This Means War

Last February my dear mother bought some wool. Not just any wool, but beautiful alpaca and angora that was handspun by one of her knitting buddies. These wooly delights (which I know she was quite tempted to keep for her own knitting pleasure) were gifted to me for my birthday. It was an expensive and beautiful gift and she was so proud to share.

I have taken the past year to decide what to do with the lovelies. This is the best wool I have ever had the opportunity to knit with and just any project wouldn't do. No, I needed to make sure it was just right. I dreamed of fluffy scarves, toasty hats, and mittens so soft the wearer would never return to store-bought. And then, it came to me. I would knit a hat for my sister. This would be knit out of the skeins of alpaca and the angora would be saved for something else (I'm thinking a lacy little cowl...)

I happily cast on 72 stitches on my needles and knew that there would be just enough to make her a birthday hat. It would be soft, fluffy, warm and cherished for years. Knitting along without a care in the world, the yarn suddenly ran out. Odd, I thought, there is still a whole ball of yarn sitting in my lap, there must have been a weak spot in the spinning. I retied the yarn and kept knitting. It happened a second time (this caused me to question the competence of the spinner) but I kept going. The third time it happened I was very annoyed and decided that there was something very wrong.

I examined my wool and there and the center of my beautifully wound ball lay the reason for my problem. Eggs. Hundreds of tiny cream colored eggs. In my very expensive, beautiful wool. I stared for a moment in disbelief. It couldn't happen. It just wasn't possible. Was it?

When I brought the wool home I was sure I had been so careful. It was immediately wrapped in a plastic bag with a couple of cedar chunks (the angora, being the lovelier of the two wools was wrapped in a plastic bag and a cedar chunk and then put into an empty cottage cheese container and then placed in a second plastic bag) and then it all went into the stash with extra cedar. It was all in a thick clear plastic tote. It was safe. Right?

We will pause here to reflect on my knowledge of moths and their determination to destroy anything prized and wooly.

I stared some more at the wool in my lap. The hat was working up so nicely. I would easily be done in a day or two. The wool was not machine washable, so clearly, I couldn't just finish the project and then throw it in for a hot water bath but I really didn't want to throw away this beautiful gift. My mother had really sacrificed to give this to me, and I was not going to be the one to ruin it.

I swore (quite loudly and violently) and threw a tantrum that would put a two old out of business. I thought some more. There is a freezer in the house. Cold kills bugs, right? I 've heard of this being a solution to this very problem, so it was at least worth a try.

I bagged up the wool (needles and all) and threw it into the freezer. It's in there now, hopefully suffocating the little nasties munching on my wool. I'm not sure what's next. I just hope that I can save it. If not, my God have mercy on those moths, because this means war.