Adventures in Point Twill

Back in 2019, I purchased a secondhand Kromski Harp Forte 24-inch rigid heddle loom.

I assembled it, marveled at its structure, especially after weaving on a DIY loom for over a year, and immediately got to making things complicated by weaving twill for the first time. I wove a simple 3/1 twill, with two heddles and a pick-up stick, and I have very little photographic proof of this teeny tiny project because it got ruined by a leaky bottle of sesame oil in our cross-country move.

Bummer, that. It was a cute little coaster. 

Since then, the loom has sat on a shelf or its stand for longer than I care to admit, but hardly a day has gone by that I haven't thought about weaving. We've moved twice since it came to live with me, and space was An Issue for nearly a year and a half.

But now...

I'll be honest, I really like this weaving spot.

 

Okay, okay, I did one rigid heddle project earlier this year, too.

"Yes, yes, we get it. The purple scarf is very nice." – everyone, probably

 

While I'm positively tickled about this point twill project, it took a minute to get to get here.

You might want a beverage and a comfortable chair for this one.  

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Over a month ago, I started picking through my leftovers bowl. I wanted to weave a scrappy project but was increasingly frustrated that none of the scraps seemed to go together. I pulled out most of the handspun balls, and started to see a few things coming together: dark purple, gray/pink, white/blue/purple/sparkle, blue/teal/pink, hazy black.

It looked like a reasonable amount of warp, which makes no sense because I hadn't even picked a project. What the hell is a reasonable amount of warp when you don't have a project in mind?

I dug out my warping pegs, and flipped my loom upside down on its stand to wind my warp. This is a really useful feature of many rigid heddle looms, and I'm learning to take better advantage of it rather than direct warping all the time.

I'd be lying if I told you I remembered how long the warp is. It's a good length, I think just over 3 yards? I checked when I put the pegs on the warping board, and then I didn't promptly write it down so it's gone forever.  

It wasn't enough warp width for anything more than a belt. So, I went back to the bowl and pulled out the remaining purple handspun I used for the weft in the scarf above, and a little under 40 grams of leftover blue-gray BFL/silk/cashmere sock yarn.

I got to work threading my three heddles (one on each set of heddle blocks, and one floating in the middle) according to Meilindis' blog post, took a break to make and eat dinner with my husband, and went back to it. Once things were tied on and looking even, he came in to admire my work. I told him I wasn't sure yet what I wanted to make, but that I had a pretty good length of warp—much longer than I really needed for even a scarf. I thought about table runners, placemats, etc., but he ran he hand across the newly-tensioned warp and gently mentioned that he would love a scarf—if and only if I needed a reason to weave.

I had been meaning to make him a scarf for a while now, and he had picked out some yarn, but he really seemed to like the blues and purples in this warp. I showed him the navy blue weft, and the weave structure I was planning to use, and he was thrilled.

After spacing my warp, I got started weaving a bit of tabby to even things out. It was kind of fussy, so I only wove about eight picks of it. Then I started on the real draft, and ... it wasn't any better. 

 

It was gorgeous, but I was struggling to get an even, open shed while having to hold a second heddle up or down manually and pass the shuttle through with my one free hand. Something about part of my tension was strange as well, and in a handful of the slots housing two warp ends, the yarns were fighting to pass by each other.

With just one hand to work on everything, the weaving process slowed to a crawl, and I was frustrated. So, I did what I intended to do last year. I ordered a set of double heddle blocks for the loom, and I ignored the project for a bit.

Once the heddle blocks arrived, I took the loom off its stand, laid it on the floor, and started undoing bolts. This was all well and good, except it quickly became clear to me that the double heddle block did not fit next to the single heddle block. Well, it fit, but when loaded with heddles, there was no space between them to move said heddles. I was flabbergasted, annoyed, pissed, to be honest. I spent $40 on a couple hunks of wood and couldn't even use them as intended.

Welp.

I thought about just starting over in plain weave, or powering through the project until I could find a way to alter one of the old sets of single blocks to fit over the back support beam, to allow more space between the blocks for the heddles to move. I got my hacksaw out and cut a chunk out of an old heddle block. No dice.

