Today, I met Harvey. Earlier this week, I visited her and she suggested it was time to meet Harvey, especially as my rabbit research progressed toward finding the perfect bunny. It was time she would introduce me to her own English angora.
When I saw him, I was surprised with how large Harvey was. He was cuter than Vanilla Bean because the hair around his face was cut back to reveal his eyes - something rabbit owners can do if you don’t plan on showing your rabbit. It was still surprising how big Harvey was, even after meeting Vanilla Bean. They were about the same size, both as big as my parents’ dog, Cow, who by the way is about ten pounds. Karen assured me, just like Crystal, that they just look big, it’s their wool that gives them that illusion of being so fluffy, but underneath their coat their bodies were tiny creatures. She handed Harvey over and I felt just how skeletal his body was underneath, much like Vanilla Bean.
As I marveled over her rabbit, Karen pulled out a plastic bag of brushes she uses to brush Harvey’s coat and laid them out on the floor in front of her. Her hands extended out to reclaim her rabbit and I abided. She petted Harvey’s body, scratching the space between and behind his ears as his eyes closed, relaxing in his owner’s arms. After a few minutes, Karen carefully turned him over on his back and laid Harvey down on her outstretched legs. Karen continued to pet Harvey head as he closed his eyes, his tiny paws suspended in the air. He looked as if he fell into some trance, asleep by some hypnotic spell. With one free hand, she grabbed a brush and showed me how she grooms him, while Harvey kept still on his back.
I tried to reach for him, fascinated that he remained obedient, but as my hand neared, he jerked back on his feet. He hopped about in the upstairs office in the yarn store, and I gushed as he climbed inside overturned boxes, stood on his hind paws, and leaped into my lap, sniffing my jeans.
Looking at Harvey, my decision was confirmed even more, that the English angora was the ideal rabbit I was looking for.
As we watched Harvey wander about, Karen showed me a red Nike shoebox filled to the brim with Harvey’s fur. “This has only been since Christmas.” Two months ago! My mouth dropped and I stuck my hand inside to feel the soft fibers. This silly gesture filled me with a sense of giddiness and excitement for when it came time to finally purchase a rabbit of my own. Karen plucked a small tuft of wool and gave it to me, a little keepsake of Harvey. Then she asked me about spinning.
“I have no idea how it’s done,” I told her, “but that’s one of the objectives of getting a rabbit. I’d really like to learn to feed my own knitting and not pay someone else to do it.”
We walked away from Harvey and headed to the weaving room. Along a wall was a shelf full of drop spindles stuffed inside a brown basket and other that hung on a long twine. She picked a light pine spindle with a large circular head and an attached hook, grabbed a bin labeled “Practice Wool” and called me over to a table. From the bin, she pulled out a red-orange ball of yarn, lightly tugging the fibers from one end, twisting it between her fingers, and attaching it to the brass hook of the spindle. Once the fibers were twisted and securely attached to the hook, she spun the handle of the spindle against her right leg and I watched the fibers intertwine in suspension. Periodically, she twisted the spindle against her leg to keep a steady momentum as she continually pulled fibers from the red-orange ball. As she kept pulling the fibers out, it lengthened the distance between the yarn and the hook of the spindle.
As she spun, Karen explained that the mark of a good spindle was balance and that the spindle she was using was of the “cheaper end” as her own spindle spun about with jerky movements and teetered sideways. After a couple of spins, Karen hands me the yarn and spindle and tells me to play with it as she checks up on Harvey.
My fingers fumbled, unsure how to alternate between pulling the yarn and when to spin it. I was able to get some twists going before I overspun the fiber causing it to separate from the ball of yarn and onto the floor.
“Those are weak spots in the fiber,” Karen said. “To prevent that, you need to tug the same amount of fibers from the ball every time and before you spin.”
I had no idea what that meant. But despite my numerous fumbles, I was overjoyed to have tried spinning. I loved knowing that I had witnessed the process of how a ball of yarn was created, that it required skill and precision to make such a mundane looking object. Understanding this time consuming process gave me a greater appreciation for local spinners and fiber breeders. That the quality found in a ball of yarn came from more than a fluffy animal with great fiber, but from people who spent the time turning it into what we see in the stores, and enjoyed it. I respected their patience and hard-work and realized I wanted to be a part of that small collection of people who saw the value in spinning, even if it would serve to be a part-time hobby.
I tried out a handful of different spindles and tried to spin with a few on the pricier end. There was a smoother, well-balanced sense of quality to these spindles that could not be put into dollars or cents. After narrowing my options, I asked Karen to put aside two spindles made from local companies – Spindlewood from Oregon and Cascade Spindles from Kent, WA - until Monday after I talked to Jason about my newfound hobby.
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