Nondescript.

Not much going on around here this week. I'm still knitting the afghan and painting the tiles. I didn't get to spin my yak (what an odd turn of phrase that is!) at all this week. I did manage to get some of my seeds started - tomatoes and the like - so that's something. Other than that, a quiet week with not a lot to show for it.

Making pictures

I have been busy lately, though perhaps not terribly productive. The beginning farmer class is taking up actually a fair bit of my time; and there's always the 9-to-5 job, as well. It's been hard to do anything that feels like concrete progress toward the farm. Maybe it's the late-winter blahs (and our recent snowstorms) talking, but it feels like everything for the farmhouse is too big, too expensive, too up-in-the-air for me to actually do anything about right now, I can feel the inertia and helplessness setting in.

Well. We can't have that.

Obviously the cure for this is pick something - anything - preferably easy and smallish and fun, and just do it. I chose a kitchen work table that needs making for the farmhouse. I've looked for one that would fit my needs, taste, and budget, but there doesn't seem to be such a thing out there. It actually will be cheaper and easier to make it this time, even with my hackneyed carpentry skills! I decided I wanted delft-style tiles to top my table, and that I'd need about 90 4" tiles (it will actually probably be less than this, because of grout line spacing, I guess?). You can get decent reproduction delft-style tiles for around $12/tile, or so the internet claims, which puts my tabletop at ..... $1080. Yeah, I don't think so.

I bought a box of 100 plain white field tiles at Lowe's for $16 (they also sell them individually for $0.16, but the box of 100 is more convenient than 90 loose tiles, and gives me 10 spare to play with), and a pot of Porcelaine 150 ceramic paint in Lapis from Michael's for about $5. I also splurged and got a new set of paintbrushes to go with it (another $9). So, for $30, I'm set for tiles for my tabletop - maybe $35 if I need a second pot of Porcelaine 150. Does that mean I saved $1050??

Painting these has been incredibly fun and relaxing, for the most part. Mostly they're turning out beautifully, though I freely admit the dog looks more than a little cartoony (the cat too, come to think of it). Even the questionable ones, though, work in the greater scheme of blue-and-white order. I love it.

I'm about 1/5 of the way through. In theory, when I'm done I'll have 5 spare "picture" tiles and 5 spare "just corners" tiles, so I'll be able to pick and choose a bit if some motifs are outstandingly bad. I could also always turn a "just corners" into a "picture" if I had to, so that expands my do-over factor. I'm not too worried, though, because they're beautiful.

In tangentially-related news, I've been working on my "Epic" afghan again! Those of you who know me on ravelry.com (as "melanogaster") have seen this before, but it's a massive, double-knit, masterwork of an afghan. I worked out the chart myself, based on Schon Neues Modelbuch.

A portion of the chart, turned 90 degrees from what you'd usually expect.

Currently I'm on row 28 of... 348, not counting the 2-row setup and finish (i.e., I'm on the row [column, in the  chart] just to the right of the green line) . But I'm absurdly proud of the silly thing, and I'd be happy to pass the charts on to anybody who wanted them, as long as I got credit - I'll probably make it available on ravelry once mine is done. There will be pics in maybe 10 - 15 more rows, when it looks more obvious to other people. To me it looks fantastic, though.

Pre-ordered hops

Inspired, largely, by this manual *, and by my co-workers' continuing homebrewing successes, I've pre-ordered 6 rhizomes of "cascade" hops. My plan is to include small-scale hop production on the farm, producing more-or-less specifically for my coworkers' brewing needs. I'm convinced it will fit smoothly with the planned farm operations, adding another diversified income source. If production ultimately exceeds my coworkers' demand - which I expect will take several years - I hope to take my excess to local homebrew suppliers. I'm also generally  supportive of the whole concept of hop pillows, both for my own use and for sale. Maybe with lavender? Mugwort?

Hops made NY,  and NY can still grow hops. I can't see a market for buckwheat, which historically was grown in some quantity on this farm, but hops should do just fine and will certainly sell. While I don't brew, I'm certainly eager to try growing some of the older and less-common varieties of hops in the coming years, if my market base is amenable.

