Feral Knitter

What Do These Have in Common?

Boro Afghan

The jumble of colors in my bag of discontinued J&S Shetland yarns inspired me to start another afghan. Originally, I planned to re-create the Parcheesi Afghan. Naturally, I have changed my mind!

This pile of blues and tans reminds me of the antique patched Japanese garments and quilts made of natural and indigo-dyed or kakishibu-dyed, faded cloth known as boro textiles. I love this period of anticipation, as a new design takes form.

Jane Austen Fans, Take Note

I've been a regular reader of Jane Austen's works, with a special fondness for Persuasion and Pride & Prejudice, so last week I was delighted to read the Annotated Pride & Prejudice, edited by David Shapard. The notes include discussions about the social and financial points that I had not noticed or understood in previous readings (although I would like to say that I did disagree with a couple of Shapard's notes!). Highly recommended!

Denim Sweater Progress

I've been stalled on this one for a looooong time, but the knitter's block has been broken! I'd had some concerns about the design--I've altered the standard raglan shaping to produce a more anatomically correct shoulder (I hope!).

One sleeve completed and attached--my brainstorm about knitting the sleeve onto the body proved to be a dead end, and I just sewed the sleeve on. Actually, quite easy! I ran out of yarn with 1 inch of sleeve and the neck band to complete (Drat), but luckily Schoolhouse Press could match the dyelot so I'll be done with this as soon as the package arrives.

Wool Gathering

Speaking of Schoolhouse Press, one of my favorite moments of the year is when the new issue of Wool Gathering arrives! This issue, celebrating their 50th year, is the long-lost pattern for Elizabeth Zimmermann's Butterfly Jacket, kin to the famous Ribwarmer.

Because I live my life so often in the future rather than in the present, now that the March issue has arrived I can now start anticipating the new titles that Meg will be publishing in the next six months (why live in the present?, is my motto). First, M'Lou Baber's book Double Knitting, Reversible Two-Color Designs, out this summer--this will be spectacular. And then, in winter 2009 (I hope this means the upcoming winter) comes Katharine Cobey's Diagonal Knitting! So exciting to see something from this amazing artist. Next spring, Jenny Backridges' Spinning Around--Handspinning, Dyeing, and Knitting--Jenny is handspinning and naturally dyeing yarns to make Elizabeth Zimmermann and Meg Swansen patterns. I'm going to order each one of these sight unseen.....

Foroysk Bindingarminster is going out of print! This sweet little book is a collection of Faroese stranded patterns gathered some 80 years ago at the request of the Danish Queen.

Upcoming workshop

Many of you have asked about my teaching plans. I will be offering a 3-day Design Your Own Fair Isle workshop through Madrona Fiber Arts June 27-29th, to be held in Preston, Washington (just outside of Seattle). Please contact Suzanne Pedersen (suzanne@madronafiberarts.com) if you want to be on the mailing list for this event--I'll post more information here when I have it.

Urban Homestead

There's a part of me that never got over the early days of the Whole Earth Catalog and Mother Earth News. I guess it's the result of growing up in the 60's, when even the album covers romanticized our back to the earth longings.

I still really like a guy in denim and flannel.... At any rate, the reality is that I'm a pitiful gardener but I persist in dreaming. That's why this site struck a chord. I'd really like to get some chickens.....

Thank you, readers

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post--out of laziness and distraction I did not reply individually, but your comments were read and appreciated by me and by my cousin Sina, Esther's daughter.

Oh, and the answer to the question posed in the title of this entry? The only thing these items have in common my overheated brain.

Great Aunt Esther

Esther Pearson

It's clearly spring here in the Pacific Northwest. Crocuses and daffodils are blooming, clouds break from time to time to reveal the snowy mountains, and the charming contorted filbert in the courtyard drops a light green carpet of pollen on the patio furniture. My Great Aunt Esther planted that contorted filbert, and it is the subject of a many photos and drawings she sent me over the years, one of which is framed and hanging in my dining room. I'm living in Esther's house now.

I've been thinking about my Aunt Esther frequently. Aunt Esther is my grandmother's sister, but because she is only 9 years older than my mother the generations are a bit blurred on this side of the family. Esther was born in the spring of 1920 in the little town of La Conner, Washington--her parents had immigrated from Sweden some 15 years before she was born. Poppy was the village blacksmith; Nani was an upright member of the Women's Christian Temperance Movement and an avid gardener whose natural artistry was realized by her daughters. My memories of their home consist of the piles of old National Geographics that lined the upstairs hallway, the luscious pears that dropped off the trees in the yard, and the smell of fresh cinnamon bread. African violets littered the windowsills, as I recall. The photos of Esther as a girl show a rather plain child with prominent teeth, but she grew into a very handsome woman who closely resembled Ingrid Bergman.

Esther became a very successful landscape designer in Seattle; she and her husband Arnold purchased their house when it was built in 1951. I think it perfectly represents their artistic, engaged style: good lines, space for the art they collected and the music they liked to make, a well-designed garden. Esther and Arnold seemed very exotic to me when I was a child because they were, in some ways, quite European. Cultured, informed, musical, well-read.

