Feral Knitter

Northwest at Its Best

I was welcomed here—clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow
tinted apricot as she looked west,
tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun
forever rising and setting.... 

from Settling by Denise Levertov (in Evening Train)

My trip to Seattle and points north with my sister Tori was blessed by lovely weather. Highlights:

We took the ferry to Bainbridge Island to visit Churchmouse Yarns & Teas. Although I love living in Berkeley, I hunger for the mountain and water views I lived with for so long, so a ferry ride was a must. Many ferry routes traverse Puget Sound—the one to Bainbridge starts in downtown Seattle and takes about half an hour; some of the ferries, like those to the San Juan Islands further north, can take a few hours. If you are visiting Seattle for a day or two, I think that hopping on the Bainbridge ferry as a foot passenger is a must-do activity!

(I fell in love with this metal hole cover on Bainbridge)

We drove the backroads up to Snee Oosh, outside of La Conner in the Skagit Valley. My mother's family came to La Conner in 1905 from Sweden, and not long afterwards they purchased a bit of land on the water from the nearby Swinomish tribe. Every year my cousin Carl hosts a family gathering—he cooks local salmon over a fire and we have a chance to catch up with each other. We are getting older! The conversation kept veering to retirement plans, but the younger generation keeps things lively.

We scattered mom's ashes at the beach at Snee Oosh, where she had spent so much time as a child. The day felt filled with memories. 

(We used to build forts like these! I'm glad to see kids still do this.)

We drove back roads through the valley, enjoying the agricultural scenery and the glimpses of the sloughs that run through the land. (The old houses seem to face odd directions, until you realize that they face the sloughs, which were the original "roads.") 

We explored Anacortes, where we stumbled upon a BBQ hosted by the local Eagles Lodge. A fun way to end our trip!

 

Just a Little Out of It

What? Is it really the middle of August? The last week and a half has sort of disappeared. My hernia surgery 10 days ago went well—but I had sort of blocked out the possibility of post-surgical discomfort. What's the word I'm struggling for? Oh, yeah—pain. There was pain, indeed. And pain medications. Now, I don't normally use much by way of medications. The odd ibuprofen now and then just about sums it up, so the vicodin just knocked me out. I'd take one every 4 hours as prescribed and then I'd nod off like the hapless family member on Intervention who is the focus of much concern. 

I loved the relief from the pain but I hated the odd sense of not being part of the scene that the meds left me with. You should have seen me trying to swatch a new Fair Isle design while under the influence. My knitting was V E R Y slow and deliberate. 

The surgical wound is healing up, the tumor they discovered was benign, and my doctor assures me that any twinges and swelling I currently experience will go away in time. I've been off the pain meds for several days and can feel my energy returning. However, scientific studies have shown that it takes a long time, months, to recover emotionally from even minor surgery, that although modern anesthetics (hooray!) keep our minds from remembering the pain, to our bodies it is as though we've been mauled by a bear. I will try to be mindful of this fact, and patient.

On the knitting side of life (oh dear, the meds have done something to my brain: I suddenly started singing "Keep on the knitting side, always on the knitting side, keep on the knitting side of life...") I've had the yarn playpen up and filled in preparation for the upcoming 3-day Design Your Own Fair Isle workshop (which is full, by the way, but if you are interested in getting notices about upcoming workshops just email me at mailinglist@feralknitter.com). When the yarn is spread out my ideas just cannot be contained.

Meet Muir, my newest brainstorm—I'm forcing myself to finish Hillside and Lingonberry before I launch into this one:

 

Muted, haunting, calming....

Now I'm off to Seattle for a few days. My sister and I plan to have a private memorial for my mother, spreading her ashes as she requested up near where she was born. We will probably have lunch at the La Conner Tavern one last time in her honor, walk the main street of town, and visit some cousins. My sister said she has the feeling of being a geographic orphan now that both of our parents are dead—I understand. There is a sense of saying goodbye not only to Mom but to the Pacific Northwest, which is disconcerting indeed. We truly never know the future—I have always assumed that we will return to Washington when John retires, but I need to embrace the turn my life has taken. "We will not regret the past nor wish to dwell on it," says the literature of the 12-step programs. I can tell I need to resist the pull of nostalgia! 

