The indigo dyeing experience didn't go as planned but my yarn, now restored to its old non-slimey dry self, looks wonderful. Its not indigo, its not even a color I can name. It has a pearlescence, some sea colors, and some of the original yellow. I love it. All not-enough-to-make-anything-I-can-think-of 130 yards of it.
But here's the thing: I really enjoyed the process of watching it become what it is. I'm not ready to go mix me a batch of indigo but you may catch me in the Kool-Aid aisle of the local supermarket, I've got a couple skeins of old natural gray-ish Brown Sheep that could use new hues. Then I could make myself a long skinnier color block version of Wavy, as I did last year for a gift to sister Marla. (That link is to her website , not her modeling the Wavy but just take my word, its worth making).
This enjoying the process came into question the other night, too. I was knitting away after dinner with friends. That shlurping sound you hear? My Clapotis sucking in every yard of Safari in the state. Every week I call Yarn to hold yet another skein. Guess I might have figured that a project needing 600 yds of worsted weight on size 8 needles would need a whole lot more of skinny linen blend on size 5's. Duh! I won't bother with a photo, just picture it at 70% complete. So, anyway, I'm knitting on it, commenting that I'm never going to get this thing finished with such skinny yarn, and my friend says" Well, why would you want to finish?' I gave him a look and he says" But you enjoy knitting it so much, why would you want to come to the end of it?"
Hmmm. I'm still thinking.
Lastly , about this process thing. Now that its spring, I've resumed an old favorite morning hike. We keep finding these cairns at a particular point in the trail. Its a well-used trail, its not like anyone needs to remember their way. Its got to be for the joy of piling stones.