Last weekend Jon and I took my Grandpa and his wife out and about to see the Alabama countryside. One of our stops was in the little mountain town of Mentone. We discovered a little store called Artisans Ltd. The store carried handmade items from Central and South America. There was beautiful woodwork, rugs, carvings and local garb. Charline went nuts. She thought it was all so wonderful. I eyed a beautifully colored vase and she scooped it right up for me.
In the course of a little bit of chit chat with the shopkeeper, we found out this stuff was the real deal. She made frequent trips down to buy from villages in all parts of the Inca world. After telling her all about our origins, and antiquing exploits, I mentioned casually that what I was reeeeeeeally looking for was yarn. I lamented the lack of yarn in the area.
Her eyes opened wide and she said for us to come back another Saturday, she would give me some yarn. She said she had it lying around and was never going to use it. It was hand dyed wool from South America. I tried not to gush and frighten her. I had her take down my name so she wouldn’t forget me.
Well guess who dreamed and sweated and fretted over this coming Saturday? Me. I had no idea how much yarn she was actually talking. She had mentioned in passing that I could make her a shawl and that would be fine. My thoughts were that maybe we were talking 10 skeins at the most, and I would probably get enough to make her shawl and a little something for my home.
Here is what she gave me:
I can still feel the lanolin on this stuff. I am dying over here. I am so blessed.