that had fallen on the ground when I was cutting all the plants for harvest in October. I just scooped up the seeds and the soil they were resting on and dumped them in a bag. After I got home that day, I was focused on tying up the plants and setting them up to dry. In the meanwhile I forgot about these seeds in the zip-lock. I didn’t expect that they could germinate in a bag. But clearly, the soil was moist enough for them to germinate, and they must not need a lot of light or scarification or cold stratification or anything fancy. Here’s a close-up:

Japanese indigo seedlings

They were spindly and doomed, since it was November and we don’t have a greenhouse or any natural light in the apartment. But they grew! I was very excited. This bodes well for growing a large crop next year, and sharing seeds with others once I get them cleaned up.

Apparently I never took a photo of the Japanese indigo plants hung up to dry. That’s a shame because it was pretty impressive. When they were fresh they were very bulky. The plant material entirely filled our downstairs half-bath.

The plants dried very nicely in that little room with the heat on at 75 degrees. They even retained the vivid color of the flowers, the magenta stems, and some of the dark green of the leaves.

dried Japanese indigo flower

As the dried, they shrank in size considerably. This is good because I don’t have that much storage space. The bags of dried plant material are currently stored in, you guessed it, the crafts room.

Many seeds fell off while the plants dried and I collected them on paper spread out on the floor. Many are still clinging inside the dried flower clusters, on the plant stalks. There’s a chance I can use the dried leaves for dyeing when the warm weather returns. Meanwhile, here are the three paper grocery bags full of dried Japanese indigo plants and seeds:

dried Japanese indigo plantsThree bags full. I have yet to strip off the leaves or separate the seeds. This will no doubt be a messy and time-consuming job, resulting in a very small quantity of end product. My specialty.

Seeds and Life and Death

The fiber and dye plants at my plot at Bramble Hill have done a brilliant job of setting seed this fall. It’s very exciting. Since it is nearly All Hallows Eve, or Samhain, or El Dia de los Muertos, depending on your tradition, I have been thinking a lot about the relationship between the dead and the living.

Harvest and abundance, frosts and death. Seeds carry us through from one season to the next, from the death of fall to the life of spring.

Orange cosmos are usually prolific, but this year seemed especially so. Here are some images of the cosmos plants back on October 19th when I harvested the Japanese indigo. A chaotic tangle of flowers, stalks, and seeds. Death and rebirth.

orange cosmos chaos

Here is a different perspective on the state of things, with dead stalks and seed heads alongside bright flowers still in bloom. In the background is the Holyoke Range, a defining feature of our local landscape. The mountain in the center, with the steep downward angle on its left and long slope on its right, is Mt. Norwottuck. The round-topped mountain to the right of it is Bare Mountain. The dip between them is locally known as The Notch.

October cosmos with Mount Norwottuck

Here is a lone seed head against the cloudy autumn sky on that windy day.

cosmos against the sky

And here is a seed head that has already lost several of the long, delicate seeds. I think the structure and color of cosmos seeds is gorgeous.

partial cosmos seed

Another plant that set a lot of seed this season is madder. Typically madder is propagated by roots or below-ground stems. Madder is a bedstraw-relative. New plants will grow up from the nodes of the stem or stalk, and pretty much any fleshy part of the root. I assume that it can also be propagated by seed, but alas I cannot vouch for this from personal experience. I tried planting madder seedlings one summer, but this is my only record:

madder seed experiment

It dates from July 7, 2011. No, it is not a lot to go on. I do not seem to have made any notes about it, so I’m guessing nothing germinated. That little green two-leaf seedling is probably a tomatillo. These are ubiquitous in everything we grow thanks to our home-made compost, which consists of a lot of salsa-making detritus.

If something noteworthy happened, I think I would have taken a photo or written about it in the garden log, but I can’t find anything. So, I am not sure if madder seeds are good for anything, but I sure have a lot of them! Exactly my kind of wealth.

Here are some madder berries. I don’t know if that’s botanically accurate but I think it’s descriptive. They are the dark purple spheres amidst the stems and foliage.

