2. Tain
3. Eddero
4. Peddero
5. Pitts
6. Tayter
7. Later
8. Overro
9. Covvero
10. Dix
11. Yain-dix
12. Tain-dix
13. Eddero-dix
14. Peddero-dix
15. Bumfitt
You could use it to remember codes. “My debit card PIN is Dix, Pitts, Peddero-Dix. My Facebook password starts with Eddero and ends with Bumfitt.” You’ve got to love a system that gives you the opportunity to say the word “Bumfitt.”
Sheep can actually help us sleep, but not by counting. It’s the wool. Sleep happens with wool. Wool mattresses, pillows, blankets, and comforters draw moisture away from you as you sleep, keeping you cooler and drier than products made from synthetics, goose down, or cotton. During sleep you can lose more than one pint of water each night through your skin and breath. Studies show sleeping under wool-filled comforters lowers heart rates, suggesting a more restful sleep than with acrylic or down comforters.
And here’s the kicker: Read The Secret House: The Extraordinary Science of an Ordinary Day by David Bodanis and you’ll surround yourself with wool. You’ll make a cocoon in your bed and never leave it. Apparently, our homes are filled with microscopic dust mites: “Male mites and female mites and baby mites and even, crunched to the side away from the main conglomerations, the mummified corpses of long-dead old great grandparent mites.” Mites eat the dead skin that flakes off our bodies. Some people are sensitive to the, ahh, fecal matter that mites produce. According to Bodanis, the mites are so small that a huge pile of said fecal matter could fit on the period at the end of this sentence, which makes me not want to end the sentence because then I’ll have the image of a tower of dung punctuating my thoughts, but I’m not sure how long I can put this off so here it is, the end of the sentence. Gross.
These mites live in our beds, about 42,000 per ounce of mattress dust, or about 2 million total in the average double bed. The mites love polyester because it traps your perspiration and they like moisture. They love down pillows and down comforters because there are so many wonderful places in which to hang out.
Counting dust mites certainly won’t help you sleep, so what’s a sleeper to do? It turns out dust mites don’t like wool because wool wicks away moisture and dries out more quickly than synthetic or down. It turns out that the lanolin in wool actually repels dust mites.
Now and then a smart lamb will demonstrate the idea that sleep goes better with wool by climbing up onto its mother’s back and settling down in the thick fleece for the best nap ever.
Inspired by this, Melissa and I buy a wool mattress made by a company ninety miles away. We have some of our wool turned into comforters and pillows. After two nights on my new wool pillow I decide I’m not going to sell the other pillows to customers because I want them all for myself.
Plus, I sleep better knowing those creepy little mites aren’t defecating directly beneath my head.
A Recipe for Carpal Tunnel
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
—ARTHUR C. CLARKE
I decide I should attempt to go through the entire fiber process, fleece to yarn, all by myself. Why? I wish I knew.
So I soak a fleece in the washing machine, then spin out the water. I lay it outside in the sun to dry. The result is six paper grocery bags overflowing with fleece. Then I buy myself a pair of carders and begin the scritch-scritch-scratch of carding. My wrists hurt but I keep going, determined to take one of our sheep’s fleece all the way through to a finished product. I card while I watch DVDs. After a few months, I’ve barely made a dent in the six grocery bags, and my wrists still hurt. This may take longer than I thought. But when I finish carding, then I can spin the yarn, and then I can knit it.
My knitting has advanced to the point where I can now start and end the project myself, and feel very clever in doing so. When my aunt and uncle visit, I discover that my aunt knits as well, so I begin ranting about wool yarn, thinking we’ll share a knitting bond. My dear aunt smiles ruefully. “I only knit with acrylic. It’s cheaper than wool.”
The world crashes around my ears. I love this woman. She was raised on that sheep ranch with my mom. She has several degrees in home economics. She’s environmentally conscious. Yet she knits with acrylic yarn. Plastic yarn. A sacrilege.