(I'm really trying not to look at how easy it would be to make small batches of malt to order. Almost absurdly so. Just.... not this year, guys. Ok??)

So, yeah. The upshot is that there will be organic (because, really: why not?) hops produced on the farm starting this summer. I've heard the first year's harvest is usually pretty small, but that suits me just fine - I've got my plate kinda full this year. I need to refine my trellis design a little, but I'm excited.

This coming week marks the start of Cornell's Northeast Beginning Farmer class, "What Do I Need to Do to Start a Farm Business?" (BF103). I imagine in a week or two I'll have something interesting to say about it. Also, the yak is spinning up nicely, but slowly. Pics will take awhile.


*Oh, who am I kidding? Really I'm being heavily influenced - in this as in all things - by Fred Gee's In a Place Called Chenango. I've never forgotten his song about Coy's hop farm in Smyrna. Actually, I don't think I've ever forgotten any of his songs - I've been his biggest fan since he came to sing at Oxford Academy & Central Schools for our local history unit in 4th grade, and again for Oxford's bicentennial (uhm... 6th grade?). Mr. Gee, if you're still out there, you're probably why I'm an archaeologist.

Spring is coming...

No, really, I'm certain spring is on its way. We had two days in the 60s, and even though it's back down into the 20s here, it just looks like early spring. See?

From my back window

The Vine Maple is done! Here it is as singles on my lazy kate:

And then as a plied and set yarn, hanging to dry:

Somehow I managed to not take any pictures of the intervening process! (Possibly this is because I was watching Ghost Hunters to pass the time plying and setting, and totally forgot that I had wanted pics...). Essentially, once the yarn is plied I wind it off the bobbin into skeins on a niddy-noddy, then use some waste yarn (white crochet cotton in this case) to tie it loosely. The skeins go into a warm bath with a little dish detergent, sit for 20 minutes or so, then I pull them out and change the water. In this case the water was bright orange with excess dye so I did another bath with soap. After 20 minutes the water was again orange, but less so. The next bath used a good solid glug of vinegar instead of soap, and the water was very lightly tinted orange after about half an hour. Finally, I let the the yarn sit in a bath with a few drops of Eucalan for about half an hour - I would have gone longer if I could have spared the sink that long - and there was no noticeable tint to the water. After each bath, I squeezed out the excess water and gave the skein a few snaps to help keep the strands in order. When it was all done, I hung them to dry from some over-the-door coat hooks in my hallway, with a towel underneath for the inevitable dripping.

All told, there's almost exactly 500yds here: my conservative counts on the skeins are 272yds and 228yds, respectively. It's just about exactly the right wpi, and it's soft and sturdy. I'm very pleased with how it turned out!

I've already moved on to my next spinning project: yak down! I managed to score 8oz of light brown yak down from Paradise Fibers' bargain bin for $24 back in September (if that seems like a lot, consider that purchasing 1oz of yak down from Bijou Basin will set you back $24 all by its lonesome, so this is like getting 7oz free, or saving $168). I'm spinning it up at what will, I hope, be a 2-ply fingering weight, for some as-yet-undecided decadent knitting project in the future. With 8oz I could probably even make a sweater if so inclined, so I'm keeping my options open. Whatever it is, it will be lacy, because yak down is warm and soft.

I couldn't capture the color to save my life - it's actually brown, sort of cafe-au-lait color.

Yak down is a little intense to spin. I already favor the short-draw draft, which is good, because this flat out requires it. Rule-of-thumb for drafting is that you don't let the drafting triangle get longer than half the fiber length. Well, here's a pic of a bit of this yak fluff - there's really not much there to work with!

Stretched out, though, that fluff's well over an inch long - it's really quite elastic.

Drafting triangle? What drafting triangle??

Fresh out of the bag, a formless mass of yakky goodness.

It comes as a sort of soft, airy mass - no direction or anything, just handfuls of softness. It's a little frustrating to spin at times, when it suddenly stops drafting smoothly, or it breaks in the spun yarn (it's done that several times to me), or you're trying to figure out how to hold this tribble without felting it... and the cat wants to attack it or sleep on it, I can't tell which.

