Romney Ruminations.

There's a problem with shopping online. The mystery of what something might be like often overwhelms my common sense, and I end up with things which I have I have no idea how to best use. I read the description and think, "oh, I wonder what that's like..." and before the wiser part of me can say "don't spend the money on something you don't know how to use! Research first!" my Visa card has graciously gone ahead and ordered a surprise for me. Maybe that's what it is. The surprise. Because I do love surprises.

That's how I met Romney. My mystery wool. On first inspection, he looks much like the other wools in my house. The large bag of Merino, my precious 10 pounds of Falkland, the workhorse domestic that I use when I'm not sure what a project calls for or of the wool-care skills of an intended gift recipient. White. Puffy. Fairly nondescript. But look closer. Instead of the soft, cloudlike glow of Merino or Corriedale and the fluffy, buttery texture to the hand, we have a shiny, hairy, not-at-all-fluffy wool. I knew it would be different when I ordered it, but I had no idea how different.


I have no idea what to do with it.

My general process for creating yarn is to dye 4 oz or so of roving at a time, spin a small sample, decide what weight to spin and whether to ply or not, and then to proceed with the spinning of the whole batch. After it's spun, I decide whether I love it enough too much to part with it and need to keep it in my stash, or if there's someone in my life it's destined to be a gift for (like the hat shown at right, a nearly finished gift for a dear friend), or if it goes in the shop. I love dyeing and spinning. I love yarn in general. The fact that I have a yarn store down the street and what amounts to a yarn factory in my living room means that if I don't get rid of some of it, we're going to need a bigger apartment. Getting a bigger apartment would mean less money to spend on yarn and chocolate. I'm sure you see the issue here.

This Romney doesn't fit into my process because:
A. I don't love the feel of it enough to just want to spin it. It's not that soft, and I doubt a love affair with it will develop. My heart is given to the Falkand wool. Sorry, Romney.
B. I don't love the feel of it enough to sell it to someone who is expecting supersoft yarns that I usually make.
C. I have no idea what it would be best used for.

Now comes the research. After looking past Mitt Romney and several links to the Massachusetts governor's office (?), I find this article about Romney sheep. Turns out they're resistant to foot rot, a good dual purpose sheep, and have fleeces that remain healthy in bad weather. So far so good. I like sheep without rotten feet. Now, about the wool qualities...

"The fleece is lustrous; it hangs in separate locks, with minimal cross fibers between the locks. It is also high yielding and easily spun. Uniformity of crimp from the butt to the tip of a lock is also typical of the breed. Romney wool has the finest fiber diameter of all the longwool breeds; the spinning count may run from 40 to 48 which is 38.0 to 31.0 microns... Its broad range of acceptable spinning counts enables Romney wool to be used for many products, ranging from sweaters to outer wear to carpets."

Okay. I don't have enough for a sweater, I'm definitely not knitting a coat or any other kind of outerwear, and carpets are out, too. Since it's a longwool, it will be durable. Of all the things that I enjoy making, the only ones that really need extra durability are socks.

So here's the plan: Dye the roving with long sections of color. Spin it into a fairly fine single, then Navajo ply to get up to sport weight or heavier yarn. Alternatively, I may spin a thin single of Romney and then ply it with some domestic wool to add some softness. Yarn target weight should be about the same. Knit into winter house socks. Sounds good to me.

The only other idea I have is to spin it and then knit and full it, but I really have a serious mental block against fulling handspun. Why spend all that time to spin when all the texture is going to be obliterated in the finished felt fabric? I guess I could just skip the spinning and try my hand at feltmaking, but I'm not terribly interested in that. So! Socks it is. As soon as my kitchen is clean, I'll be firing up the dyepots. Hopefully the maid (my boyfriend, ha!) will be in to tidy up this evening, and my social schedule for tomorrow will allow at least enough time to dye a pair of socks' worth of wool.

We shall see...