This was about as fun as it looks like it was.

A couple weeks went by, and I really didn't know where to begin, but I got that furrowed brow, that notion of "I'm going to figure it out or it can't be done."

I pulled the loom back off the stand and set it on my work table. I inspected where the heddles were bolted on, and the holes on the opposite side of the loom. I could rearrange the blocks, but then one set would be too far forward and impede my weaving space. 

Sigh.

I remembered reading somewhere that assembling the loom backwards could cause catastrophic failure, but... how? If this loom wasn't meant to be used forward or backward, why on earth were there reversed heddle block holes on the opposite side?

I measured the space between the two sets of holes on the opposite side. They were the same anyway; it didn't matter.

But they looked different. Why did they look different?

I thought about folding the loom up, and how the bottom support beams, where the feet attach, don't line up perfectly so that the feet don't crash into each other when the loom is folded up. 

THAT'S IT.

I measured and confirmed, the holes on the front of the loom at the same distance from each other but overall further away from the beam. What that means is that I had room to put the double heddle block near the beam, and the single heddle block in front, and everything would fit.

And so it was, and there was much rejoicing.

Look at all that space!

The rejoicing was only mildly tempered by the fact that the front of the loom was now the back of the loom, and not only did I need to turn the loom around, but I also needed to roll the entire length of the warp from the cloth beam (formerly the warp beam) to the warp beam (formerly the cloth beam), re-tie my ends with better tension, and maybe even re-thread the heddles—all three of them.

Do you see?

I wasn't going to risk losing momentum, so I stuck my earbuds in and got to work, pausing only briefly for another Cooking Together segment.

In the end, I did choose to re-thread the heddles. Some ends had gotten twisted the first time around, and I wasn't completely sure I didn't mess things up in another way. Better safe than sorry, right? Additionally, I took more care in tying on with even tension, using smaller bundles of warp ends this time around. 

 

To each heddle, its own block.

 

I spaced my warp, and I started again. This time I forgot to start with tabby weave, but paused several picks in to do my hemstitching, and it looks reasonably fine so I'm not fussing over it. I just wanted to get on with it and get going and make sure everything worked. 

And it does!

 

I'm having only very mild issues with those same few problem ends getting stuck up or down and having to manipulate them every two picks, but with both hands free it's much more pleasant, and much faster. I'm beating more evenly, leaving space for the fabric to bloom later on, and the work is so much more enjoyable.

Now I can truly say I'm absolutely thrilled to be working on this point twill scarf, and it's been great for catching up on podcasts. I'm still not very far along with it, but this weekend should give me some quality weaving time.

Kromski, you've made a very versatile loom, and I'll keep my toes crossed that the loom gods don't choose to curse me with a catastrophic failure. 

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Some of you might have noticed a new accessory in the last couple of photos. One downside(ish) to this modification is that I can't use my loom stand now unless I get longer bolts. I say (ish) because, honestly, I prefer weaving at the work table. Because of this, I needed to figure out how to hold my roll of packing paper that keeps the layers of my warp as well as my cloth separate and evenly tensioned. 

Well, lo and behold, we had a yardstick laying around that came with the house, so I tied it up to the front support beam with some scrap yarn and stuck the whole roll on it. Works like a charm, and you could just as easily use it on the stand if you were so inclined.

 

It feels great to be successfully weaving again. I'm excited to continue working on this scarf, and I hope to get some shop items on the loom shortly after it's finished. My stash is calling me to throw things together and see what happens. That's been the beauty of weaving for me. Colors play together so differently than they do in knitting or crochet. It's a whole different world.

Thanks for reading. I'll see you next time. 🍂

 

Saturday Thoughts: Social Media, Personal Brands, and Connection

Happy Saturday, everyone! 

It's certainly starting to feel more like fall here, and all I want to do is craft and cook and clean.

I have a robust weaving post coming out in just a few days, but for now I'd like to share some thoughts I've been compiling in this draft throughout the week.

Social media and content platforms skew heavily toward single-facet content. 