I give my aunt a dressing-down for knitting with acrylic instead of wool, especially since I know she can afford wool. Then I begin sneering at friends’ Polartec jackets. At one writing retreat, I look around the room. Of the fourteen women there, half are wearing polar fleece. I’m so frustrated. Why isn’t everyone wearing wool? Converts are the most zealous, whether it’s smoking, or drinking, or being enthusiastic about wool.
Eventually I realize that I’m turning into a fabric Nazi, judging people because they aren’t avoiding plastic clothing. I myself own two polar fleece jackets, but I don’t wear them in public. They are a dark secret hidden in my closet.
Wendell Berry helps me see reason in his essay “Getting Along with Nature.” He wrote that while there may be two sides to a conflict, neither are absolutely right, nor should they be. He wrote of the conflict between coyotes and sheep:The coyote-defenders may find it easy to forget that the sheep ranchers are human beings with some authentic complaints against coyotes, and the sheep-defenders find it easy to sound as if they advocate the total eradication of both coyotes and conservationists. ... The fact is that people need both coyotes and sheep.... This sort of conflict, then, does not suggest the possibility of victory so much as it suggests the possibility of a compromise—some kind of peace, even an alliance, between the domestic and the wild.
Sigh. The same might be true of wool and plastic clothing.
As I card and card and card, I learn that a distant cousin in Montana has recently begun operating a small fiber mill. Perhaps I should send some business her way. I pack more fleece into five black plastic bags and ask my visiting aunt and uncle to drop them at the fiber mill when they return to Montana.
Meanwhile, I continue to card my six grocery bags full of fleece. After a few more months, the sound of the wire teeth on my carding combs rasping, rasping, rasping against each other is rasping my brain to shreds. I cannot card one more micron of fleece. Screw the idea of doing it all by hand. How insane.
Time to move from the “totally by hand” method to the “partially by hand” method. I pack up my grocery bags, call my friend Kathy for moral and carding support, and meet her at the Weavers Guild, where, as a member, I can use the drum carders.
A drum carder sits on a table. It’s a wooden frame that holds a tray, a smallish cylinder covered in nasty little wires, and a large cylinder covered in the same stuff. Fluff up a handful of fleece, place it on the tray, then start turning the hand crank. Move the fleece forward until the little cylinder snags the fleece and feeds it onto the big cylinder. Do this a few times and soon the big cylinder is covered with fluffy, carded roving. Magic. This machine, advanced technology compared to my hand carders, is powered only by human muscle.
As I set up the drum carders, I feel a little guilty, as if I’m somehow cheating by taking this shortcut. I doubt my colonial ancestors had drum carders. Kathy shows up and we begin. We talk and crank and create fluffy batts that are about ten inches wide by eighteen inches long.
It’s hard work standing there all day, but having a friend help makes all the difference in the world. It doesn’t occur to me until later but we are doing exactly what women have done for ages—being productive with our hands while catching up with each others’ lives, telling stories, and making each other laugh. These are benefits of do-it-yourself that I can’t get from buying a sweater in the department store. After three hours of carding (six “woman” hours), we’re done. Shortcuts totally rule.
Now that the carding is done, I can freely spin. I spin while my tea is steeping. I spin whil
e waiting for Melissa. I spin before I go to bed at night. It’s oddly relaxing and stress reducing, and I love seeing those bobbins fill up with yarn from our sheep. It seems that I’ve moved beyond the martyr Saint Catherine’s fate. The spinning wheel isn’t the instrument of my destruction, but of something much different.
The Stealthy Flock
When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.
—JOHN MUIR
We love the Minnesota State Fair, where Melissa and I have volunteered at the Grape Growers booth, visited all the animal barns, ridden the overhead tram, and eaten way too much food on a stick. But then we add something new: Melissa and I will take a shift staffing the Baa Booth in the Sheep Building. The pork producers have the Oink Booth. The cattle building is filled with displays explaining the beef and dairy industries. And now the Sheep Building has the Baa Booth. But do we know enough about sheep to answer people’s questions? I can explain what virgin wool is, but can I do much more?
