Timing.

I've been wondering if I was born in the wrong century. Today I spent half an hour darning a sock and all afternoon spinning some yarn.  And if I tell you that I intend to knit a shawl with the finished handspun then you can see why I might be feeling a little anachronistic.  Shawls have not played a big role in my wardrobe until recently when I found out how soothing it is to be wrapped in one. Like giving yourself a hug. I can see why people knit shawls to give to loved ones in need of comforting. I also like the added bonus of imagining I'm a Nineteenth Century farm girl going out to feed the hens on a frosty morning.  Tess of the d'Urbervilles but with a happy ending. Or maybe that's just my anachronisms showing.

Roving to be spun. I don't think Tess of the D's got her fibre from Colinette.

This most recent shawl is Whippoowill by Carina Spencer. Most of the knitting is very plain and simple but it is livened up by the shaping which is great fun to knit. I loved watching the waves unfurl as I knitted the more complicated rows. The grey yarn is a silk/cashmere mix that I unravelled from a second hand jumper and the red is left over four ply wool. While the silk in the grey yarn gives a tremendous drape, I think the 100% wool is needed for the lacier rows so that the stitches and the pattern stand proud.  It turned out beautifully. Even if I never wore the shawl, it would make me happy just lying on the back of a chair.

Blocking - tedious but necessary.

Whippoorwill on the line.

In other news,  we have a blackbird with a deathwish.  A week ago there was a flapping and a pounding at the glass door. The beast had caught a fledgeling blackbird and the little one was putting up a good fight.  Beast was removed and bird was placed in a box to see how it would fare. Later on, after a visit from a friend who knows about these things, I gave the bird a little bit of Rescue Remedy diluted in water and some catfood from my finger. It was a simple task, all I had to do was touch the little chap's head and his beak would open in readiness. So far so good, he was taken outside, hidden under a bush and we watched him the next day being fed by his mother.  That'll teach you to take care around cats I thought.

Magnus - not for the unwary.

A few days later while Magnus was slumbering in comfort on his chair,  I opened the front door and there he was, the unwary blackbird, sitting on the doorstep right next to the cat flap.