I really do need to get organized (I say that at least once a week). When I went stash diving last week to pull 6-ounce lengths of fiber from as many breeds as I could find for my dye class, I made a huge mess in the studio which now demands clearing up. I addition to that, it has probably been a year since I put away knitting needles in their storage rack, sorted by size and cable length. There are at least 6 sizes of DPNs that are missing and probably all in a basket (somewhere). When I look at the piles that are sliding onto the floor I immediately find something else “more important” to do (like look for design ideas, or reading an issue of SpinOff!). I blame it all on spending way too many years in museum storage rooms organizing, ordering, labeling, cleaning, and tidying. I got it all out of my system, and now it just seems like a bother.
The problem with my psyche, however, is that I resist starting certain kinds of projects until I have a clean space to work in. So after a very good class on dyeing, and another on using the blending board, I’m itching to get to it to spin some color rolags of my own making.
So, needing a distraction until I can convince myself to get on with it, I think I’ll just go back to my notes from Scotland and share some more of my May adventure. There were so many wonderful people that I was able to visit, and more sheep (of course).
After a lovely morning at Knockandoo Wool Mill in May, we headed east in the direction of Aberdeen to visit Westfield Croft where Marguerite and Frank Fleming keep a small flock of Hebridean (dark ones on the left) and Boeray Sheep (light fleece). Both are primitive breeds and both are on the endangered/rare lists.
The Boeray are descendants of the now extinct Scottish Dunface that are believed to have originated in the Neolithic period. These were raised both for meat and wool, and the Dunface/Boeray wool was the basis of the tweed fabrics woven on the islands.
In spite of the fact that the Hebridean sheep didn’t originate in the furthest archipelago, they are sometimes called St. Kilda sheep. Also descendants of the Dunface, these black sheep can have 3 or even 4 horns, and their fleece molts in the spring.
The sheep from the St. Kilda archipelago in the far west of the Outer Hebrides, are small and extremely hardy, so do well in areas with rough winters and poor ground.
This photograph shows a village on St. Kilda from 1886. At that time the population of the island broup had dwindled from a high of 180 to about 73 individuals. Cholera, smallpox, enlistment for the First World War and emigration to Australia caused the population to dwindle. When the last 36 of the islanders left in 1930 for the mainland of Scotland, the sheep were left behind and so became feral.
While many of the Outer Hebridean islands are no longer inhabited, they have begun to see both scientific and touristic interest, both for the abundant wildlife (particularly birds) and because they feature a unique architecture — a stone hut found nowhere else. The cleit, a small stone building with a turf roof, was used for storage. It is a dry stone structure that allows wind to pour through, serving to dry and preserve meat and other foodstuff.
I have yet to work with any of the Hebridean wool, but the Boeray really caught my eye when I saw the gorgeous fleece up close. The fiber can vary significantly from sheep to sheep, and may retain quite a bit of kemp even after combing. The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook found fiber diameters documented at between 23-32 microns, but the authors’ own sample averaged 17.9 microns (more like fine merino or cashmere). They correctly point out that you have to judge each fleece independently to determine what it will be best used for once spun.
Like Fergus and Allison from Bunloit Woolery, Marguerite is the frequent recipient of fleece from nearby shepherds who don’t want to burn or compost their wool. She hand processes the fleece, and some is sent for mill spinning and some is hand spun. Because she is sourcing from a range of crofts, she is able to offer quite a variety of yarn with different properties and characteristics. I brought home two skeins of Lleyn (these sheep are mainly found in Wales) in Aran weight.
Another offering from Westfield Croft are the incredible baskets Frank makes. Frank and Marguerite found a completely overgrown willow and hazel thicket and have spent several years thinning, pruning and restoring the coppice to make wreaths, baskets and garden structures. Willow is also a winter fodder for the sheep.
Like so many of the keepers of sheep we met in Scotland, Marguerite and Frank have made crofting a lifestyle choice. It isn’t easy — in fact, it’s hugely difficult, unpredictable, and chancy. Nonetheless, they have an incredible place in the Highlands, and a life of unending possibilities. I look forward to another visit. Maybe I’ll bring my wheel so I can sit and spin Boeray fleece while Marguerite and I obsess over the knitwear in the Outlander TV series.
Great article!