The Baa Booth was built by a hardworking family that raises sheep and brings them to the fair to show them. The booth displays the cuts of meat one gets from a sheep and provides handouts listing products made from sheep. Fabric samples illustrate the difference between worsted and woolen fabrics. Here’s where I’m reminded that woolen is sort of fuzzy, like a wool coat, whereas worsted has a smoother, harder finish, like a business suit. A raw fleece is spread out across a table so people can sink their fingers into it, with a bottle of hand cleaner provided. A live sheep and her lambs snooze in a nearby pen.
Spending a few hours there seems the least we can do to support sheep. For those few hours, the booth has something not found anywhere else at the Minnesota State Fair: Melissa. As I’ve begun learning more about wool and yarn, I’ve been entertaining her with the facts, and they stick in that encyclopedic brain of hers. She, too, is beginning to appreciate the fluffy stuff we’ve been ignoring all these years.
She also isn’t shy. She draws people in and encourages them to feel the fleece. She shows people the different types of fleece—coarse, medium, and fine—and explains how each is used. I hang back, nursing a Diet Coke, but Melissa’s so excited to be talking about wool that I love watching her in action. Four middle-aged women wander by and one makes the mistake of smiling at Melissa. Soon they have their hands in fleece. Then Melissa pulls them deeper into the booth and has them touching the army T-shirt on exhibit, which the booth builders had been smart enough to purchase when they had the chance. The women are fascinated, nodding at all they’re learning. They’ve been using wool, or some part of the sheep, every day, but didn’t know it.
They don’t know about the baseball, or about the piano. They don’t know about the insulation. Wool does a great job of insulating our bodies, so why not our houses? Builders are finally catching on, installing insulation made from 100-percent-recycled wool or a wool-polyester mix. Wool works well because of its ability to absorb and release water vapor. Wool is naturally flame retardant. Studies in Japan show that wool can absorb formaldehyde, a chemical used in the manufacturing of some building materials, including timber glue.
And then there’s always wearing wool to save energy. As President Jimmy Carter recommended years ago: Turn down the heat and put on a sweater. A European commission has estimated that a household could cut its CO2 emissions by up to 300 kg (661 pounds) a year and cut its energy bill by 5 to 10 percent by turning the thermostat down one degree.
Wool has been mixed with wood chips to form a garden mulch, cleverly called Woolch. A company in Texas sells material made from wool to clean up oil spills. The stuff absorbs more than polypropylene and can float on top of water, and you can squeeze the oil out and reuse the wool up to eight times. Wool is in your carpeting, in your carpet pads, in your magnificent rugs. Felted wool is installed inside car doors for sound insulation, put on pool tables, used to pad saddles and ballet toe shoes, and it lines gloves and fluid filters. If you use a felt eraser or felt-tip pen, it’s probably made of wool.
Lanolin, the grease removed from wool, is used in adhesive tape, printing inks, motor oils, and auto lubrication. It’s refined even more and used in cosmetics and pharmaceuticals. Lipstick, mascara, lotion, shampoo, hair conditioners—you name it. Yes, you’re wearing a bit of sheep on your lips. Lanolin makes your skin smooth and soft. Sink your hands into the wool on a sheep’s back, and they’ll come out softer, smoother. You could also try sinking your face into the sheep’s back for the same effect, but I can see some problems with this.
The four women spend over fifteen minutes under Melissa’s spell. When she finally releases them, I hear one comment to the other as they walk away. “Wow. I had no idea sheep and wool were so important.”
