Return of the Words

It's been a while, and for that I apologize. Life gets in the way. I don't really know if I've been busier than normal. I just lost my words for a while. Since I've been silent for so long means that I have lots to tell. So I'll quick blathering about nothing and get on with it.

As most of you the two of you know, I enjoy a good estate sale. I check the major estate sale websites on a weekly basis. This past week an ad with photos was posted that contained the magic phrase "spinning and flax wheel".



Quite intriguing, don't you think? The sale started Friday but I work for a living, so I went Saturday morning. For some weird reason the teenager wanted to go with me. I think he just wanted to drive because nosing around a house full of stuff is not how he would choose to spend his time. I was really hoping to find other spinning related stuff, maybe weaving supplies, odds and ends of fiber, stuff like that.

Surprisingly, the wheel was still there! Even more surprising was that it was completely intact, with the exception of the drive band. The treadle was connected to the footman, the footman was connected to the crank, the crank was connected to the wheel. Hmm, this sounds familiar. No rust on the cast iron parts, the flyer spun with ease, no cracks or damage to the whorl and everything was nice and tight.

Ladies and gentlemen, please stand back, the bargaining is about to commence!

At some point my teenage son will learn to interpret my "looks". Like when the woman running the sale said, "We can probably come down to $125", and he said, "That sounds like a good deal, mom." DUDE! You're killing me! I'm here to bargain, not just open my check book and write down the first number to fly about the room! So I give him The Look and he says, "What? $125 is a great price." Really? Really, Zack?? This is obviously not my son. There is no common DNA here at all. I pretended to study the wheel with great care and threw in a few head shakes, hmmms, and I don't knows. I sighed, offered $100, she hestitated, I stepped away from the wheel, and she said she'd take it. SCORE!

Isn't she pretty?




She's a Canadian Production Wheel (or CPW for those in the know). Since there is no maker's mark (not the whiskey, seriously) I can't tell you for sure who made her, but she looks like a wheel made by the Cadorette family of Quebec, Canada, about 100 years ago. I'm sure you'll be hearing more about her in future posts.

Ah, but the story doesn't end here. We gingerly loaded the wheel in the back of the Rav, (for perspective, the diameter of the wheel itself is 30" across), and Zack says, "Can we go to Dick's Sporting Goods on the way home?" Such a total manipulator. Maybe we do share DNA.