From bees to cars to yarn

While the town I live in is in the middle of an enormous urban area, it feels very small sometimes. Town boosters like to insist that it feels small in ways that no other town feels, and while I don't buy that, there are fun connections made as paths cross. I get to see my mechanic even when things are great with the (extremely expensive, as my spouse pointed out) car because he also is a beekeeper.

Last Friday, a woman from the beekeeping group (also the beekeeping partner of the mechanic, by the way), stopped by my house to drop off something she'd had for a few months for me.

I thought it was her neighbor's husky's hair.


Instead, it was the yarn her neighbor had spun from said husky's hair. Five or so pounds of two-ply, sort of silvery tweed dog hair yarn. Enough to make -- well, something or somethings big.

I haven't swatched it or anything because it was stored with some of the most horrifying-smelling soap in the bag that I've ever smelled. No moths (or presumably fleas) here.


So fun, but slightly odd, and who knows what it will end up as?

I'm weaving ends in on the finished stripy hooded raglan, although it's already been worn by a boy. It's perfect for him. And I'm glad it's almost done.