We see pattern designers modeling knitwear in picturesque locations, sometimes cautiously alluding to other parts of their lives, but keeping a fair distance from anything not knitting-related. We see makers post nothing but makes, artists post nothing but art, writers post nothing but aesthetically pleasing text blocks.

This is what it means to make a brand, to be a brand, and there's nothing inherently wrong with it. There's a lot of benefit to it, in reality. People know what to expect from your posts, and they're almost always met with something along the lines of what they expect.

It's familiar, it's comfortable, and if you're lucky it's profitable.

But it's not whole.

 

I have a feeling there are plenty of folks out there who want to share other facets of their hobbies and lives, but are afraid to do so due to the algorithm—especially if they're running a business.

Frankly, I want to see your garden, your baking experiments, your houseplants, and all your new crafts and hobbies outside your main shtick, but I understand why you might not want to post them to your grid.

 

So, when you're someone who wants to create for the community but also retain your sense of self—without maintaining two Instagram accounts—what do you do? 

I've landed firmly in the realm of using Instagram posts and stories as a sort of split stream: posts largely pertain to makes and shop updates, while stories are where I share posts from makers and artists I admire, create short videos to share bits of my life, and promote blog posts.

For a short second, I contemplated adding grid posts for new blog content, but I'll tell you why I'm not going to do that. My blog content is more personal than what you see on Instagram, and I think it demands a slightly different audience. At the same time, grid posts are highly visual, and get far more click engagement than written engagement. 

With grid posts, people like, share, comment, etc., and it's largely a short interaction. People want to scroll through pretties and click hearts.

With stories, people like and maybe share, but when they "comment," it's a direct message. It's more personal. It's direct-to-inbox. Could that get overwhelming at some point? Absolutely. But right now, it's the closest thing I see to commenting on the blog itself, and it invites connection and discussion.

I'm here for that. 

At least for me, I know that I pause for a moment before commenting on someone's story. Is what I have to say positive? Is it important enough to send directly to the person's inbox? Maybe more importantly, If I were on the receiving end, would I want to see this message?

Many of us have lost our local communities, or moved, or drifted away from connecting with others in general. I've lived here for over year and have had local folks to meet up with since I put feet on the sand, and I still haven't done that. I've made it to exactly one knitting group, one singular Saturday morning.

I have my little Twitch broadcast when I'm feeling it, and I do enjoy that outlet and community—most of it, anyway. My Twitch community is responsible for me feeling even remotely qualified to write this very blog, and they've been with me since 2018. That's big!

But I can't help feeling like I should try to shape the community a bit better, by tying together my video content (whether it be Twitch, YouTube, or a brand new platform), social media, and blogging.

I guess some of that is to say that I'm not going anywhere, even though I've taken a few weeks off from streaming to get my mojo back and do some troubleshooting—both technology and craft-related. I continue to iterate on what I want this overall space to look like, and how to get there, and I'm happy you're here with me.

Next post will be very happy and exciting weaving updates! I'd like to get a little further along and take some daylight photos before I share the trials and tribulations of the point twill project I started at least a month ago.

But what a story it will be. You have no idea. 😂 

 

Full transparency: I don't have any stream updates right now. I've been enjoying having my crafting mojo back, but I'm not feeling good about the Twitch space right this second, and I've been very sleepy this week. 

I'll see you when I see you. Post some passion projects to your IG stories this weekend if that's your thing, and take care. 💛

Baking, Weaving, Living

The wheel turns, and suddenly it's autumn.

Happy October; frog and cranberries it must be fall! 

 

 

For me, fall brings about an urge to reset things, cook, clean, rearrange, close old chapters, and open new ones.

As such, I decided to take a couple weeks away from the streaming space and spend some time just being and doing.

Last weekend, I cleaned my desk, disassembled and cleaned my mechanical keyboard, put away some drying lemon leaves and rosemary, baked my first loaf of sourdough bread, and enjoyed some cooler morning weather here in Las Vegas.

