Yesterday I crashed the bus trip to the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. About 25 women in a bus, plus me. And the driver, of course. I was rather aware of being the only man in the group...I face the same thing at work, and sometimes the estrogen gets to be a bit much. But, all in all, I had a great time. The woman behind me broke me in to spinning, and another bought me a pin that says "real men knit." They all adopted me for the day, and I enjoyed being able to show them my finds of the day. I did seriously think about apologizing to the meandering line of sullen women facing me as I sauntered out of the men's room.
I bought yarn...and a drop spindle...and roving...and knit a pair of fingerless mitts in a delightful colorway by Lorna's Laces. I had brought that project along to help detract from my felt need for yarn, but it kinda backfired. Every time I saw blues and greens and purples, I stared, petted, and groped. Okay, I get a little excited over little things...colors, textures, details. There was actually even one stand in which I got so carried away I almost cried. Don't worry; no one could tell.
A few highlights of the day...listening to celtic harpists, watching leather kilt man strut around, sitting with Jim, meeting the author of my first sock book, and trying desperately to spin my first bit o' yarn. That last one gave me a lot more respect for yarn. I almost feel like knitting lessons ought to start with a trip to the farm and a lesson on the drop spindle. At least the spindle would be reasonable. Or maybe after the first scarf. As I eased the fibers apart and watched them twist into a knotty twine, I marveled at it and felt like I could understand better why yarn is the way it is.
Well, it looks like I'll be hanging with the ladies more often, now that I have all this roving to spin...they have nights for spinning and nights for knitting...I can take it.