This shop is currently empty. Please check back when we've restocked.

Tell myself daily..Spin! Chrissie! Knit!

My story is best summed up by me sharing a letter I wrote to the various friends and family that I gifted my first handspun items (gloves and hats) to three Christmases ago. Just to explain, Carolyn and Julie are my besties, Thornton and Snorker are my dogs and Chris ( aka Mr S ) is my long suffering husband. Sadly my mother has since passed away but with the inheritance she kindly left me I purchased my spinning wheel and named it Marjorie after her and attended a spinning course, I have progressed a lot since I wrote this letter but I think it shows how much work goes in to producing hand made products.

XMAS LETTER
“The tortured story of my gift to you starts in a sunny field at Mount Pleasant overlooking the winding banks of the mighty Trent. Julie kindly donated fleece from four of her precious and happy sheep.
The fleeces were transported to my stable yard where they were washed and scoured and left to dry on Grandma’s clothes airer. The smell transported me back to being 16 and wearing my afghan coat in the rain. I thought of Grandma in her hat getting ready to go somewhere, sucking a polo and smearing the powder from her compact all over her face. I broke all previous records on my Fitbit.
Carolyn was shown the fleece drying and was hysterical! She uttered the immortal words”but why would you do that?” and “you need committing “. She as usual was right with a good point well made, but I pressed on regardless thinking about you and this moment.
The horses came and sniffed and all agreed that the plot had finally been lost.
Next, the fleece came home sealed in plastic buckets and hidden in a cupboard for fear Mr S did actually commit me. Only Thornton and Snorker knew my guilty secret/pleasure. Thornton was good about it having been through barmy moments with me before, Snorker less so. Whenever a bucket was retrieved from the cupboard he produced a ball or stick from the garden, craving my attention as if to say “Mum ...you are just wasting your time” . But I pressed on regardless in the hope that my efforts would not be in vain.
A few books and a bit of equipment were purchased and a few nutty people with too much body hair and time on their hands were viewed on you tube.
Sounds naughty but I then learnt to prick and tease before turning my hand to carding...the calming relaxing and therapeutic whoosh whoosh whilst reflecting upon the odd bit of straw that had somehow been overlooked so far. Producing fluffy and cloud like rolags in preparation for the next stage.
Then the spindle came out. Hopeless at first...just knotted rope thick enough to tie boats up with ...but slowly and slowly hour upon hour later something started to emerge that was slightly consistent in thickness. The repetition of it all was engrossing and absorbing. Worries and irritations seemed to slink away with the pinching and drafting of the fibres in my hand. I achieved a calm and settled state of mind.
Then I went off at a tangent. I collected nettles and blackberries from the field and attempted the natural dying of the fleece. I blended colours keeping you in mind trying to remember which colours you wear and which were your favourites.
I fell in love with my niddy noddy which not many girls can admit to! I learnt to ply and tie skeins and calculate how much yarn I was producing.
Finally it was time to knit. Another problem! Throughout this whole process I seemed to have overlooked that my knitting abilities were worse than crap and previous squares became rectangles. But now in this new life it was all going to be different! I was going to do tension squares and everything. It was all going to be perfect!
The first attempt was sort of ok using some of Mum’s thinnest needles with my thick wool. The needles were all bent, much like Mum and I thought of her sitting in her nursing home with every stitch...how did that situation happen? I made a blocking board but despite my best efforts the results were not quite to size. Mum liked the gloves when I showed her and declared them to be very warm. How sad that you want your Mum to be proud of you at the ripe old age of 58.
I then befriended the lady in the knitting shop in Buxton and with her advice and adapting the patterns to the weight of the wool I had actually produced your gift was born.
It doesn’t matter to me now that the end of this road has been reached whether you ever wear this gift, throw it in the nearest bin or give it to charity. I have loved every minute of making it and thought fondly of the good times we have enjoyed together along the way as I made it with you in my mind.
Merry Christmas
With love, Chrissie xxx”