"Actually, I haven't decided myself..."

But all in all, I'm actually having a good time. Did I mention it's soft??

What's on the wheel

Mixed wool "Potluck Roving", color "Vine Maple", purchased at Paradise Fibers.

Flash notwithstanding, this is actually pretty close to the real color.

I'm spinning it semi-worsted, not taking too much care about the drafting since I want it to have a kind of rustic texture when I'm done. I'm hoping for a mildly thick-and-thin worsted weight two-ply; so far it's spinning up at 22wpi, give or take, so I'm right on track.

Shiny penny for scale (and color reference)

I've got approximately 8oz of this, which I'm currently estimating will get me 500yds or so, once it's plied. Though right now it looks like it may go farther!

Would you believe me if I said this was an afternoon's spinning?? I'm flying through this!

I am, of course, spinning it on my beloved Kromski Prelude. HD was kind enough to take some action shots, so you can appreciate the beauty of a good spinning wheel in motion.

Good shot looking down on the bobbin and (blurry haze of) the flyer.

Here we bring in the treadle and my drafting technique. I tend to favor a short draw, which is what you see me using here.
The spiky thing back by the wheel is a lazy kate, currently empty.
The dangly bit of dark red in front of the wheel is a yarn loop on my orifice hook.

All the motion together! My right foot works the treadle, which moves the footman, which spins the wheel, which (by way of the drive band) turns the flyer and the bobbin, only the brake on the bobbin means it turns slower, so yarn winds up nicely on it as it spins around. Got it?

In the works

I've ordered seeds for this year's garden - my typically grandiose, even gleefully excessive, hopes for the garden's bounty, printed out in black and white and given a (hefty) price tag. It's a little more intimidating this way, than when it's merely my perpetually hopeful imaginings of bumper crops and fresh sweet corn... I've never in my life managed to actually -grow- sweet corn, though obviously many people do so sucessfully here and sell it at road side stands up and down this valley. Just not me. Yet still I buy it (this year, it's "Vision", from Johnny's Seeds, with 75 days to maturity and the most appropriate name I've ever seen).

In fact, this year I've purchased 37 varieties of seed for my vegetable garden, possibly a new record for me. I'm feeling very positive in general about planting in the new plot (even if we don't move this year, we're still going to plant the garden up at the farmhouse), with more room, better soil - and more sun.


I've also been working on designing a shawl pattern. It's the most frustrating thing I've ever done for fun, other than gardening. The shawl itself is a simple triangle, knit from the center of the neck down, with a lovely lace stitch called "elfin lace" covering the upper third. The problem happens when I try to switch to a thistle-pattern lace I've been designing, which doesn't want to play nice. Just when I think I'm getting the hang of it, it decides to go and do something totally contrary to what I thought was going to happen! I've been swatching and working on it in the off hours, so hopefully I'll have something to show you in a week or two.


The house progresses slowly. I had really hoped to be further along by now - since it's the end of January - but considering how sick we've all been, we're still making good progress. Even today, I've mostly been lying on the couch with the cat, sneezing and drinking tea and trying to ignore a fever. Working the problem from both ends (preparing the farm and getting this house ready to sell) is exhausting and stressful, and (with the winter weather) takes its toll on a body. However, I suspect that next weekend, we'll be ready to tackle some issues with paint and trim, which will feel like real progress!


I filed the taxes! That's progress I can make even with a nasty headcold.


I've been ignoring the spinning wheel, and I should stop. I miss it. I have a lovely bunch of orangey-red mixed wools (not my dye job, they came that way) that would brighten up the winter blahs and be a fantastic gift for one of my knitting friends.... And then I can practice my dye skills on some of the undyed wools in my "to spin" box.


I'll leave you, then, with some pictures of the Mocha Latte soap. At this stage (just barely three days in), the ammonia smell is gone, becoming instead a mild coffee/cocoa smell. The color darkened dramatically after I cut it, and it looks (to my eyes) almost exactly like fudge. It's sitting in an out-of-the-way place, separated for better air circulation, where it will cure for the next several weeks (I guess).

