Dancing And Goats And Alpacas, Oh My!

The second half of our trip was spent driving down many a back road in search of dance halls and fibre farms (not bran and I did not see William Shatner even once).

We managed to make it to 5 dances. Not bad considering we didn’t make it to one until Thursday night in Glencoe Mills (you will recall the insane map from my previous post).
Friday night was Southwest Margaree (not to be confused with other such closely named places as Northwest Margaree, South-south-west Margaree, North-east-east-west Margaree, Margaree Harbour, and just plain old Margaree). It’s ok, the firefighters and ambulance drivers know or are related to everyone. This was a great dance. We weren’t able to make it to this one last year because of serious after college crashing out which may have stemmed from attending too many dances during school week! However, this year we did not lay down after getting to our B&B (Hillsborough B&B) thus ensuring our ability to meet up with college friends at the dance. The only pictures I got were of peoples’ backs, a frequent problem at square dances. You spin around a lot!

The next night was West Mabou. We tried to go to the Mabou dance on our way down, but Bruce was feeling under the weather so we gave it a miss (it is an hour from the college and and hour back to the college so really I think that was for the best). As it was, we were only a few minutes from our next B&B Clayton Farm with a 4th generation dairy farm operator. The great thing about this was that we knew two of the guests from college and had dinner with two more (the Red Shoe Pub is a very popular place to eat in Mabou and tables come at a premium so it’s not unusual to share a table and conversation with good company). And the final couple were roped into going to experience the dance by our friends Jo and Simon so when we sat down to breakfast the next morning, there was a good amount of hooting and hollering and carrying on. I think it might just have been the best breakfast of the trip. Bruce and I played a few tunes for people before we all took off. The dance was great too.

The real trick to surviving the dances is threefold: 1. You don’t jump up and down like an over exuberant git and your knees will thank you for it. 2. You don’t dance every set. There are plenty throughout the evening and each one lasts about 20 minutes (2 jig sets and a reel set). 3. You go outside and cool down, even if it’s raining because you’re likely pretty wet anyways. Other than pulling a muscle in my neck which left me immobilized for a few days and was more attributed to lugging around way too much summer weight clothing in my bag than dancing, I suffered little in the way of ill effects on this years dance circuit.

On Sunday we took a break from the dances (more because there wasn’t one to go to) and we went to the Mabou Coal Mines music festival. $5 got you in for the afternoon to see a bunch of up and coming muscians and dancers and a boat ride up the coast. And it didn’t rain the whole time we were there. A miracle in music.

If you look at the right side of this picture, you can actually see a seam of coal. The town of Mabou Coal Mines dried up when it became too expensive to pull the coal out of the hills. Now there's just the port left. Here are a few pictures of our boat ride.

Bruce made a friend.

This one is my National Geographic shot of a heron in flight from a moving boat. Monday we were back at the dance hall, this time Brook Village (another winding road and wondering when you’ll get there. This hall was absolutely jammed with people. We met up with a couple from Embrum who hold a family square set weekend each month so there’s hope for us to get in a few more dances before next year. But we left early as there wasn’t enough room in that hall to turn around and fart and you hoped dearly that no one else thought there was!

When we weren’t off to a dance, we combed the countryside looking for yarn and fibre to spin. I purposely didn’t bring along my accordion this year so there’s be more room in the car for some very squishable yarns and rovings and I wasn’t disappointed.

We went to Baadeck Yarns in Baddeck where I hoped to get some Fleece Artist yarn or perhaps a kit, but the wet weather had stymied that idea. Poor woman couldn’t get any because the wet weather was making it impossible to dry the newest stuff. I believe I bought a bit of sock yarn from a new producer in Quebec (I’ll tell you about it when it comes out of the stash) and some Fleece Artist sliver for spinning.

When we got to Mabou, we seemingly drove straight to the Mabou Ridge Fibre Processing Mill and met with the owner and some of the animals. She’s not up and running presently due to some legal issues, but we’ll check back in with them next year to see how things are going then. We did come away with a lovely couple of bags of roving though, some corriadale and alpaca and some straight up yummy brown alpaca. I can’t wait to get my hands on it.