Esther had always stood for me as an example of a vibrant, engaged old age. No other role models for such a thing existed in my family; my grandmother, Esther's sister, died of alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver, my other grandparents had died young, as did my father. Esther took classes at the University of Washington under an Elderhostel agreement--she would study for the joy of it. She sent me little cards she had drawn or photos she had taken. She and Arnold were involved in wide-ranging discussion groups at their Unitarian Church; one time, John was invited to speak to them about health care, for example. Dinner parties always involved discussions of politics, current events, history--plus the good food she cooked from her well-thumbed copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. 

One of Arnold's hobbies (I hesitate to call them hobbies, because Uncle Arnold's intelligence and curiosity took him to the nearly professional level of anything he chose to focus on!) was photography--after he retired, he and Esther collaborated on a beautiful book that was published by the University of Washington Press. I have fond memories of some of the trips we took to scout out possible churches to be included. Hanging in my dining room is one of his photographs from that book.

Esther wrote a number of pieces for a book she had planned on her family, about the reality of the lives of children of immigrants. We spoke about this project often, and I would read bits and pieces along the way that gave me a vivid picture of life in the 1920s and 30s in small-town America. This became a bittersweet endeavor, however, when she uncovered some things that she had not known before--real lives are complicated and, sometimes, messy indeed.

When Gingko was born, Esther threw a book shower for her. All the female relatives were invited to bring a favorite child's book, with an inscription that said why they chose that book. The greatest idea for a baby shower!

Often I would find Esther gardening, sitting on the parking strip, for example, replacing the grass with strawberries. I never knew what I'd find.

Sadly, Arnold's poor health required more and more of her attention, and I began to notice that she was not remembering things as well as before. After Arnold died, this memory problem became more and more obvious--I would stop by to visit, and she would not remember that I had been there a couple of weeks earlier, or she would ask the same question over and over again. I remember standing on the beach at Snee-Oosh telling my cousin what I had been noticing, and her phone call saying that the diagnosis was Alzheimer's.

For many years Esther was able to stay in this house that she loved so well. Her children made sure she was taken care of, and I would stop by now and then to check up on her or when an emergency arose. Inevitably, the day came when she needed more care, and she now lives at a group home. Her vitality is keeping her alive, although her memory has been gone for a long time--she has not recognized me for many years. When very old, people seem to become more themselves in a way: Esther smiles a lot. 

I feel very grateful that Gingko and I have been able to shelter at Esther's home during this difficult period in our lives. When I set out the vase of daffodils on the kitchen table, I remember all the times sitting there with Esther and I thank her again with all my heart.

P.S. Here is Esther's wonderful Creamy Chicken Soup recipe, as she wrote it up for one of her classes:

Chicken Soup. When one of my neighbors needs a lift I make chicken soup. Not thin, clear, chicken noodle soup, but cream soup.

In my electric frying pan I melt some butter. With temperature set low I add 1 C carrots, 1 C celery, 1 C onion—all chopped and let them cook slowly. Then I add some mushrooms. When somewhat cooked I add flour to thicken, then chicken broth, and chopped cooked chicken, let them cook for a while add thyme and parsley, pepper. Thicken more with cornstarch if needed. Add milk for creaminess.

Then, take this heavy thick hot soup over to the neighbors.

Later, I hear the words—I hadn’t eaten for 3 days and your soup was wonderful.

Or, my wife had no appetite at all, but she ate the soup!

How many times I’ve taken this prescription to friends, neighbors, relatives I do not know. I do know, from reports I get back, that it is one way to start on the road to recovery.

My Ping Pong Life

I'm back in Seattle now, feeling a bit tired and out of sync with my life. Our two-city life requires a black belt in flexibility, and sometimes I'm just not up to handling it all gracefully. Oh well, I'll be fine once I return the phone calls and pay the bills and clean the kitchen and write the letter to the IRS explaining why we don't owe any more taxes....

Let's talk about nicer things. Here's a close-up photo of the shawl I knit from Evelyn Clark's book Knitting Lace Triangles:

The yarn is a 50/50 silk/merino from The Plucky Knitter in Meriweather, lovely shades of green. I used only half of a hank for this neck scarf-sized shawl.

I enjoyed the market at Stitches West, although I didn't buy anything more than a single hank of Malabrigo lace-weight yarn. I had spent some time trying to neaten up my office-slash-studio in Berkeley, and was fully aware that the only reason I could find room for everything was that a great deal of "everything" is up in Seattle right now! I counted 28 potential pairs of socks between the two households, for example, not counting the 3 on the needles. Those kinds of statistics put a real cramp in my urge to purchase yarn.

John and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary last week. He gave me this glowing, handwoven silk scarf from Susan Neal Weaving, which we found at Websters in Ashland, Oregon:

John drove back north with me, and we had enough time to be able to enjoy some side trips. The Sundial Bridge in Redding, California, is definitely worth the short detour, and the park it sits in would make a great picnic spot. This pedestrian bridge is anchored on both sides of the river so that the salmon spawning grounds aren't disturbed, and the bridge bed is made of a green glass to keep from casting too deep shadows onto the river--and the soaring bridge support functions as a giant sundial!

You know, the glass bed of the bridge is the same lovely green as the yarn for the shawl....