So, my friend, Vicky, and I got back from SPA on Sunday at 5. We had planned to go on Friday but bad weather was predicted, so we left on Thursday instead, staying Thursday night in a cheap motel, and moving to the Harraseeket Inn on Friday. I think I liked the cheap motel better. At least it had hot water in the morning, which the Harraseeket was decidedly lacking in, not only in our room, but several others as well. I have mixed feelings about SPA in general. 800 women, all over enthusiastic about fiber, so that they want to know if you spun the yarn, knit the sweater, how, when, where the fiber came from, etc. gets old fast for me. I understand they are enthused, but it is as if because they are at SPA, they have permission to ask way too many questions about stuff of total strangers. The people we have sat with for the past two years, friends of Sherry’s, are perfectly nice people, but I don’t feel that I really know them, and I’m not good at casual, meaningless conversation, so I am probably more of a minus than a plus, in terms of their enjoying themselves, with a lump sitting in their midst silently glowering and wondering when she can possibly leave and retire to her room, so as to be relieved of being there and so to relieve them of the lump in their midst. I’m not into shopping. I hate outlets and find, in general, that they are filled with stuff they couldn’t sell at regular prices…for no one is going to sell stuff cheaper if they can sell it at regular prices! The fiber market is filled with beautiful things, but I find it sad that out of all the vendors, perhaps two, maybe three, had New England fiber. The rest were commercial; people didn’t have animals; they imported fiber, probably from other countries, and hand painted them, which is okay, it is one world, after all, BUT I would like to have seen more local fiber. We did stop at Friends’ Folly Farm on the way home, about 40 minutes north. Pogo, who does my fiber processing for my jacob fiber, is an amazing person. Her shop is a yurt, which was fascinating, and she showed us around the mill, explaining how each machine worked. I dropped off a lot of fiber to be processed for Sue, and picked up my jacob, absolutely beautifully done. Pogo used to have a vendor space at SPA, selling her incomparable wool and mohair mix, dyed beautiful colors, but for some reason, she wasn’t invited back one year, and so one more local fiber artist is replaced with imported yarn. It was lovely to see the folks from the Maine Island sheep there with their wool. And there was a guy with alpaca fiber, which holds no interest for me, but at least it was New England fiber. And one more booth where the woman tending it THOUGHT the fiber was from local sheep, but didn’t know for sure; she was just tending the booth for a friend. Anyway, Pogo’s was a real treat. So was a side trip out in the country five minutes from Freeport, to a farm shop called “Bessie’ Place” owned by two friends of Pogo’s, whereat I bought quite a few things, locally made or designed.
I’m thinking perhaps next year I’ll skip SPA. I like having a weekend with no chores to do, no meals to make, able to just sit and knit and spin all weekend, but I’m thinking SPA isn’t doing it for me. Having to make small talk with strangers I seem to have very little in common with is just too stressful.
It was good to see Vicky and Sherry and so many people enjoying themselves, however, even if it wasn’t my thing.