These are her goats. Their beards were very stiff. From their drool. ICK! Soft mohair though!

This is a brother of the alpaca at the top of this post. They are such characters.

Then on our way back into town (all of 10 minutes down the road) we stumbled into the barnyard of Bellemeade Farms, a lovely little shop on a working farm with hand dyed, hand painted stuff. I purchased dyed fleece and some skeins of yarn.

The greatest thing about travelling around Cape Breton is that at any moment, you can come across a hammered-in homemade sign at the side of the road that says, "MOHAIR" with an arrow. No indication how far you'll have to go before finding this trove of goat hair. But follow it we did. I said, let's just try 5 minutes down the road. Afterall, we were about to leave the island at this point and this was yet another unexpected detour.

So after 10 minutes, and having left the paved road, we came upon this little place at the very end of a road. The goats had been sold (the farmers had retired) but there was plently of fibre to be had from this lady's stash. I don't remember her name. I'll dig it out when I spin the fibre. It was worth the trip though.

The last place we went for fibre was in Nova Scotia proper near Wolfville at Gasperau Valley Fibres. I spent every last dime of my mad money in that place and I still want to lay down from the vapours. Jo at Celtic Memory Yarns tells it wonderfully and I will direct you to her post about it. Irony of ironies, we were almost there at the very same time. I should have loved the opportunity to meet her there.

Next installment, I'll tell you about us getting dressed up in Sherbrooke Village.

Back Home from the Near East

It was great to get away for two weeks to the eastern reaches of our fair land. Cape Breton was fantastic. It was much like visiting Scotland (I’m told) as it rained nearly all day, every day for the entire week we were at the college. Not that it mattered much as we were up by 7am and rolling off to eat and attend our 6 classes.

So what did I learn this year? Each morning I spent entirely in the weaving and spinning shed with Marie MacDonald learning how to use natural dyes and spinning a variety of fibres I’ve never used before. We dyed with brazil wood, sandal wood, madder, and cochineal (which is made out of bugs, I’m not kidding). I spun mohair, wool, and silk. I can really see the fibre addiction beginning now folks. Look out!
Being in the Weaving and Spinning building was really nice because when you work with your hands, you really have the ability to use your ears and your mouth at the same time. So I heard stories of the other students who had spent time in other countries and in the far north, were coping from the affects of car accidents and house fires and family break-ups. It really made me pine for the company of women as we had the binding agent of the love of the college and the crafts to loosely tie such diverse and interesting people together while achieving the goals of learning something new. I can really see the merit in our guilds and knitting circles and quilting clubs, etc. The Weaving cabin has a sense of steeped quietness and secrets and it lends itself to sharing.

The afternoons were much more intense. Right after lunch was piano accompaniment. Kolten MacDonell was refreshing and fun. He taught us some really good rules of which chords were used most often and when we should try something different and he gave us some patterns to use for the different rhythms for jigs, reels and strathspeys. I got so much out of this year’s class.

Michelle Stewart (bottom left of the picture) absolutely blew my head off in her bodhran classes. Truly advance drum teaching was wonderful. Not only did I learn new rhythms to use, but she opened my eyes about using sound dynamics and different pitches to effect and I watcher her very carefully to see how she held the tipper and I’ve tried to emulate her economy of movement! This class was worth the trip alone!
Dance class fell at the end of the day. Jean MacNeil, mother of the Barra MacNeils, was just a real treat. Not only can this woman cut a rug, she’s a great teacher who is more than willing to use cool down time (and plenty of it) to tell us stories about being the mother of 6 and what it was like growing up in Washbuck. It doesn’t sound like much on the page, but let me tell you, she had us crying with her stories. And the dance steps were a review of all the ones we learned last year (which none of us had used since then). To my credit though, I continued with this idea of an economy of movement and didn’t end up wrecking my body in class or at the dances we went to.On Thursday night after the student ceilidh, a bunch of us packed into cars and headed off into the wilds of the night to find Glencoe Station and the dance hall. Mark was kind enough to encourage everyone to go and provided us with a map.

