The Hawthorne Works

My first business, at the tender age of 14, was making fishing flies for a local sports shop. At the time, I think I made upwards of two dollars an hour. Now, I weave. I’ve almost doubled my pay.

I haven’t tied a fishing fly in years, but I have had the pleasure of teaching Chris the art and ethics of the angler’s sport. This past summer, he caught his first trout in the ponds north of the house. We return many of our trout to the streams and ponds, but several of Chris’ fish were too badly injured to survive.

“Chris,” I said, “These fish will die if we put them back in the water. As we’ve hurt them, we should eat them so they are not wasted.”

“Ok, papa, but you know I really don’t like fish.”

In Chris’ defense, he loves vegetables (he gardens!), dislikes junk food, and drinks soda on exceptionally rare occasions. “Papa,” he said recently, “All the kids at school drink soda and get rude and crazy. I don’t like that.”

We ambled up the hill, and I prepared Chris’ first trout. It weighed upwards of an ounce. It was a matter of thirty seconds’ cooking.

I’m sure many of you have eaten with a (then) seven-year-old. There’s a pained look, a furrowed brow, and a first minuscule forkful. Chris, buddy, if that trout were Kashmir saffron or a truffle, you might get a taste, but I don’t see how that micro-gram is going to trip the receptors. Another, more substantial forkful, then a smile. “I like it.”

I started preparing the second fish as the first disappeared, and the other two rapidly after. I made a sandwich for my dinner.

We were at the market today. I said, “Chris, would you like to have fish for dinner?” “Papa, you know I don’t like fish. I like trout.”

As this is a hard-hitting, substance-filled weaving blog, I’m sure that you’re all waiting to see how your humble narrator will pull this particular anecdote around to topicality. Heck, I wouldn’t have started without that in mind. Y’all watch and learn.

I think the perfect position for any weaver is to be in partnership with one who fishes. There’s absolutely no debate over one’s latest fiber or gizmo purchase if the significant other has dropped a few large on tackle. You will hopefully note my caution in using non-gender-specific language.

In any case, there is much useful for weaving in a good fishing catalog. I’ll detail other things later, but the foremost in my arsenal is fishing line. To be specific, braided dacron. Braided dacron line is available in a variety of diameters and breaking strengths, from “ten pound test” to “two-hundred pound planer-board line.” I use quite a bit of it. When weaving a blanket, my outermost thread is 45 lb Cortland “fly line backing.” It takes the reed’s punishment in stride, and will hold a ridiculous amount of tension, keeping a straight selvage. When the piece comes off the loom, it pulls out easily, and disappears. The lighter weights do the same for lighter work.

I use 135 lb test planer board line for extensions on sectional warp beams. I’ll send you the engineering data  on request, but a doubled strand may break the frame of your loom before failing. At .032″  or .8 mm, it lies nice and flat, so it will not disturb fine warps. The 200 lb planer line is my choice for heavy ties, including where “loom cord” was once used.

Show me a picture? Ok, but it’s pretty dull stuff. I’ve found it recently only in chartreuse, which is not a comforting color. It used to come in International Orange, which was slightly better.

Most of this is avaliable at a local sports shop. I trade at www.fishusa.com, as they seem to be service-oriented and ship cheaply and rapidly.

How do we tell weavers from fishermen/persons? Watch the subject while reading a magazine. If their lips do not move, they are either a weaver or a fish.

Tim

Yvette kindly remarked on the “subtle center design” of my latest rug.  Subtle, perhaps. Intentional, not exactly.

I’d wanted a pin-stripe design across the “table,” which is what I wove. Almost.

Over twenty-five years ago, I had the honor of working with a skilled finish carpenter building an English-style frame-and-panel Pub and bar. I’d hired on as a “hand” for the renovation of one of New Hampshire’s grand hotels. Most of the work was brutal — ripping up 150 years of construction prior to replacing it. After a few months of this, Karl asked me if I’d be his “go-fer.”

Karl, to put it politely, was a “rig.” He was tall, gaunt, with a drooping black mustache, dark eyes, and an unfiltered Camel hanging from the corner of his mouth. He played the “great” bagpipes (aka the “warpipes”), and had his grandfather’s Imperial German Navy battle flag and photo proudly on the wall of his small, cluttered apartment. He looked chillingly like the old Fregattenkapitan.

Karl had a degree in Philosophy, as do I. It’s why we were working construction. Karl had studied under the Jesuits, I under the Methodists. Karl rightly saw me as a member of the junior service, and took my education in hand.

“Kid,” he said, “Sometimes you’re going to mess up.” (He used stronger words, but we’re not on a construction site at present.) “When you mess up, you can sometimes fix things. If you can’t fix them, fer Chrissake make it look like it was something you wanted to do.”