The Second Loaf™

Back up to the weekend before last, when I mixed up some sourdough starter and managed to feed it regularly all week. Come last Friday, things were very bubbly and ready to make some bread. (I was hopeful but not terribly confident, after my last loaf of regular yeast-based bread didn't rise enough and came out pretty dense, although tasty.) After an overnight rise, the sourdough loaf didn't look much different than it had when I popped it into the pan, and I was worried. 

Within ten minutes in the oven, the loaf had magically sprung up to perfect loaf size and started browning. It came out brown, squishy, crusty but not tough, and tasty—the perfect sandwich loaf. As I'm writing this on Friday, September 30, I have another batch of dough on its first rise downstairs in the kitchen, and a jar of starter discard in the fridge waiting to make crackers tomorrow. 

 

Coffee on the back patio is one of my life's small pleasures, and I'm happy to report that mornings are now lovely and cool enough to draw myself and my mug outside to sit with the breeze and the birds. I need to restock the seed feeder, and the hummingbird feeder isn't getting much action (probably due to hanging it so late in the season), but there are always a few visitors nonetheless. Friendly finches, handsome hummers, and pudgy pigeons for the most part.

After my husband pruned our lemon tree, I realized the leaves had a very similar scent to makrut lime leaves that used in Thai cooking. After some swift googling, I found out that lemon leaves (all citrus leaves, really) can be used in place of lime leaves, and I plucked all the healthy leaves I could find on the pruned branches and set them aside to dry.

One of the beauties of living in the desert is that I can set things out just about anywhere to dry and not worry about anything molding or keeping moisture for too long. Now I have a bag of lemon leaves in my pantry, ready for curry-making. They also smell great. Additionally, I have a jar of dried lemon peels and a separate, small jar of sliced, immature lemon slices to use in potpourri/simmer pots later on.

 

 

In crafting news, I started a point twill weaving project a couple weeks back. The warp is made up of a bunch of handspun scraps, with some sock yarn leftovers thrown in to beef up the width. 

It's going well, though I haven't worked on it in about a week because I've been trying to find a solution for adding a set of single heddle blocks behind the double heddle blocks in the front. The idea when I ordered the double set was to have space for three heddles, for projects such as these. It turns out, however, that there isn't enough clearance between blocks for the second and third heddles to move.

With a pencil and a small hacksaw, I've been slowly working to take a chunk out of each single heddle block, in order to slide them over the back support beam. When this project comes to fruition, I will be happy to share photos and a how-to with you all. Until then, not a lot of weaving is happening, because I'm having to hold up or push down that third heddle manually every time I need to use it. To add insult to injury, there are a couple of warp threads that aren't playing nicely, and I have to manipulate them by hand, which is difficult when I have only one hand free!

 

It's going to be a beautiful scarf, and a labor of love, for my well-deserving husband. 

They're all learning experiences, aren't they?

I made him a pretty cool hat, too.

I had big plans this year to wrap up my WIPs and start several new projects. As expected, many of those projects are still sitting in the queue, a WIP from this year is still on the needles, and my oldest WIP is about to reach its birthday on October 17. Life happens that way sometimes. I've learned more about myself and how I like to spend my time, I've done some pretty cool projects in between, and I'm still working toward future goals.

Once the scarf is off the loom, I have loose plans to make items for the long-awaited shop re-opening. I could look at this as motivation and/or pressure to get on with things and get going, but instead I'm choosing to look at it as a fresh start of sorts. I have the outline, and I'll fill in the blanks as I go.

What's for sale will be completely different from the Freckled Fiberworks we all knew in 2020, and I think that's exactly what I need. I'm 31, I have more stability in my life than ever, and I can take the time to make things I truly enjoy, and to share them with you all.

I'll leave you with a prompt I'm still reflecting on. My Co-Star app—as skeptical as I am about astrology—has been very good for self-reflection prompts over the past several months. 

 

"What do you want from this journey?" 

 

Feel free to comment below if you have any thoughts you'd like to share; I'll reply to every single one, and I'll share my thoughts in my next post. 🧡

 

Until next time, stay cozy, stay crafty, and make time for you. Happy Autumn! 🍂