The dance was not well attended, but that actually meant there was lots of room on the dance floor and I did see some people who I had met at the dances last year. Quite obviously they go all the time all, year round. Beats going to the gym by a long shot.

On Friday, we packed up our things after our classes and headed off into the next leg of our trip. Mabou and the dances. Which I’ll tell you about next time.

Summer Party

So, in the middle of all of this renovation craziness, we decided we should have a party. Our theme was music we don't often play. We are a celtic group and that's what we normally do. So we shucked some corn and had a BBQ and dodged some rain drops and had a great time.

There were some wicked harmonies.

Lots of food (not just chips). Thanks everyone for brining such an eclectic mix of stuff to indulge in.

Fiddles were brandished.

Someone wanted to play on the swing....and someone else did.

But Arlene, you take the cake honey!

Not even a bit of rain could stop the fun. (And that says a lot considering the Summer we've been having). Thanks everyone for such a good time. Did anyone else get some picutres? Email me with them if you did!

Floored

I will never cease to be amazed at how

much more time it takes to do a renovation than you thought it would

much more it will cost

much you will learn

much you curse painters' tape for the lie that it is (again)

fast you can get in over your head

much every job is like an oddessy, complete with its own trip to Hades

many friends offer to help

many friends offer to bring alcohol

many times you will curse yourself

many times you will give thanks for your partner

many tears you might shed in the process

sweet victory can be.

We haven't had our victory yet, but I can smell it. It's close. But thusfar, I Am Floored.

Here is the dry-run on the sub-floor fit. Gives a good before and after.

Here is the sub-floor fited in the room. All the holes lined up beautifully. Bruce is a wizard with a measuring tape and a straight edge.

Will ya just look at that corner (and it goes under the trim at the door edge. I wept.I got to cut the vinyl. Very crafty albeit I was using tin snips. Hard Core Crafty.

Then we gave the vinyl a dry run and trimmed as required.

Then Bruce did a much better job than I did screwing the floor down. That blurry arm is movin'. He puttied the screw heads. Before putting in the glue for the flooring. We had a little lie down while it dried. Must keep up the energy for this kind of work.

This is what the floor looks like cemented in. We used highly specialized tools for this: a trowel that had teeth which measured 1/16 x 1/16 x 3/32s (I am not making this shit up) and a roller in the guise of...a fine bottle of red. Yes, it was good wine.

The Fuchsia's So Bright

Now before we get started here, have you ever tried to spell "fuchsia"? It still doesn't look right to me, but after looking it up and confirming in the dictionary, I feel pretty confident that I have it. I think.

Now, you may be wondering what I've been getting up to since last I checked in. Well I took some holidays...to work on the bathroom. The kids were off to visit a cottage with their dad, and I got busy at home without little hands to help me paint.

This is the beginning of the transformation of the Ugliest Bathroom in Carelton Place. (I have not done a survey, there may be uglier bathrooms, but dudes, see for yourselves and tell me my powder room isn't/wasn't ugly.)

I present Exhibt A.

This is the starting point.

Count them subfloors: 3 plus mould and tiles

Then there was the lovely wainscotting that the barker board was hiding.But you could stick your finger through it because of the dry-rot. So I replaced it with new wainscotting. Man, that stuff is slick. Oh I did photograph the original colour that I thought I'd shoot for again.

Look at that lovely, classy oxblood colouring. Matches the trim in the other parts of the house even. However, this is the colour I ended up with... put your sunglasses on.

Dont worry, it darkens up after 3 coats. To a nice merlot.

So, after 3 days of working my arm off, I have achieved 60% painted and partially floored powder room. The question now is, will there be a toilet and sink before the weekend (or Christmas)? These things do take time.

I'm back at it with a paintbrush tonight. Let's see how far I get.

Secret Projects

I've been a bit busy wrapping up a few secret projects that have occupied my mind and hands for the last while. Since November, I've been working on a committee to bring about a 10th Anniversary edition to the Ottawa Knitting Guild's newsletter, The Tangled Skein.