October madder berries

And here are some that have dried right on the stalks:

dried madder berries

I opened up a berry that was still juicy. You can see the slight staining on my hand. No, I do not plan to try madder berries as a dye source. The pulp is on my index finger and the seed on my middle finger.

madder seed and pulp

I scraped the skin off a dried berry, and the tough seed inside was almost the same size as the berry itself. Here’s the seed. A little world dense with potency.

madder seed

I’m not precisely sure how to tell when madder seeds are mature. Both the seed from the juicy berry and the seed from the dried berry felt very hard.

I’m inclined to think that the one from the wizened berry is more mature.

Senescence–the over-maturity of a fruit and the beginning of its decomposition–is a characteristic that often indicates seed maturity.

Seeds teach us that biological life is cyclical, not linear.

A seed is both the destination and the source.

 

Japanese Indigo Harvest

Why two blog posts in one night, you may wonder? I am typically a binge-blogger. Once I finally sit down to deal with photos and organization and writing, I get in a groove and it’s fun to keep going. Tonight, however, I am killing time while I wait up for a tansy dye bath and a wool mordanting bath to get done. Tomorrow I am doing a natural dye workshop for Mass Ag. in the Classroom at their day of hands-on gardening skills. I have been absurdly busy with one thing and another all week, so tonight was my sole free night to wind skeins, scour, mordant, and make the dyebath. It’s more than I usually try to do in a night after work, and makes for a later night than usual. Anyway. I am not actually writing about that. I am writing about my gorgeous Japanese Indigo plants.

After a few frost warnings this month, during which I covered the Japanese Indigo with several layers of sheets, the forecasted temperatures on October 19th were in the 20s. I figured the time had come to cut all the Japanese Indigo and hang it up to dry. You may recall that I had decided to let the plants get as big as possible, and to try to save as much seed as possible, rather than harvest the leaves for dyeing this season. I had brushed off seeds as the flowers stalks matured and dried out, so I already had a pretty nice stash of seeds. But, I read in Dorothy Miller’s seminal book Indigo From Seed to Dye that you can cut the whole plants and allow them to dry, and the seeds will continue to mature. Since I know this is true of flax and some other plants, I was pretty confident that it would work.

Here are some of the plants right before I harvested them. You can see that the late fall coldness has settled on the marigolds, and they are getting ready to die. Pretty much everything in the dye plant garden was transitioning into decline by then.

Japanese Indigo plants at harvest Here are some close ups of the flowering stalks.

Japanese Indigo flower stalks at harvest

Aren’t the burgundy-colored stems next to the pink flowers just so luscious?

Mature Japanese Indigo flower stalkI cut the plants right down to the soil-level. For a few days now they have been hanging upside down from the clothes rack in our downstairs half-bath. The heat in there is controlled on its own thermostat. I turned it up to about 75 and closed the door. Already the flower stalks are drying and turning white and brown, and the seeds are loosening. So, I should get a good amount of seeds, I hope.

I’m not sure how I will start these seeds in the spring. The seedlings need to be started well before the last frost, which for us can be as late as Memorial Day weekend. I will have to find someone with a greenhouse and hit them up for some space.

Weld Harvest

Way back on October 5th, a Sunday, we had a frost warning. I had a shift at the Shelburne Arts Co-op that day, so my time for gardening was limited. In the morning I went over to the garden at Bramble Hill to assess the situation and do triage. I decided to go back to the garden after my shift to cover the Japanese indigo plants because I was hoping to nurse them along for a while to let the seed mature. More on that later.

I did not think it would be possible to cover the hugely tall weld plants, and I could also tell that plenty of seeds had matured on the weld already. I think I have written about this before, but just as a refresher I will remind readers that weld flowers keep growing off of the same stalk throughout the season. At harvest time, the tips will still be in bloom while the oldest seed heads at the base of the flower stalk will be mature. Only black weld seeds are viable. Every other color of seed, from brown to yellow, gets tossed in with the flowering tops, leaves, and stalks for the dye pot.