Toward the end of the Pub Job, we were short on wood. I cut a piece the wrong side of a pencil line, and one mullion showed a gap. We could have stuffed filler in and called things good, but that wasn’t Karl’s way. When I arrived the next morning, he’d carved a medallion from a scrap to cover the offending piece.

My discovery wasn’t a bug, but a feature.

In my current opus, I’d been under the loom sweeping up dust bunnies. The light came through the window just right (the colors are danger close), and I noticed that shuttles two and three had swapped about the time Chris began playing his new computer game. I’d somehow woven nine passes in the wrong sequence.

Cutting back sixteen inches of rug is a mug’s game. Even if a weaver manages to recapture the sequence, the correction shows in the work. A warp that’s been woven never behaves as fresh.

I made a note, and replicated my error on the other side.

This is what makes handweaving wonderful. If a weaver could make perfect cloth all the time, the business would be too much like work. Details are always there, and God lives in details. This gives us the permission to create stories in our work.

Tim

Just a quick one tonight. I just cut my latest Krokbragd off the loom, so it’s on to finishing tomorrow. I had a very hard time photographing it. The central field is a very pale green, which may not display well. I think it will need sunlight to really show the colors.

With my mother visiting, and Chris wanting a lot of attention, it took a week longer than I anticipated. Blogging may have had something to do with that.

It’s 38.5″ x 67″, although I suspect it may lose an inch or so in length, as it settles down.

 What do you all think? Click the pic for a larger image. This rug is currently available, if anyone’s interested.

Next I’m on to either three-end block weave or Flessbergplegg. I’m leaning toward the 3-end BW, as I’m a little worn with Krokbragd just now, and Flessberg is a very similar technique.

Tim

As I said previously, I’m frugal. Back in the beginning of my career, I didn’t own a bobbin winder. It irked me to pay over a hundred dollars for an item that would cost half that if it wasn’t targeted at weavers.

I do own a magnificent Harrison Graduate Variturn lathe, brought over from England.

It looks like this:

OOO, pretty. As a bobbin winder is simply a “round and round” machine, I found the Harrison did a pretty fair job winding bobbins, pirns, and quills. I’m not suggesting that you buy a 54″ precision lathe to wind bobbins. The Harrison is big, expensive, and takes considerable square footage.

However, this works pretty well, also:

The Turncrafter costs about $5,500 less than the Harrison. Find it here: http://www.pennstateind.com/store/TCLPLUS.html It’s variable speed, which is very handy matching winding speed to one’s material. It costs $74 less than one popular double-ended electric bobbin winder, and a full $125 less than another. If you get tired of weaving, it functions just like a wood lathe.

To adapt it to bobbin winding, you’ll need to add a “#1 Morse Taper Solid Dead Center,” part number SL251-3061 at www.use-enco.com. They cost under five dollars.

The only downside I can see to this is weight. At 43 lbs, you’ll not be lugging it to workshops. The weight does help when trying to wind nice and tight. The machine is smooth and quiet.

Tim

Back when I learned to write, some few years ago, the essay was a viable form. A student would write a dozen or so a year under the sharp eye of his or her teacher. We’d thumb through collections of them, by Twain, E. B. White and others.

The essay died around when Thomas Wolfe first said “heewack.”

Now we need plot structure, a mystery ending, and a “hook” to begin things. It’s a daunting task simply putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. A few years in university aren’t sufficient to begin.

Consider, dear readers, the gentle essay. In the smallest form, an essay is a simple, written conversation about an event in one’s day. It need not be shocking, or mysterious. A good, soundly-written piece can arise from anything.

In modern parlance, we call this “blogging.” I prefer the older term.

Tim

My roof began leaking this winter, so I’ve got to go up and re-shingle it when the weather breaks. The joy of shingling a roof is only matched by root canal.

I’m trying to raise some money for roofing supplies. As usual, I’m making the fearless-and-searching in my loom stash.

If any of my readers (or their friends) need a nice, “light production” set-up, I have a sweet 45″ LeClerc 4s Nilus surplus to my needs. It’s equipped with a one-yard sectional beam with 2″ section spacing, beater weight, and a considerable quantity of heddles, including a large bundle of unused ones, factory fresh.

I’m asking $700, which is exactly what I paid for the loom in Ontario two years ago. No, I didn’t buy it new. It came from the studio of a Canadian rug restorer, and is in fine shape. The only work it needed was to replace the shaft guide pins. The originals were plastic, and had become brittle. The replacements are steel, and should last a lifetime.

The loom will include a threading hook, two LeClerc shuttles and a dozen bobbins, a pair of round lease rods, a manual, and your first project in complimentary fiber, as long as I have it “in stash.”