Joyce Williams

 

I'm sorry to announce that Joyce Williams, author of Lativan Dreams and co-author of Armenian Knitting and Sweaters from Camp, passed away yesterday.

It is Joyce's style, smile, and discursive way of talking that I will remember most. A small, elegant woman who could wear scarves with elan, who designed garments of breathtaking loveliness, and who was never afraid to find a better way to knit. The photo above, taken at Meg Swansen's Knitting Camp in 2006, shows Joyce wearing her Olive Branch Sweater (the pattern can be found in Armenian Knitting).

Luckily, Joyce's amazing ability to develop technical solutions to knitting problems is (largely) still available in her book, Latvian Dreams. A careful reading of the technical introduction—entitled "Techniques—Please Read This Section (or you will miss all the fun)"—and virtual knitting of the patterns open up a world of possibilities. Mitered corners in the round, for example. Joyce introduced the idea of knitting a small circumference on two circular needles through her articles in Knitter's Magazine and she perfected the toe-up, short-row heel construction of socks. She was a meticulous knitter and happy to share her knowledge.

My fondest memories of Joyce are of her happily centered in a group of people, whether a late night gathering of knitters at Knitting Camp or a boisterous group at the lobby bar at Madrona. Her smile and eager conversation were distinctive. The last thing she said to me as I left Knitting Camp three weeks ago was, "See you at Madrona!" 

And I had assumed I would.

Aging Well

I'm so glad that you finally made it here 
With the things you know now, that only time could tell 
Looking back, seeing far, landing right where we are 
And oh, you're aging, oh, and I am aging, oh, aren't we aging well?
    ~ singer Dar Williams, "You're Aging Well"

Last week I celebrated yet another birthday, the last one that starts with the number 5—sobering thought! Gingko made us these fabulous Baked Raspberry Tarts, which were so good we decided that it would be an excellent idea to celebrate birthdays every week during fresh raspberry season. (Recipe can be found in America's Test Kitchen Family Baking Book, an excellent resource.) 

Some things about getting older are just a pain: I'm talking menopause, all you young-uns out there who haven't experienced this miracle of nature. What survival benefits do hot flashes give us, eh, Darwin? Ah, but this road leads to bitterness, and let me tell you your mother's warning—"if you keep making that face, your face will freeze like that!"—does come true at this age as the wrinkles make themselves at home. So I will move on to nicer subjects.

Mostly I just get happier with my life—I'm less concerned about what others think, my skills are getting honed, and my active brain is filled with ideas. The problem is never boredom! I'm lucky, of course, in that I have my health and my sight and my teeth—John often notes that none of his relatives had their own teeth by the time they were 60, and having teeth goes a long way towards contentment. . . and towards enjoying Baked Raspberry Tarts.

Rachael Herron's long-awaited book of essays, A Life in Stitches, came out last week. What a captivating book! Rachael writes about her parents, her loves, her work, her pets and her friends with clear-sighted honesty (full disclosure: she writes about me, too, in a chapter about mothers and mother figures—I cry each time I read this chapter and when I hear Arlo Guthrie's The City of New Orleans). Inevitably her writing covers aging, although it's not a book about getting older:

"At least in knitting and writing—these essential parts of who I am—I can always go back and fix things. I know how. It makes me bold. And it's a comfort to know that when I knit badly or when I write poorly, I haven't really lost anything but time—and even that time has changed into something: knowledge."

As usual, Rachael was able to convey what I find myself hard pressed to find the words to express. I gulped this book down and recommend it highly.

Stranded Knitting in Interweave Knits

On a knitting note, the Fall 2011 issue of Interweave Knits includes a yarn review of four jumperweight Shetland (or Shetland-like) yarns suitable for stranded knitting: Jamieson's Spindrift, Jamieson & Smith jumperweight, Elemental Affects Natural Shetland fingering, and Harrisville Designs New England Shetland. (There's a slight inaccuracy in the description of Spindrift: It is available in some 220 colors, not simply "more than 100.") The issue includes several stranded projects (although none in the yarns listed above).