There were two in the shed…

Possum2I’ve got used to the possums now – both mother and baby – sleeping in the shed behind the dyepots. Even when they’re on the next shelf down when I go to grab something, I don’t jump as far backwards or gasp quite so loudly.

They’re not doing much harm, although there is plenty of evidence of chewed shelf. And all the pooh… we thought it was rat pooh, but maybe it was mum after eating all those harvested plums in the shed and leaving the stones in a neatish pile. That makes sense – I doubt a rat or even two could eat that many plums.

possums3It wasn’t until I was looking for a storage box that appeared to have some stray balls of yarn in it that I found their latest nesting place. Now, before you all shriek and wonder if they can get out (you’ve probably already shrieked in the time it’s taken me to type), there’s an entrance/exit in the back that they managed to chew, and also a crack in the side of the box where it no doubt gave way when they were getting more comfortable. Entrance, exit and ventilation. They’re not stupid, you know!

A few weeks ago, the younger one came down the tree and sat in the fork where I sometimes pose the yarn for photos. It sat looking at me, almost at eye level, and I could have tickled it behind the ears. One thing I tell my students is not to touch possums unless you fancy your fingers bitten, but this one looked so friendly and clearly wanted to communicate. But wild it is, so I resisted the urge to make close interspecies friendship and tried to encourage it back up the trunk so a certain puppy wouldn’t try to overwhelm it with the same close interspecies friendship.

They were in the tupperware (it isn’t the real deal, but you grow up with a certain vocabulary…) again today, so I guess it’s their winter hang out. Touching the side of the box, it was snuggly warm. The condensation in the photo only appeared after they’d stirred. My bad!

A decent pair of socks to last

des chaussettes résistantes, dauerhafte Socken, medias duras, stocaí diana

Here I will gladly welcome any feedback re the translations of the title!

Inspired by a fellow Guildy’s endless turnout of groovy socks in an impressive range of fibres and breeds, not to mention colours, I decided some time ago that it was time to try this for myself. The Tough Socks Naturally project provided yet more encouragement. Who needs nylon?

My first pair of socks, made from commercial yarn, were way too big and flimsy. The second, using the madder-dyed yarn (see previous post) were more fitting, but still too big. These were however knitted from the smallest size (for my size 12’s) to this free pattern on Ravelry. Thanks, Kieron!

socks

The yarn was handspun Black Welsh Mountain plied with Grey Suffolk (that apparently may or may not be Suffolk).

The toes (and heels? Can’t remember…) were the Suffolk plied with Zwartbles. All the fibre was from commercially prepared slivers.

Why these breeds? The Black Welsh is just one of those fibres

(for me) that you instantly take to and just spin for the joy of it. It’s a classic down wool – shorter staple, bouncier and… well, groovy.

The socks are just tight enough so that they won’t stretch out of use, and promising to last a long time. They’re not the gentlest, naturally, but not so scratchy, either. I fortunately don’t have a problem with wool, so can appreciate their hardiness. The “fabric” is soft enough in all.

Tansy

Tanacetum vulgare, tanaisie, Rainfarn, tanaceto, franclus

When I was a kid, we used to call tansy “cat’s muck plant”. We didn’t know what it was at that time, we had a pet dog, and the plant stinks; it was OK to say “muck”, but not “wee” or “pee” in those days. Nowadays I don’t find tansy half as stinky, but maybe that’s to do with the climate here? Maybe the milder temperatures and higher rainfall in England made it more… juicy? pungent?

And the name? Some of the more common and acceptable names in other languages demonstrate its many uses, e.g worm plant or its appearance and niche: Rainfarn – “fern growing in the dividing strip between fields”; the name is similar in most North Germanic languages, although the word Farn becomes fann and fana, with the latter meaning something different to fern? Just a linguistic adjustment rather than a complete translation?

Back to the dye…There’s plenty of information on yarn/dye blogs on dyeing wool with tansy, and some show an impressive green colour. Definitely one to try! There is also discussion on using the plant fresh or dried, using the flowers alone or all aerial parts. I went for leaves, flowers and leaves + stems, all fresh. Quantities were generous, thanks to the strong growth of just two plants. These will need to be moved next season so that they can have their own space and not crowd out the echinacea. Also, they are to be kept away from cabbages.tansy

The photo shows a great range of colours, but swapping between phone and camera, flash and no flash still didn’t give a totally accurate representation of the tones. Asking for too much? Yep! Think brighter and more in focus…

So… the samples on the right are all mordanted with A/CoT; those on the left were unmordanted. Top to bottom in both columns are in groups of 3 (leaves, flowers, leaves + stems): no modifier, alkaline modifier, acid modifier, Fe modifier.

The mordant clearly brought out deeper shades all round, with the alkaline brightening the yellows and turning the greens to sulphur/chartreuse. The iron modifier brought out khahki on the mordanted samples; on the unmordanted yarn it produced more generic grey tones (less blue than the photo). I think future projects will make more use of the chartreuse, but all the shades obtained would qualify for a tapestry palette.