Along with Anne Goodwin, Ann Thacker and Victoria Leslie, we toiled and slaved to create this...
It's a 30 page magazine with new articles commemorating the guild's history and activities and reprinted articles from the last 10 years.

I wrote one of the articles.

And although I don't often toot my own horn, I am responsible for bringing about a new logo for the guild. Now, I did not design it, but I had a hand in its creation and it was my idea to replace the old logo. I feel very proud of what we all accomplished.

And I'd also like to say that the ladies at the guild were all raised very well. We received unlooked-for gifts as thanks for all our hard work, sweat and tears (yes, there were tears to produce this thing, but what birth doesn't?). Each of us received a lovely little bouquet of fragrant red roses and a basket filled with goodies. The committee also celebrated with burgers, salad and wine and flan. What an end to a great project.

In other news, I'm designing again. Another sock. They seem to be addictive. I finished this one up and showed my girls. They each had their own reaction to it.

One asked, "Mommy, are you going to knit another one?!"

And they other asked, "Oh Mommy, are you going to knit us some?"

And both questions can be answered with one word: "YES!"

I'm taking my notes and will have the pattern written up soon. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to post this patterns for sale. Until then though, enjoy the fruits of our labours.

The other thing that I've been doing for the last 6 weeks is taking guitar lessons at work. Tuesdays at lunch had given me blisters. But in return I have boned up on my chording, learned some strumming patterns and was introduced to finger picking and flat picking patterns. I really enjoyed it and I think it might be time to tune up the old 12-string again.

Fiona Style and a Homicidal Fish

I present you my child, Fiona, second born of twins. First lady of the scissors. You know, it only takes 15 minutes for a parent to shower. It takes less time for a 3 year old to hack off her hair. (I was not the parent in the shower.)

This is what Fiona’s hair looked like May 24th.

And this is what it looks like after having been to the hairdressers for what I’m sure is a regular event of their utmost artistry. Doesn’t every kid do this? I remember going to bed without supper the night I decided I’d had enough of my bangs.

That is not a comb over. There is only scruff there at the top of her head. She still looks cute.

Also, these are the ponchos that I made for the girls. True to fine knitting form, I put the collars on them (so that Calla’s will not fall right off her shoulders and on to the floor anymore) and the temperature is set to go into the 30s later in the week. They will fit for several years though. Maybe someday I’ll even put flowers on them.

Loosely based on the Urban Poncho pattern from (I think) Lion Brand yarn. Calla's is made of Patons Canadiana colour 420, lot 02/03 from the Fairy Yarn Father. Fiona's is made from Patons Decor and I don't have the ball bands at the moment. The yarn was supposed to be bulky, so since I used worsted weight, I held the yarn double and hoped for the best. It's not like it was a cabled vest we shall not name for the now. And because they are a little on the large size, the children can grow into them for a few years. Easy to knit. A very pleasing, mindless knitt.

A killer swims among us

Some time ago, I bought a fish. It was a beta that was not a happy fish. And not long lived. This may have been my error, not ever having owned fish before. However, it was a dissatisfied fish and the children (who were the recipients of “Nemo”) did not care a whit about him. I secretly believe the fish knew his name and committed suicide from the shame of being a Disney creation.

So I went to Walmart and bought new fish. One of which flourished. The other two, not so much. I changed the water when I should. I fed them. I said, “Hi!” every day. One day, my mother watched the orange and white one bunt the others as it lapped the bowl. It either worried them to death or they fell into merciful concussions and were “flushed”. For all I know, they have now recovered and are living very happily in the Mississippi watershed. I’d like to think so.

Without further ado, I present “Killer”.

I know he doesn't look like much, but you are not a fish sharing the bowl with this menace.
Please spare a moment for a couple of the fallen (Blackie and the Rodeo King). And do try to remember, when you are in a bowl with a fish who has delusions of grandure and thinks it's a shark, the plastic weeds offer no cover.