You've got something like this drying in your back yard.
Erica dyed in one of her photo dyeing adventures. I took one look at the first of those fibers (Duck Water), and snapped it up. It's been sitting near my spinning wheel for what feels like forever now (nearly five months), waiting for me to have time to spin it. I finally got to it last week, when I'd finished the last of my baby knitting (there's a deadline on that stuff, you know - it's not like you can exactly ask an expectant mother to hang on because you've still got one more seam to finish), plus some Christmas spinning that I can't show you now.
I was reminded the other day of two Younger Daughter stories that, in retrospect, also suggest that I am a spinner. Story the first: a year or so ago, my mother asked for a kitchen scale for weighing things (as one does) in the kitchen (note: she is not a knitter or spinner - although she sews beautifully - and both the girls know that). So off we went to Sur La Table (an adamantly cooking-oriented store), to get her the scale that I have and love for weighing fiber and yarn. (It lives in the fiber room - which Rick asks me to tell you is really the den, the DEN! - and must be hunted up on those rare occasions when I weigh things in the kitchen.) Younger Daughter went along to keep me company, no questions asked, until we were just about to check out and she looked at me in a puzzled sort of way and said, "But mama, why does memere need to weigh fiber?" I love that my daughter's baseline assumption is that scales are for weighing fiber, in spite of all of the evidence that suggests that I am the one using a scale in ways that do not match the norm.
Story the second: also about a year ago, we were in the Bay Area (where it is often chilly, no matter the time of year), and I was realizing that I needed more in the way of a jacket than I had brought. At the same time, it came to my attention that the outdoors store right next to the hotel was about to have a sale on fleece outerwear. So as we got up one morning, I told Younger Daughter that we needed to run out quickly before heading out on the day's adventures, so that I could buy a fleece. Once again, she willingly went along, tra la. It was only as we were walking over to the store, and she asked, "What are you going to knit with the fleece?" that I realized that she'd assumed (as if it were the most natural thing in the world) that I was going to buy a sheep fleece. How many kids would even think of that as an option?
Only the child of a spinner.