Coreopsis grandiflora

Coreopsis grandiflora Early Sunrise, Mädchenaugen

A quick search and it seems that apart from the English tickseed, only the Germans have another name for this plant, and I know which one I prefer…

An attempt at growing C. tinctoria from seed (from two different sources) came to naught last year, so I bought a punnet of grandiflora seedlings. They survived the hottest days well with a constant display of cheerful blooms, and have started layering themselves so that I should have double the amount next year. I’ll still give the tinctoria seeds another try or two.

cosmosThe result of the dyepot were to be expected, and after getting so many muted shades from eucalypts, the bold oranges and red were a welcome change – and not unexpected, either, from this plant family. Different to dahlias? I’d say about the same. As for production, I’d have to wait until I had an equal amount of both plants, but that’s not what it’s all about at present.

Phragmites australis

Common reed, roseau commun, Schilfohre, carrizo, giolcach

I’d read about dyers obtaining a green colour on wool from the common reed, so was naturally eager to give it a try. The past two years I’ve missed a very short flowering season due to high temperatures, but this year managed to harvest some in its second flowering (the weather has been up and down like a yoyo).

On the way to a spot where it grows abundantly (and will need thinning very soon if it’s not to take over the shallows of the artificial lake), I started thinking about greens… Greens from purple… The local variety don’t have purple flowers, maybe a slight tinge, but nothing like I once saw in Englphragmitesand. As a child with a thirst for natural history (is it still called that?) and a small but highly informative collection of nature books, I stood gaping at this tall grass with purple flowers – all very exotic. If memory serves correctly, I took a couple of flowering heads home, but the purple didn’t last. I can’t remember where it was, but have a lot of fond and grateful memories of day trips in to the countryside where there was always a new discovery.

So, back to Australia… some sources say the plant is native, others an introduced species… but it still lacks the purple. Well, at least I’d get a yellow or beige out of it, I was sure.

On the far left, the unmordanted yarn is very close in colour to its mordanted neighbour. The third from the left is mordanted + bicarb modifier – slightly more yellow in real life as was to be expected. On the far right is mordanted + Fe modifier. A useful experiment? Yes, and colours to add to a palette.

Eucalyptus cladocalyx

Sugar gum, l’eucalyptus de sucre, Zuckereukalytpus, eucalipto de azúcar, an cladocalyx1eoclaip siúcra

Impressive is just one word I’d use to describe the sugar gum: tall, thick, smooth, glaucous, striking… I’ve never knowingly seen a young specimen; all the ones I know are very tall with distinct markings on the trunk. Impressive…

Our local specimens have never shed many leaves, although I did manage to gather a couple of handfuls this week. One specimen has some low-growing foliage, but I can’t excuse pruning it for the sake of the dyepot. Dictated by the current season, there is however a significant amount of fallen bark to be had, so bark it was (aided by a handful of the leaves as mordant).

cladocalyx2As with the E. sideroxylon experiment, the bark was soaked for a day, then simmered for 45 mins. The water turned from apricot-brown to deep brown-red. I could tell I’d get some colour, even if it weren’t a striking red. After straining, the woollen yarn was simmered for 45 mins and then rinsed in cold water straight away. Why? Why not.

cladocalyx3The result was a pleasing medium-darkish honey-brown (a bit brighter than in the pic), and worthy of repetition. I’ll be trying this one on tencel, too. Why so many browns lately? This isn’t a common colour in commercial yarns, and I need a certain shade of tencel to complete a project. Moreover, the experiment per se is fun – what other reason could you possibly need?

 

Eucalyptus sideroxylon

Ironbark, mugga, écorce de fer, Mugga-Eukalyptus, corteza de hierro, Coirt iarainn

As per the previous post, ironbark leaves aren’t as plentiful this year, or at least the ones within easy reach. What about the bark, etc?

Sideroxylon bark2

I once soaked a fair amount of kino/manna/resin collected from numerous local gums for a week (a significantly shorter period of time than what it had taken to collect), simmered some yarn… and came up with not much. Another experiment with the bark had produced a similar result. What went wrong? No leaves to act as mordant!! (note to self: Duh!).

There is plenty of bark to be collected locally, and if you can’t find it on the ground, there may be some hanging off the trunk, ready to drop without harming the tree. Apparently the name comes from the hardness of the wood; I naturally thought it was because the bark looked rusty…

A good layer on the bottom of the pot was soaked overnight, then simmered for about an hour with a handful of E. leucoxylon leaves for the tannin (as a mordant). Why leucoxylon? Because I have plenty at present (see post below).

Sideroxylon liquor2The dye liquor colours up quickly and is a deep, reddish black. An hour’s simmering, then a straining followed by a sieving (lots of small bits…) and it was ready for the yarn: a skein of 8-ply (bottom, left), followed by one of 2-ply that had been mordanted with alum/CoT as a precaution (bottom, right). As you can see, no mordanting was necessary, but produced a slight greenish tinge on the 2-ply (inside, it looks more golden, so let’s go for old gold/nut-brown butter). The 8-ply – denser and softer –  came out a mid-chestnut brown. The colours in the pic are a little richer than in real life.

Sideroxylon yarn2The liquor was still darker than dark, so another two skeins of the 2-ply were dyed individually. The first (top, left) came out a paler brown with a reddish tinge after an immediate wash; the second was left in the liquor overnight, producing a richer colour all round.

None of the colours match any brown sheep I’ve spun, or alpaca, so worthwhile results for all the work. Now to try with vinegar to get more red…