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Village Squire, 1978-01, Page 8A most rernarkab le woman BY ADRIAN VOS Muffled thuds are coming from the big kitchen -cum -dining - room. Sometimes the sounds are rhythmic and sometimes somewhat irregular. When we peak into the room, we see that the thumping comes from the loom, where a woman is weaving patterns into a rug she is making. As we look over her shoulder, we see a pattern in mostly soft colours. In greens and yellows and reds, as well as black, blue and grey. The weft is of the purest wool and the colours are of the most delicate shades. Later that same day, different sounds are coming from the livingroom. We hear the sound of a television set and a sort of humming sound. It is the same woman, this time spinning raw wool into yarns. The wool slips through her fingers almost mechanically, while she watches a favourite television program at the same time. Sometimes she stops to card some more wool into rolls or rolages, ready for spinning. When she has several bobbins of spun wool, she plies the yarn together anti -clockwise, in order to obtain the thickness she wants for her weaving. But this is still white wool. Where does she get her colours? She explains how in spring, summer and fall, she goes out into the bush, the field and the roadside, to gather plants and flowers, bark and lichens, to make her own natural dyes. Some are dried for later use. Some are boiled immediately and the resulting liquid is stored. Some are soaked, while others are used on the wool immediately after boiling. All yield a different colour dye. Ragweed, which gives so many sufferers hayfever, gives all shades of yellow, gold and brown, depending on the type of mordant used. Mordant, she explains, fixes the colour permanently. Dandelion roots yield green, as do the thistles. She 6, VILLAGE SQUIRE/JANUARY 1978. uses milkweed, goldenrod, marigolds and beets from her garden. Oak bark and willow bark. The variation is endless, and much of the art of producing rugs and saddle blankets, shoulder purses and the many other products that come off her loom, is dominated by how well she chooses her colours. When she is not spinning or dyeing or weaving, she may be doing macrame, the art of knotting in patterns. Or she may be sitting quietly down with her tatting, a different way of knotting thin thread into lace. Sometimes she will hook a rug, or do some knitting, either by hand or with a knitting machine. On several occasions she has taken an old piece of furniture, removed all old paint and varnish, with which so much older furniture is spoiled, and returned it to its original state. In the kitchen is a beautiful cupboard with carved doors, that was thrown away by its former owner. Nov it catches the eye of everyone who enters the house. In the hall is a love seat, salvaged from the junkman, the like of which is hard to find, completely restored and re -upholstered. In the morning the house is quiet. No thumping of the loom or humming of the spinning wheel. Just the soft chattering of the budgie and the snoring of the two pug dogs. That is because she may be out in the barn, helping with the chores for some five -or six hundred pigs. Or she may be out in the vegetable garden, planting or harvesting or experimenting with some new vegetable. Twice a year she takes her handiwork to a craft show, to offer her products for sale to the public, a public that doesn't realize most of the time, what a bargain they are offered Who is this woman, you ask? She is my wife. A most remarkable woman.