How long is a thread!

There are Lamborghini's and Austin Martin's and Ferrari's of looms, too. The farthest into the subject I can venture with confidence is Glimakra, the imperial Swede of looms. Given the reputation of Sweden for perfection, a Glimakra is the union of a Volvo and a Lamborghini, overseen by Saab.

Some interesting looms came our way when my sister and I were weavers. You remember the cherry Kyra and Saffron Two Cats. Once we were approached to purchase the dies and patterns of the Newcomb Loom Company. We passed the offer along to a friend in manufacturing who specialized in reviving old companies. 

As it always seemed to happen, someone a couple of counties away approached us to buy a twenty year old, new, in the box, Glimakra. Eight harness, ten or twelve treadle, never used, Glimakra. A fellow bought it for his wife, and assembled it. She divorced him; he put it back in the box and it resided in the back room until he wanted to sell the house. This was about 1990.

Our studio was thirty by forty and at the time, and had maybe half a dozen looms. We bought the Glimakra for what he paid, seven hundred dollars. All the tie up cords were rotted; all the string heddles had disintegrated. I called the only Glimakra dealer I could find, Maurice Brassard in Quebec, and ordered Texsolve replacements. Of course I told him about the Glimakra loom we had scored.

Maurice asked the name of the person we bought it from, and groaned. “That is the first loom I sold in this country!” And not even for old time’s sake would he give me a discount on the very expensive replacement pieces I needed.

I looked long to find a single picture of a Glimakra like we had.  It is the only picture I found with the bench attached.  Our loom was about ten by ten, the size of a small room, and a countermarche loom. It has a double set of lams to lift each harness. I only mastered the tie-up by reciting “bottoms up” for each lam.

A Glimakra is like the grand piano of a studio. A mighty imposing sight, in the space of say two or three smaller, more useful looms. My best analogy is it requires twenty three gears to advance six inches. Jan and I wove one item apiece on it, put it back in the boxes and sold it.

We each had a favorite brand and style of loom. Hers was Schacht Loom, manufactured in the west; mine, LeClerc, from Quebec. When I bought new looms these last couple of times, it was LeClerc each time. Over the years the LeClerc founders have retired and Maurice Brassard owns LeClerc.

This last time I returned to weaving I found myself replacing everything, down to the thread I’d weave with. When I left off, three years ago, I was depressed at the state of the weaving thread industry in this country. There no longer are mills in America, and no cottons spun for sweaters. I researched the internet looking for cottons with good hand, for towels. Good hand simply means how the thread, or the fabric feels to the hand.

Eventually I settled on cotton marketed for weaving towels. How wrong could I go? I didn’t care for the way it felt weaving, but I persevered, knowing the thread had not passed through the final process, fulling. As we said in the olden days, “It all comes out in the wash!”, which is fulling.  Like everything, there really is no magic. 

In the case of those first four towels I wove, magic was necessary. They had no “hand”. In fact, they felt like sandpaper; little saw blades. I was so upset. I reached out to every old weaver I knew. What to do?!?

One friend in Virginia said she knew Brassard, in Canada, was spinning, but knew nothing of the thread. I called the distributor from whom I’d bought the little saw blades on a cone and explained that although they advertised it as suitable for towels, it was closer to haircloth. She suggested I might want their 8/2B cotton. In fact, the colored cones I’d purchased were B, and it was quite soft. I felt a cone, and yes, very soft. Good hand.

It took some prying to learn that their 8/2B is spun by----wait for it----Brassard in Canada. As soon as I have a run of towels off the loom and fulled, I think I’ll send Maurice a towel and a note. We did a lot of business over the years. I think he’ll be amused, but I doubt he’ll give me a discount!

This is a contemporary Glimakra countermarch. The bench is no longer attached. I cannot see that anything else is changed, except this is smaller than ours, which was sixty inch weaving width, and about eighty inches wide overall.

For Jenn and Dee and anyone else who can sit through a tutorial

Some time ago Jennifer hoped I would post pictures,

and I took pictures, and saved them to post in a continuum.

Eventually I thought, what a bore, and would have skipped the project,

except then Dee asked too. That's a quorum!

Here I am, winding forty bobbins, which will drop forty threads into a two inch bout,

yielding twenty threads per inch. 

This thread is 8/2, which yields excellent "hand" for fabric at 20 epi, and that's the most technical explanation I can give in twenty words or less.

Eleven two inch bouts ready to have thread wound on.

 Forty threads from the spool rack, put through front and back reeds of the tension box, to keep them in order.

The threads go under and over as many pegs as necessary to provide adequate tension. No tension and the threads go on in a sloppy, useless mess.

The silver thread guides keep the threads between the bout dividers.

Two bouts finished, starting on the third of eleven.

At the end of each bout, I tape down the threads, then cut them. I tie an overhand knot in the lose ends, then secure the knot through the next cord. I'm sure the knot has a name; the overhand knot goes through each loop and it's pulled down snug to secure the threads from the spool rack.

All eleven bouts are wound and taped down. The thread guides are back in their little bag.

Next, I lift the taped ends of each bout up and fasten the tape to the yard stick taped to the back beam.

Here is the same thing from the other side. 

When all eleven bouts are up and taped to the yard stick, I count the threads in each bout.

There should be forty. No time like now to go looking for a missing thread.

Now I need to unroll some slack so I can begin threading the heddles. I roll the thread up on the yardstick, then unroll it. My sister used to lift it high over her head and walk backwards. Not that brave.

Now I'm in front of the loom and the threads coming off the warp beam have enough slack to work with. I didn't take a picture, but that assembly on the right end of the warp beam is the brake. The brake is off, to allow the beam to move freely.

