Dear Miss Melanie,

Sometime ago, you sent me four ounces of beautiful Polwarth fiber to try on my spinning wheel. I have to admit, it did sit in my stash for quite some time, alone, neglected and nearly forgotten for over a year. Last month I dusted off my spinning wheel, which was just as equally neglected with all the insanity that fills our daily lives in my household. I decided to look through the various fibers I have accumulated through my years as a spinner, feeling each one and waiting for something to speak to me.

There sat the lonely and unloved Polwarth, looking quite like the plain Jane in it’s un-dyed state. Quietly we looked at one another, appraising each other for the moment to see if we could speak to one another. I touched various wools and silks while the Polwarth continued to look at me, imploring me to pick it up just for a moment to see what wonders it could offer to me.

It took me a few moments to give in to its silent pleading, as it peeked out at me from the white tissue paper that you so carefully wrapped it in before sending it my way. Gently I pulled the thin paper away, letting the light touch the fibers that hid beneath, and then I reached in to take hold of the fiber as the paper fell to the floor without another thought.

I carried that fiber, that Polwarth, over to the spinning wheel and sat down in my chair with it. I touched it and caressed it, marveling at its fluffy softness. I laid it in my lap as I prepared my leader yarn on the bobbin, then attached the fiber to the leader as I began to spin.

It flowed through my finger tips smoothly, softly and effortlessly. I watched as it twisted gracefully, enjoying the way it just seemed to spin itself. It wasn’t long before the four ounces ended up on two bobbins, thinly spun and promising me something lace in its final state.

Slowly I plied it back unto itself, planning on creating a two ply yarn out of this heavenly fiber. I ended up with a very thin fingering weight at twenty two wraps per inch and a glorious 692 yards.

I wound it into skeins and left it sitting at my desk to enjoy. Each time I sat down at the computer, I would touch it, pet it and relish it’s softness. In my eyes, it was the perfect yarn. Now it was time to search for the perfect pattern for such a soft and luscious yarn. Out came the stacks of books with their collections of patterns. I hadn’t any idea of what I would make, but not one of my books contained a single pattern that gave me that singular and wonderful “Aha!” moment. My search progressed to blogs, pattern sites and Ravelry. Finally on Knitty, I found Franklin’s “Miss Lambert’s Lace Sampler” and knew that this would be perfect for a soft, smooshy scarf.

Carefully, I poured through Franklin’s instructions. I calculated exactly how many stitches I would have to cast on to make a nice, wide, soft, smooshy scarf. I wanted something wide, long and completely unlike anything that anyone else had. Each stitch smoothly made it’s way to the needle, the yarn feeling like a caress across my fingers. Day after day, I knit, loving the tactile pleasures going from the ball of yarn into the knitted stitches. Slowly, stitch by stitch it grew. Perfect yarn, perfect pattern, perfect width, and nearing the perfect length. There wasn’t a single thing to hate about any of it. Silently I vowed that one day I would order more Polwarth, knowing that it’s not a common wool here in America and that I will have to search far and wide for a suitable supplier where I don’t have to order in large quantities or pay extortion for shipping. But I planned to save that search for another day.

I began the final lace panel. My excitement grew as I realized that within the day, I would be weaving in the ends, washing the garment and blocking it to reveal all of it’s intricate lace work. Half way through the German Lace pattern of which I chose to repeat six times, I calculated that I only had 42 rows left. Then I glanced at the ball of yarn that I was working from…

There is no way that I will be able to squeeze 42 more rows out of the last bit of the yarn. I am short by 1/8 to 1/4 of an ounce…

I hate frogging… sigh.

Hugs,

Christine