Habetrot

Faith Will Protect You

Faith Will Protect You From Women Bearing Distaves and Other Grotesque Forces of Chaos

This illustration is from the Luttrell Psalter, a 14th century illuminated manuscript of the book of psalms.  The Psalter is part of the collection of the British Library, and you can view individual pages here or in a page-turning presentation that includes text and audio narration here for broadband or here for narrowband.

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According to the article at Wikipedia, the Luttrell Psalter "is considered to be the richest source for everyday rural life in England of the Middle Ages."

Including, apparently, the danger of angry women bearing distaves. Note the spindle with a well-filled cop hanging from the distaff. 

These figures appear in the margin of Psalm 31 on page 8 of the Psalter.

  

Here is a rather more peaceful scene of a woman feeding her hen and chicks, distaff and spindle at the ready in her waistband, the forces of chaos held at bay.

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Lampede!

The ultimate in lamby fun.

Knitting Lesson

Hugh Carter 
English Painter and Draftsman
1837 - 1903


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California Red

No, not a wine. A sheep--this sheep in particular, who attended the 2003 Taos Wool Festival.

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The artist is Phreadde Davis aka Fibergal of New Mexico, talented artist, fiber artist, and spindle physicist.

"I am a Spinner, Knitter and Painter and a member of the NM Watercolor Society.  I am mad about sheep and goats and have nearly caused accidents stopping to take their photos. 

My husband does a fair sheep bleat  and can do several breeds after a study at MD Sheep & Wool. 

I would love to see more sheep photos out there.  After all, painting portraits of sheep are just like painting people--two eyes, a mouth and a nose.  It is all about the expression in the eyes."

(No, the lambie sound was not made by Mr. Fibergal.)

See, people?  I'm not the only one who is a bit beyond nutty about sheeps.

Ode to My Socks

Ode to My Socks

    Maru Mori brought me
    a pair of socks
    which she knitted herself
    with her sheepherder's hands,
    two socks as soft as rabbits.
    I slipped my feet into them
    as if they were two cases
    knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
    Violent socks,
    my feet were two fish made of wool,
    two long sharks
    sea blue, shot through
    by one golden thread,
    two immense blackbirds,
    two cannons,
    my feet were honored in this way
    by these heavenly socks.
    They were so handsome for the first time
    my feet seemed to me unacceptable
    like two decrepit firemen,
    firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
    of those glowing socks.

    Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
    to save them somewhere as schoolboys
    keep fireflies,
    as learned men collect
    sacred texts,
    I resisted the mad impulse to put them
    in a golden cage and each day give them
    birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
    Like explorers in the jungle
    who hand over the very rare green deer
    to the spit and eat it with remorse,
    I stretched out my feet and pulled on
    the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

    The moral of my ode is this:
    beauty is twice beauty
    and what is good is doubly good
    when it is a matter of two socks
    made of wool in winter.

Pablo Neruda   1904 - 1973