The rest of the activity seemd to be going on in slow motion, belying the fact that a competition was in progress.
Indeed, the tugging and pulling at looms were the only jarring motions in the barn. Not so the loom: Its complicated network of warps and woofs clearly showed that something of an intricate nature would be produced. I was intrigued with how relaxing spinning looked, how elegantly simple was the form of a spinning wheel. The sunlight, having found openings through the huge barn doors and small, high windows, struck the spinning wheels and mahogany wall panels, making the different woods gleam warmly. Everything I saw invited touching or feeling: The whole day was a tactile celebration. The grand finale, climaxing the day's events was to be a shawl auction.Īll day long people streamed in and out of the barn, watching the contestants, looking at the displays bordering the inside of the barn fleecy hats, mittens, car-seat covers lovely heathery woven skirts and shirts rough textured, durable looking knitted hats and socks - the kind that you knew would last through countless harsh New England winters. I didn't understand a bit of it, but I assumed that it was comprehensible to the participants. Two judges would select winners by using a formula involving time, yardage, quality of workmanship, teamwork, and design. Apparently each team had to card and spin its own fleece then by any recognizable hand method such as weaving, knitting, crocheting, macrame, tatting, etc., each team had to complete a shawl by the 3: 30 p.m. By reading the rules sheet and asking a lot of questions I pieced together what was going on. having been signaled in some mysterious fashion, they began working. As start-up time approached I counted seven teams, of four people per team, assembled, ready to go.Īt 10 a.m. Inside the largest of the yellow barns, the sheep-to-shawl contestants were organizing themselves into pre-arranged groups, getting their materials ready. Soon spectators arrived, making the atmosphere more festive. Finally, the contestants began to drive up in trucks filled with sheep, children, and hay, which they unloaded along with spinning wheels, looms, and bags of fleece.
I noted the quiet, purposeful activity going on: a few men setting up temporary sheep pens someone checking waterlines for thirsty animals.
#SPINNING WHEEL PAINTED RUNNING SHEEP MOVIE#
The day was straight out of a technicolor movie with blue sky and puffy white clouds Willoughby Cap, a prominent geological fault gouged out of a ridgeline, dominated the horizon the sun shone on swathes of dandelions ablaze in Crayola green fields and crowing bemis Ridge in East Burke where the competition was being held were freshly painted yellow barns ready to receive sheep and all manner of hand machinery that would turn fleece into finished shawls. Aliza weaves and I take pictures good reasons for both of us to be going up there.
#SPINNING WHEEL PAINTED RUNNING SHEEP FULL#
"Maybe we're coming full circle," i thought, as Aliza (my daughter) and I drove from Boston to Vermont's Northeast Kingdom last spring for a wool festival and sheep-to-shawl competition. Now, wool is making a big comeback as part of the handcrafts renaissance, and it appears that sheep raising is on the verge of a revival in many areas of the country, particularly in New England. A hundred years ago frugal Yankees depended on wool as a renewable resource and sheep were a ubiquitous part of the landscape. With an era of wastefulness coming to an abrupt end in this country, New England's past can offer some rewarding lessons for its future.
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