The M-Word

Twice in recent days, I have seen little fluttery creatures tooling around the house. Even after capturing, and yes, killing the little bugger, karma be damned, it was still hard to prove or disprove that this particular moth was the wool eating variety.

When your life is as fibre-filled as mine is, you err on the side of caution (sorry little moth, that is why I so mercilessly snuffed out your life). The only new wool that has come into the house recently was my raw icelandic. Could it be?


I am taking no chances, although I did not see any evidence of larvae or eggs in the quick check of the fleece. I put the two bags in a large bag, tied it to our front porch and let that sucker freeze for two days. Yesterday it came in to thaw but it will go back out to re-freeze tomorrow. I think that is the prescribed method for killing off any remnants of moths.

A later capture of another little winged creature seemed to indicate that it was not a wool eating one. So, I don't know for sure, but my anxiety dreams of moths eating my handspun were enough to take serious measures just in case.

On a happier note, my ugly socks have been completed.


Yup. Still ugly. I tried to embrace the whole Buddhist World Flag thing, but the truth could not be denied. Thus, taking advice from sage Helen, I decided to overdye them.


And the remaining horse they rode in on.


Ahhh, sweet success. Gentle on the eyes, warm on the feet.