Experimental Soap

Today I made soap for the first time - there are no pictures, because I was too busy trying not to mess it up or blind myself with lye or something like that, but hopefully there will be finished-soap pictures later. I'd love to say I made a flawless first batch, but there were some fascinating problems and some frantic mid-project internet searching and still the soap had to be rebatched. No permanent disfigurement, though, so that's good.

Not being one to do things by halves, I chose to start out with a goat-milk soap. I couldn't find a recipe I liked (I wanted to use my tallow, and no other fats), so I came up with my own with a lye calculator. I added some honey for moisturizing, but figured I'd leave it at that - no scents or colors or froofroo nonsense. Basic, I thought. Simple. Ha.

I added my lye to my milk (which immediately turned oompaloompa orange, but no biggie, I'm not picky), and started melting the frozen tallow while the lye/milk solution cooled down. When the tallow was melted, I turned back to lye/milk.... which was, now, soap. No, really. It was a block of spongy, putrid-smelling, orange soap, that leaked orange/brown vile lye-heavy liquid when I broke it up with the spoon. It gave off ammonia fumes like nothing I've ever seen - never mind goggles, I need a respirator! I ventilated the kitchen as best I can, grabbed the cat, and strategically retreated to the living room (closing the kitchen door behind me).

Woe is me! My first soap, ruined before I've even started! The internet, however, assured me that all is well. This sometimes happens with lye/milk solutions, I gather. The milk fats saponify too early, and goat-milk soap often reeks of ammonia. It's ok, it's nothing a stick blender can't fix.

Well, alright then. I'm game.

Back to the (slightly dizzying) kitchen, stick blender in hand. I added the gloppy, foul solution to my glorious, untarnished tallow, cringing slightly and thinking of donuts that could have been. I did my level best with the stick blender to break up bits of lye-heavy milkfat-soap, sclurching it into the rest of the bottle-tan mess. It's a lot of stickblending, and I was getting nervous: goat milk is sugary, and supposedly brings soap to trace quickly - I was also adding honey, which does the same. The mix looked thick - like the pictures I'd seen of "light trace" - so... I'm done? I added the honey, mixed it in thoroughly, and carefully poured the pumpkin-mousse concoction into a loaf pan.

My thoughts, as I putter around the kitchen and living room for the next hour or so:
I hope it sets.
It looks like it's setting!  
I did it! I made soap!
Huh. That was easier than I thought.
It turned white? Why did it turn white?
Maybe the goat milk didn't get as hot as I thought. Maybe the white is the milk... decarmelizing?
No, that's stupid. Hopeful, but stupid.
Well, the only thing -white- in the soap is... the tallow.
Ah, criminy.

It separated. The liquid tallow came to the top and made a lovely white layer, leaving a layer of pumpkin-colored, ammonia-scented, lye-heavy, lose-your-fingerprints-ask-me-how-i-know caustic soap underneath. We had a brief conference about whether this was likely to correct itself overnight, in which HD allowed me to use him as a sounding board to work out my own knowledge of, and unwillingness to accept, the correct answer. No - this will not fix itself by resting over night, or even over many nights. The fats needed to balance the lye are no longer in emulsion, saponification will not occur.

This calls for rebatching.

I scooped the still-soft failed batch out of the loaf pan and into a new, smaller pot (I felt part of the problem had been using too large a pot for such a small batch, and right-sizing the pot would help). I put it all on low heat and let it melt, adding just a smidge of cow milk to help it along (also, in case a lack of fluid in general was part of the problem, given how much got tied up in the earlier premature saponification problem). I took the stick blender back to it, and brought it all the way to a heavy trace - a texture like very thick brownie batter. It was on heat the whole time, which seems to have helped the ammonia problem. I also added cocoa powder and ground coffee (dry) for scent and color, and preliminary evidence suggests this will be a beautiful darker soap with a pleasant coffee scent. I should know in a few days, I guess. In the meantime, I'm thinking of it as "Mocha Latte" soap, until a catchier name or contrary evidence appears.