Melissa and I high-five each other. Four people converted, 300 million left to go. Every day, stealthy sheep are reaching out their dainty little hooves and weaving themselves into people’s lives, even those people who live in huge cities and never wear wool and think sheep have nothing to do with them.*
*Products Made from Sheep: Hide and Wool: lanolin, clothing, drum heads, yarns, artists’ brushes, sports equipment, fabrics and textiles, pelt products, rouge base, insulation, rug pads, asphalt binder, ointment base, tennis balls, felt, carpet, footwear, baseballs, paint and plaster binder, hospital bed pads, chamois skins for polishing, boot liners, auto seat covers, leather upholstery. From Fats and Fatty Acids: explosives, solvents, chewing gum, paints, rennet for cheese, industrial oils, industrial lubricants, stearic acid, cosmetics, dog food, mink oil, oleomargarine, ceramics, medicines, dish soap, tires, paraffin, chicken feed, biodegradable detergents, antifreeze, crayons, floor wax, tallow for tanning, rubber products, insecticides, candles, herbicides, shaving cream, hair conditioner and shampoo, cough medicine, insulin, creams and lotions, glycerin. From Intestines: sausage casings, instrument strings, surgical sutures, tennis racquet strings. From Manure: nitrogen fertilizer, potash, phosphorus, minerals. From the Bones, Horns, and Hooves: syringes, gelatin desserts, rose food, piano keys, marshmallows, pet food ingredients, bandage strips, adhesive tape, combs and toothbrushes, buttons, wallpaper and wallpaper paste, ice cream, laminated wood products, collagen and bone for plastic surgery, abrasives, bone china, dog biscuits, steel ball bearings, malts and shakes, fertilizer, plywood and paneling, shampoo and conditioner, collagen cold cream, crochet needles, cellophane wrap and tape, glycerine. Source: American Sheep Industry Association.
Re-cycle. Re-create. Re-enjoy.
Veni, Vidi, Velcro. I came, I saw, I stuck around.
—AUTHOR UNKNOWN
One morning I stash our winter gear to make room for summerweight work gloves, and for the first time I really pay attention to the pair of wool mittens Mom had given me for Christmas. The backs are patterned, the palms are a coordinating color, and the wrists are another color. They’re made from recycled wool sweaters and coats that some creative person took apart and put back together as another usable item of clothing.
In fact, I see now that the wool has been felted. Wool, because of those little scales, is the original Velcro, and loves to stick together. Add moisture and heat to wool, then agitate, and you’ve permanently velcroed wool into felt. The Romans discovered this when they put sheepskin, fleece side down, under their saddles. Horse sweat, the heat of its body, and the motion of the rider felted the fleece.
These mittens really open my eyes to the idea that not only is wool great for clothing and other uses, it’s also great for reusing. And since my recycling skills have slipped a bit, reusing is something I should consider.
Most Americans aren’t great at reusing clothing. We basically do three things with our clothes: We buy them. We wash them. We throw them away.
According to a report on the environmental impacts of clothing called “Waste Couture,” globalization has made it possible for clothing companies to move their factories to low-labor-cost countries and produce clothing at prices so low consumers consider the clo
thing almost disposable. It’s fast fashion, the equivalent of fast food. China has emerged as the world’s leader in fast fashion, accounting for 30 percent of all clothing exports. Each year, Americans purchase approximately 1 billion garments made in China. We’re not buying clothes to last, we’re buying them to make ourselves feel good. Short-term fun.
What effect does cheap clothing have on consumers? Says Ellen Ruppel Shell, author of Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture, “Cheap objects resist involvement. We tend to invest less in their purchase, care, and maintenance, and that’s part of what makes them so attractive.”
Apparently we like that our clothing doesn’t last because then we get to buy more. Perhaps that’s why wool clothing has fallen out of favor, except with business suits. Wool clothing holds up too well and lasts too long, darn it. How can I justify buying that funky new sweater if my wool sweaters still look great?
Once we’ve bought the clothing, we wash it to excess. Someone studied all the energy consumed in the life of a cotton T-shirt and concluded that 60 percent of the energy was burned after the consumer bought the T-shirt through washing and drying the shirt twenty-five times. Because cotton readily absorbs sweat and body odor, it gets a bit rank without regular washing. Because wool doesn’t absorb odors, it just needs to be hung out in the fresh air for a few hours, brushed a bit, and then worn again.
Synthetic fabrics take less energy to clean because they dry so quickly, which might be the best thing—the only positive thing—one can say about the environmental impacts of synthetic fibers. And here’s another idea—drying all those things on a clothesline takes the least amount of energy. At least that’s one energy-saving activity I do regularly.
So when we’re done with our fast fashions, what next? Melissa and I keep a big black plastic bag in our closet that we fill periodically and take to a thrift shop that gleans clothing to sell in their shop, then ships the rest to developing countries.
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