Maryland Sheep and Wool

In a little over a week, I plan on arriving at the HoCo Fairgrounds early in an attempt to negotiate the gauntlet of vendors like a friendly neighborhood maniac bent on purchasing roving WHICH CERTAINLY HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH her evil plans for world domination. This raises an important question:

How are my dear readers, who also shall flock to the HoCo fairgrounds to bask in the reflected glow of Knit Goddessness celebrate Sheep and Wool, to recognize me and ask for autographs like I'm Stephanie Pearl-McPhee introduce themselves? Never fear. I shall be the woman who is NOT simultaneously walking and knitting/spinning/crocheting/weaving/shearing sheep. I'll be the women who has her own Sherpa to guide her through the mountains of roving, handspun, and I-just-had-to-have-its, leading a llama loaded to the breaking point with fabulous fibers. Actually, the Sherpa is not so much a guide as a bodyguard. He clears his throats and gives looks of polite disapproval to overeager spinners who get a little too close to the llama. She's not roving yet, you know.

I'll be the one who takes thirty minutes to decide between two blue rovings from the same dyelot. Or the person who has to touch five different skeins to decide which is the absolute softest, most well-spun one... and go back in 15 minutes to buy them all. I'll also be the one asking shepherds/farmers a million questions about raising sheep, even though there's only the slimmest chance I'd actually buy one. Unless they're Wensleydales. I could probably fit a couple of those in the back of my car. I'd even put the windows down a bit so they could stick their noses out on the drive home.

Hmm... then again, maybe I'll just stick to roving and yarn, and try out some different spinning wheels.