This sequence of heddles uses a pattern of sixteen heddles, four on each harness. I count off all sixteen as a group before I begin threading. It helps avoid errors. Unthreading and rethreading hundreds of heddles is no treat. Ask me how I know.

All heddles are threaded, and each group of sixteen tied off in a slip knot. The first bout is threaded through the reed.

Through the reed, and secured again with a slip knot.

Tied up to the cloth beam, and a few inches of "idle weave" to straighten up the bouts.

Four repeats of the towel pattern done. The first eight rows are plain weave, the next eight are twill. Blue jeans are woven in twill. 

Here is the magic. That V is called the shed, and I throw the shuttle back and forth between the changing shedds.

And I change the shedds by stepping on combinations of treadles tied to the harnesses.

The end.

Progress all around

I generally am in school auditoriums for band concerts, but last night Laura and I attended middle school graduation of my last granddaughter, Caroline Lenore. 

This first picture is of the graduates assembling, one by one. It's real purpose is to show the vile metal chairs we have in this room. In past events in this room I've asked the ever so attentive parent/supervisors to bring comfortable chairs for me, and for Ruth. Last night I forgot, until I sat down. Too late!

This is a Montessori school in Cleveland. Both France and Caroline were here at Ruffing, eight or nine years. Pre-whatever through eighth grade, which has another name in Montessori. France has been two years at Hawken, a high school. Caroline is accepted there for next year. There she is, second from left.

Spotted!. Too bad, sweetheart, you only "move up" once. I have an eye on you! I didn't leave early; I spent two and one half hours on awful chairs, and without supper! And, I got a big hug in the hall way; ample reward.

Yesterday I loaded the my thirty-odd filled spools on the spool rack and left the room. The missing peg has a funny ending. Laura sawed our new dowel to the proper length while I began removing the bolts from the stand's feet. When we were all done, I counted the pegs one more time. In spite of having counted thirty nine of them, over and over on Wednesday, yesterday there were forty one. An extra hole.

I was so sore and tired from those metal chairs last night, I slept through any noise my UPS fellow may have made this morning. Of course, the cat was not about to alert me to the delivery of the cone of thread that was promised for delivery no later than tonight. I am set to go, as soon as I come back from a long overdue haircut.

Today's loom adventure

 
Today we spent six hours driving to Van Wert and back, because I am determined to keep collecting up my weaving pieces parts. We went for the spool rack. Van Wert is just before Toledo, and the location of Leesburg Loom, where I had the custom spool rack built.

It was a beautiful day for a drive, and I treated Laura to some trucker lore I learned from my brother-in-law. On US and Interstate highways, there are many holding ponds. Tom's story for these is, the next feature of the highway is an overpass. The highway engineers struck up agreements with farmers on the way, and in exchange for the pond used the dirt from it to build the overpass embankments. Probably a true story.

There is farm after farm along US 30. It was small talk, and the driver was amused!

We reached 301 North Cherry Street, and picked up the rack, unassembled.  Out the door, forty seven dollars and change, plus a tank of gas. The fancy schmancy, huge spool racks from name brand loom companies start at two hundred dollars. I had one, that I gave away. It was too heavy and bulky for my hands to manage.

Van Wert is so typically German settlement that we put the GPS on pause and drove around downtown. That's city hall.The little white building caught my eye. I didn't see any description of function. Around here, if it wasn't a school house, it was a Grange Hall, and I bet the latter, to be associated with a GAR cannon. GAR: Grand Army of the Republic. 

More history. I don't understand the meaning of this sign; we were on US 30, and the Lincoln Highway is US 30, through much of this country, including Ohio. I don't understand the exit sign, unless someone neglected to put up "Old US 30 signs." A mystery.

Back home, and a spool rack to assemble. Forty pegs and the foot assembly. We were one Amish supplied peg short, so tomorrow it's off to Ace Hardware for a replacement.

This job needed a socket set, or at least a crescent wrench. Laura says we do not have one, which I find hard to believe, but am too tired to go rifle the tool chest in the shed. Tomorrow, before we go to Ace will be the moment of truth.

So, my forty peg rack, assembled. I see the feet are on backward. The spools of thread pull with a mighty force, and need to pull against the solid part of the cross brace. I guess that's worth a crescent wrench!

When I read the email tonight, my cone of thread shipped today, for delivery by Friday night. Life is good.

Screaming eagle

Another Memorial Day. I took the trumpeter to maybe the last event. She's not taking band next year.

.

The downtown square will be closed, of course, and the detour is posted. Oh, the irony of it all. HTWP stands for Hudson Township something. Hudson Township was annexed by Hudson, oh, about 1990. It no longer exists, except in equipment.

Chairs lining the square as we went to the high school. Uncle Tom was there, in his Vietnam Vet cap, I'm sure. He always shows up early, to watch everything. We didn't see him, but Laura found him, for a ride home.

Coming home, the chairs are beginning to fill, about nine in the beautiful morning. The police were beginning to close SR303. Instead of waiting, not knowing how long to be let through, I turned left from the center lane and took another route home. 

Flags everywhere. Lining side walks. Flying from front porches. How proud we are!

One thousand, four hundred seventy five immigrant children unaccounted for last year. Swept from their parent's arms. Sleeping on concrete floors, surrounded by wire fence. Daily, children lifted away, put in child seats and driven off, no forwarding address. No tissue for any tears or screams.

One hundred one mass shootings in America this year. Ten students killed in the last high school shooting in Santa Fe, Texas. Five thousand seven hundred death by gun violence. One thousand three hundred children to age seventeen, killed by gunfire. 

Perhaps America is waging war on children. This can't be the America I know, but it's the America that's happening. The America that cares is close to out of time to re-enact the Bill of Rights and the Constitution, One Nation, with Liberty and Justice for All. If you do nothing else, Vote.