Weavers are a crazy lot, well maybe not all weavers. My circle of weaving/fiber friends tend to lean towards crazy and I’m thinking that is probably the attraction for me. The mechanics – the equipment – is really the draw. I love the structure of it all including the cloth which makes me wonder sometimes why we are not more sane.
Now add to this mix a bunch of enthusiastic boys (mid to late 20’s) and an incredibly heavy, cast iron power-loom and you have a recipe for a real anxiety producing experience.
This is Peggy’s barn frame loom. She’s a beauty and the first one I ever used.
I have to start with this because it took on a whole new purpose this past Saturday. There are three Crompton & Knowles W3 power looms in Peggy’s weave room right now and there was a much smaller one in a very small room on an upper floor. She decided to move it into her weaving room so it could be used. It’s a beauty. 48 inches wide, having a complete restoration done by Lenny, the loom mechanic. To my knowledge it hasn’t been run since the restoration, but I digress.
I was called about the move a couple of weeks ago and wasn’t able to attend the first phase. Last week I got another call and also volunteered husband Bill (the mechanic) and my son-in-law (the young back).
Before we left the house Bill loaded up a chain fall, pipes, bars and other heavy equipment moving tools. He met Richard in the room with the loom – the other member of the boomer generation with some knowledge of how to do these things. They formed a plan (meanwhile the boys dove in).
I was tasked with taking apart the barn frame loom on the floor directly above the loom we were moving – the boys decided that the loom would make the perfect mount for the chain fall to pick up the head of the power-loom below (at 600 lbs. mind you) and proceeded to cut a hole in the barn floor. I cannot begin to express the amount of anxiety I had about this. We love our looms and I was beginning to think we were about to sacrifice one for the sake of the other.
The loom was moved over the hole, angle iron was placed on the top and the chain was lowered and attached to the head of the power-loom ready to lift it off so the based could be moved out from under it.
There was a slight problem because of the yelling that needed to be done on the parts of both sets of people – on different floors – on when to stop and start, up or down with the chain. I worried for naught, the loom frame didn’t even groan.
A 2×4 was placed through the heavy end of the head and the chain attach but moving it proved to be quite the balancing act. Ratchet straps were deployed and the moving continued.
The engine hoist was brought in and the transfer from the chain fall was made.
With the help of young backs the head was lifted off of the base. We got to a point where it could stop and all had a lunch in the barn.
Where the geezers conferred some more. I’ve found that the older the guy the more planning they do. I think these guys were thinking much farther ahead on this game – like about putting it back together or getting it down the hill into the basement.
With all hands on deck the base was moved from under the head.
Then the head was moved out onto a second trailer.
What a beautiful piece of machinery she is.
Once the base pieces were moved into the weave room the head was ready to follow. (Yes, that’s a Maypole braider in the background and I just wanted to throw it into the back of our truck but thought Peggy might notice it was missing).
It was getting late in the day and the objective at this point was to get everything inside. People were exhausted. The base was assembled enough to stand on its own and the head was put down beside it. Assembly will happen another day (or days most likely).
I never realized what happens with an age gap like we had in this little project. The boys had this energy, enthusiasm, let’s get this job done kind of attitude. Those of us in a different generation approached it with caution, planning, fear of injury. It’s kind of sad in a way, how much we lose as we get older but on the other hand we have gained so much in experience. I dare say not a single one of those younger guys gave a thought to injury when all I was thinking about was where I can dial 911.
In writing this it suddenly dawned on me how many of these my father and grandfather moved out of the weave room at Charlton Woolens after the flood in ’55. My dad was 24 at the time, they must have had help but honestly the weave room must have had 50 looms of much larger size in it. They moved them to the next town over and rebuilt what they could out of what they salvaged. Now the burning question is how did they do it? There’s no one to ask.
I know they had family and like minded friends and I assume what happened this past weekend was similar in fashion to what happened then. People came together to work towards a larger goal. That’s the beauty of the crazy weaver community. We are surrounded by people who love our crazy and are willing to be a part of it.