When I arrive, shortly before 11 AM, Rosario and Ernesto are already hard at work, preparing what we'll need for the day. I'd consulted them in advance about what I wanted to learn and what materals I needed for the project I have in mind: a 1.5 x 2 meter knitted tapestry, made with hand spun and naturally dyed wool. During the two-day course, I'll make a small amount of the yarn myself, and will work with yarn they've already produced to dye the rest of what I need, in dark brown, medium grey, sky blue, cactus green and terra cotta.
They greet me and immediately put me to work washing and drying curls of wool from a black and white sheep. We agitate the wool in a collander in a large tub of water, to begin removing vegetable matter and its heavy lanolin. Once washed, we spread the curls out to dry in the midmorning sun.
Inside the dyeing and spinning shed, just off from the main house, two enormous vats are on full boil, heated by wood fires. One holds plain water, the other is full of wool being boiled with a solution of alum, a mordant that will fix the dyes.
We'll use natural indigo to get the blue yarn I need, and zapote, a delicious fruit, for the dark brown and terracotta. First, however, Rosario leads me to a tree growing right in their yard.
"Normally we go down to the river to find this tree, called yashí," she says. They maintain this one on their property for smaller dyeing lots. The plant, about 2 meters tall, is leafy and straight and reminds me a little of bamboo. Like bamboo, Rosario tells me, it grows very quickly and is seen as a weed. "Farmers don't like to find it on their land," she said.
We cut down all the green branches we can find and promptly place them all in one of the steaming vats. Rosario stirs the branches for a few minutes then drops several hanks of natural white and grey yarn into the leafy stew. We'll use this for the green I need.
Now that the dye is on to boil, it's time to get down to the hard work of making yarn. Like the other artisans in Teotitlan, El Tono de la Cochinilla hand cards all of its wool. Rosario fetches a small basket of our sun-dried black and white curls and two sets of wooden rectangular paddles with an array of tiny metal spikes on their faces. We sit down together and taking a small clump of the wool, she demonstrates how to rake the fibers-- first one side, then the other, repeating
the motion several times until the resulting fibers caught on the paddle are smooth and straight.
I take up my paddles and struggle to pull them apart through the strong wool. By the time the wool on the face of my paddle is smooth and uniform-- what was black and white is now a soft grey--Rosario has deftly transformed four clumps into lofty fiber rectangles ready to be spun. I dislodge the wool from my own paddle, deeming it done, and gently lay it alongside Rosario's work.
"Oh...the one side is fine but the other side still needs to be combed," Rosario instructs me. Indeed, one side of my rectangle is still curly and multicolored. I replace the rectangle on my paddles and dutifully work through the rest of the curls. We card for a couple of hours, my hands learning the required motion with each new clump of wool. Carding requires subtle dexterity and significant hand strength, and I wince when Rosario points to two enormous sacks of raw wool waiting for her to card.
By lunchtime I've worked up an appetite. We retire to the house where Rosario has prepared a salad with organic greens grown in Teotitlan, and a delicious mole coloradito with chicken.
Next: Spinning wheel got to go round.
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