I love wool. It's possibly hereditary since I come from a line of sheep farmers on my dad's side.
I particularly love the hand-dyed variety. Hence, I found this display in a local haberdashery irresistible. I had to go inside and get a good look at those luscious colours and to enjoy the feel of the wool. It was a very tactile experience and it felt almost illicit :)
particularly when I made my purchases (how could I not....) and my wool was handed to me in a big brown paper bag.
When I came home I had to get gg grandmother Brit's wool basket so that it could hold my precious loot.
I bet Brit's wool didn't look anywhere near as colourful, but she spun it herself.
Her wheel came in handy for turning skeins into more manageable balls.
I thought about Brit then, and I wonder if she had fun with the wool, or whether it was just a means to an end - making garments to stay warm. What would she say if she could sit and knit with me now when knitting is just for fun and enjoyment. I think she'd enjoy this colourful wool, guiltily, considering her puritanical Lutheran background.
I hope she'd like this hat:
Her ggg grandson Doodlebug does.
