It didn't set out to be a buying trip, my Land Cruise through Oregon, though I knew well enough I was headed into prime fiber territory.
I'll just stop in at Pacific Wool and Fiber in Newberg, I thought, and see if they can match that remnant of whatever-kind-of-wool-it-is that I ran out of about two-thirds of the way through the lacy shell.
But in the eleventh hour I learned that Pacific Wool and Fiber had chosen those two days--those two very days--to move to new quarters. I'd have to settle for dealing by mail again.
All the more magical, then, that in Roseburg I stumbled upon a beads-and-yarn shop. A beads-and-yarn shop that also carried roving. A beads-and-yarn shop that had the very same cream-colored whatever-kind-of-wool-it-is I needed.
When Rumplestiltskin winks, I pay attention.
So it was "I'll have eight ounces of this, and twelve of that, and this lovely painted braid, and that--oh my goodness, how beautiful!" Just scooping it up like candy.
The owner, of only three months' tenure, beamed when I exclaimed over the skein of icy-blue painted merino I HAD to have, for it was she who had painted it.
I would not have realized its beauty, seeing it upon a computer monitor. She would not have tried to sell it that way, having had no success with etsy. But there I was, nearly giggling with excitement, and there she was, smiling at my appreciation.
The circle of inspiration had been completed; creative vision had manifested its admirer.
I love it when that happens.