So, that morning I clipped off the most mature-looking seed heads and put them in a brown paper bag to dry. I cut down all the plants that had bolted, tossed them in the van, and drove to the co-op. The weld basically filled up the van. Well, it filled up the part that wasn’t already full of flax. The plants stayed in the van for a couple days until Matthew declared them too stinky. I am inured to many strong smells, and weld is no exception. To me it smells like asparagus. I think it’s a nice smell, usually. One year my crop smelled like cat pee as it dried. That was intense. Matthew thinks it smells like pee after you’ve eaten asparagus. Strong, weird, and worrisome until you remember that you ate asparagus. I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this, but we are a one-car (or one-van) household, so obviously the weld had to dry elsewhere.

We don’t have a lot of space at our apartment, so drying options were limited. I moved the weld from the van into the “crafts room” where my loom is. It took up a good portion of the room. However, the door can shut and the windows can be opened, and the weld dried pretty well in there without contaminating the rest of the apartment with stinkiness.

Here I am holding the harvest after it has dried and shrunk down quite a bit, two weeks after harvest. You can see the delicate yellow flowering tips at the ends of some of the stalks.

weld harvest 2014I will have a lot of seed from this harvest. I used to think that you had to direct-seed weld. I’d read that it didn’t like to be transplanted because it has a long taproot. It is frustrating to plant it directly into the ground because germination is uneven and it takes a really long time. It’s not easy to keep the seed bed moist over days and weeks while the seeds germinate (or don’t), so for many years I found weld kind of tricky to grow.

However, I have discovered that it transplants just fine. I grew a lot of seedlings this summer, which I transplanted at our Amethyst Brook garden plot this fall. I put them in the bed we had used for red onions. This is the kind of “crop rotation” we can manage in a small garden plot. I didn’t think weld would suffer from any of the same pests as alliums, though I’m not positive about this. Transplanting the seedlings that actually germinate is much more efficient and much less of a waste of time. With luck, I will have a giant crop next year. Yellow, anyone?

 

 

 

 

Fun at the Faire

Last weekend I went to the Colonial Faire & Muster of Fyfe and Drums in Sudbury at the Wayside Tavern. Alas, the event is no longer posted on their website but I gather it is an annual event hosted by these folks. I’m not a guns-n-war sort of person, no matter what era, but I went because some friends of mine were demonstrating the flax to cloth process in their period costumes with their antique tools. Continue reading

Japanese Indigo Is Flowering

Way back on Memorial Day weekend, I was lucky enough to find some Japanese indigo seedlings for sale at the Massachusetts Sheep and Woolcraft Fair. I had been wanting to grow this plant, Polygonum tinctorium, for many years, but it’s not that easy to find seeds and we don’t have a good set-up for growing seedlings anyway here at the apartment. I had never come across seedlings before. In a fit of excitement, I bought out the vendor’s entire supply (11 plants) and planted them in the front bed at my dye and fiber plant garden at Bramble Hill Farm with maximum southern exposure. Continue reading

I Am Pleased With My Linen Yarns

This is just a short post to say that I’m pleased with my stash of linen yarns. Here they are:

linen yarnsThe pink colors at the top come from madder roots, and also the little orange skein on the left. The browns are from black walnut. The light orange in the center is from orange cosmos. The blues are from woad. The greens are from weld with woad on top. The yellows are from weld. This modest-sized basket represents a ton of work, and I am very satisfied!

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Weld is Flowering and Proliferating

Weld is a biennial. The Latin name for weld is Reseda luteola. Luteolin is the molecule in weld that makes yellow. A plant that is a biennial typically lives for two years, and only flowers and sets seed in the second year. These weld plants were planted this spring, but as of July 18th several of them have already sent up tall stalks. They look suspiciously like they are starting to flower. This does happen sometimes, but it is still a little puzzling to me.

Below is a view of the weld bed with all the tall plants.

bolting weld

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