Bubble, Bubble

I have a pile of wool and mohair fleeces on the floor of the milk room, waiting to be picked, washed and boiled in the dye pots.  There are times when I go dotty picking fleeces, I mean, it really drives me nuts to the point of lunacy.  Other times I find it extremely absorbing and relaxing.  Tonight was one of those times.  In the middle of chores, I grabbed a bag of mohair and stood in front of the stove, dropping the locks into some lovely turquoise dye.  When that pot was full I picked another fleece and washed it in hot soapy water, my usual procedure.  I like to fire up the dye pots in the winter when the heat of the giant pot helps keep the plumbing, and my cats, warm.  By the time I'm done with chores, the pot has reached near-boiling and I can turn it down to simmer.  It will cool over night and I can dump it into the washing machine to rinse the dye out. The cats often sit on the stove top next to the pot.  Somehow their feet don't burn and they love the warmth.  It hasn't been that cold yet, but we all know it's coming.