For an additional $300, (a 25+ percent discount) I will equip the loom with my custom-made fly-shuttle device, and supply two Steel Heddle Company mill shuttles and ten maple pirns. This makes the Nilus a sweet little blanket weaver, or a good loom for wider work. My fly-shuttle beater has variable-width boxes, so it can be made to accept either the large mill shuttles or the smaller ones commonly found from suppliers.

I can take pictures if there is interest. The loom is currently disassembled, but can be put together in about an hour. We can negotiate on delivery. I’d drive 150 miles one way if it is purchased with the fly-shuttle beater. I will also be travelling to Michigan at some point in the summer.

Thanks.

Tim

We Vermonters aren’t cheap. We’re frugal.

I just grabbed one of my Danish Lervad shuttles for a minute, and saw an opportunity to share a trick. Scandinavian shuttles use quills as opposed to bobbins. Quills can be hard to find. As with bobbins and pirns, it’s difficult to have too many of the little darlings on hand.

I solved this some time ago by going to the office-supply and buying a whompin’ box of Bic Round Stic pens.  The pens were on sale for three bucks. Whee, five pennies each! By pulling out the ink/ballpoint assembly and tapping the end cap out, they make a perfect quill. If you save the pen part by throwing it back into the box, you can still use it as a pen by simply keeping one handle and refilling it.

They work very nicely.

 Tim

A question Laritza asked recently put me to thinking. I prototyped the above device in my shop this morning in response. Laritza had been looking at the “Twenty-plus” device, which purports to make a countermarche tie-up simpler, and add twenty-plus years to a weaver’s career.

The device only fits one brand of loom, and is fairly expensive.

The theory is sound however. The “Twenty-plus” allows a weaver to assemble and check a tie-up from the outside of the loom, saving time in a cramped space, and eliminating errors.

My solution is simpler and more versatile, I suspect. The device pictured has holes mirroring those in the treadles. It features a retaining pin to secure the cords once they are threaded. With one of these devices for each treadle, a tie-up can be assembled and proofed in a comfortable, relaxed manner off-loom. Once assembled, the tie-up can be rapidly connected to the treadles and lamms. It would remain underneath the treadle while weaving.

An added advantage could be for the production weaver, or any weaver who consistently uses a particular tie-up. With extra devices and cording, tie-ups could be saved for future use. This could be particularly useful in a teaching setting.

I’d like my readers’ input here. Do you see this as a useful item, or am I solving a problem that doesn’t actually exist?

Tim

I read many archaic and obscure works on weaving. It’s often worth the wade through non-cuddly writers and difficult style to get a precious bit of information.

Some of my obscure favorites are John Tovey, The Technique of Weaving, (which offers some counterbalance mountings that will blow your hair back,) anything by S. A. Zielinski, (who was unreservedly arrogant and spot-on), and Alan Fannin, Handloom Weaving Technology, (so non-cuddly as to make reading higher statistics look positively FUN.)

One of Fannin’s contributions to our arsenal was the round lease rod. Practically every loom today has a pair of simple sticks to hold a lease (cross) while threading. These are left in by some weavers to sort things out while weaving. They don’t do a particularly good job at either.

Mr. Fannin owned a small, custom power weaving mill, and brought a great deal of technology from that back into the handweaving world. In power weaving, time is everything. If a process doesn’t function, it is rapidly discarded.

Power looms almost always use round lease rods of differing diameters. Here’s my set for my 80″ Lervad handloom, aka The Mighty Lervad, custom made by the Carolina Loom Reed Company.

These were spendy stuff, but work exceptionally well. The thicker rod goes either up for threading or back during weaving. The hard chrome surface and inherent stiffness of the steel rods make a very clear, well-defined cross, and doesn’t disturb tension by bowing if left in during weaving. They speed up threading immeasurably.

You’ll be happy to know that you don’t have to spend a pile to try these. I wanted a set for smaller looms. I also couldn’t afford to have them made at that point. I went to a local discount store and found a chromed steel closet rod of about 1 1/4″ diameter for six dollars. I went to the local hardware store and purchased a length of 3/4″ steel electrical conduit for four dollars. With a hammer, I (carefully) banged over the ends to resemble the commercial product.

Works a treat. Try it, it saves hours on a traditionally-wound warp.

Tim

I had the opportunity to work with some exceptionally talented furniture makers at The College of the Redwoods Furniture program www.crfinefurniture.com.

I am honored to know Brek Jacobson, of Kent, Ohio. Brek suffered through a year back-to-back with me, (my “buttmate”, in CRFWW parlance), and yet we’re still on friendly terms. He sent me photos of his recent work, a cabinet simply titled Cedar.

Pictures speak better than I can:

More of Brek’s work can be seen at http://www.brekjacobsonfurniture.com/. Enjoy.

Tim