We Gather Together...

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and Friday is Buy Nothing Day, one of my favorite celebrations. On the lawn of the Rhode Island State House and at other locations around the state, the Green Party will be collecting and distributing overcoats to those who need winter warmth. (http://www.greens.org/ri/bnd.html) Find something that's been dust-collecting in your closet and make a contribution! It's an easy way to do good and feel good.

And in the spirit of good works, may I suggest that all of the knitters who observe Buy Nothing Day turn it into Knit Something Day? If you send me a photo of your Knit Something Day project, I'll post it on the blog.

Wishing you all halcyon days of peace, freedom, warmth, opportunity, nature's beauty, and everything else we in New England and the U.S. of A. have to be thankful for.

Love,

SMW

(I'm celebrating Knit Something Day with this WIP--a scarf in the Embossed Vine and Leaves pattern from Vogue Knitting's Stitchionary)

http://www.vogueknitting.com/resources/stitchionary/knit_purl/embossed_vine_and_leaves.aspx

Deborah Newton, the Julia Child of Knitting

In days of yore I lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, around the corner from Julia Child. This meant, luckily, that I ran into her every so often; and whether I met her on the street, in the supermarket, or a nearby shop, I could never suppress my feelings of awe and admiration.

Emblazoned in my memory: the day I first saw JC at Kinko's Copy Center in Harvard Square (ca. November 1979). She was standing in line at the cashier's; I was in a line exactly parallel, and I looked to the right, and there she was ( at 6'2" hard to miss), wearing a black-and-white houndstooth-check coat. It was as if I'd had a religious vision. Immediately I walked over; delicately touching her sleeve, I said with slobbering gratitude, "You taught me how to cook, Julia Child, and I want to thank you." For in fact, I owned (and still own) three of her books--Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volumes 1 and 2, and The French Chef. Long before blogs about cooking à la française, I was working my way through Mme. Child's beautifully-laid-out repertoire. (It was just something I wanted to do, the way some birdwatchers keep a Life List.) JC took my gaga adulation with complete equanimity. She thanked me in return, asked my name, what I had cooked recently, and said she hoped we'd meet again. Which we did, as I mentioned, from time to time. And she always remembered who I was.

The genius of Julia Child is her demystification of what appeared to be a complex cuisine. She, a down-to-earth person who shopped at everyman's supermarket (Star Market on Beacon Street in Somerville), who laughed at her mistakes (like the roasted chicken au plancher, made famous on tv), always showed you how, if you just organized the steps correctly, it was really not a big deal to create a mousse au chocolat, or boeuf bourgignon. She made it abundantly clear that you didn't have to be a professional chef to succeed in the kitchen. In this she epitomized good old American knowhow--the laudable notion, so intrinsic to the practical side of our culture, that people can learn how to do complicated things on their own.

And this is what brings me to Deborah Newton, author of Designing Knitwear, one of the essential texts of knitting (first published in 1992 by Taunton Press and still in print), and luckily for me, a resident of Providence, Rhode Island. Thus it was easy to arrange an interview.

Deborah Newton is to the world of knitting what Julia Child was to the world of fine home cooking. She has the knack of communicating what you need to know to knit something beautiful from a pattern you've created yourself, and she has, as well, the encouraging "can do" philosophy that Julia Child brought to French cooking--if I can do it, you can too. As she told me, with disarming modesty, she came to design knitwear after years of knitting potholders and practice swatches from Barbara Walker's pattern dictionaries. She knew how to sew and had studied costume design at Rhode Island College. Then: "I just put the two together. It's not rocket science!"

It may not be rocket science, though designing knitwear, IMHO, is not for the faint of heart, either, mainly because there are so many things that can backfire. (On this, stay tuned for a future posting about my strange encounters with horrible patterns, entitled "When Good Knitting Ideas Go to Hell.") "People are much too intimidated" by designing knitwear," Deborah claims, and I wouldn't disagree. But in talking with her, I realized that some fundamental aspects of the design process for her connect to her background in sewing and the way sewing trains you to understand how the separate pieces of a garment are integrated, as knitting does not--perhaps because knitters don't generally cut anything with scissors. "If you look at the clothing that you wear, it's all just tubes and rectangles," Deborah pointed out.

This was an eye-opener. On the one hand, I knew that clothing is just tubes and rectangles, but on the other hand I didn't, and in a way, still don't, despite all the tubes and rectangles I've knitted. And yet simply thinking about Deborah's observation allows one to deconstruct any piece of clothing, knitted or otherwise, and so to begin, internally, the process of understanding the whys and wherefores of knitting design.

Perhaps my favorite part of Designing Knitwear is how Deborah details what it's like in the invention stage, when ideas race around and the mind is open to their variety and depth. (The creative process, she notes, "is very much the same for every craft.") Yes, as a writer, I most definitely understood this, and I understand viscerally what it's like to find a yarn that's so beautiful I want to drop everything else I'm doing and knit it into something. "Most people," she says, "start with the yarn--it's the easiest and most reliable place to begin. If you want to knit a wonderful garment, you start with a wonderful yarn." (Her book offers illuminating discussion and examples of how yarn and stitch patterns create texture, drape, and differently-weighted fabrics.) And when she talks in person about what it's like to embark on a new piece of knitting, it's all about the wonderful adventure ahead: "You're at the beginning of a road, and you cast on and go from there."

What inspires her? Often she asks the magazines for which she designs what they want. (One of her cardigan patterns is in the Holiday 2009 issue of Vogue Knitting; a long, richly textured pullover is in the Winter 2009 Interweave Knits.) But "sometimes ideas come with a button, sometimes with a shape, with a seasonal trend, a texture, or a traditional pattern stitch. Lots of times, two or three of those elements come at once. You want things to be a little surprising, but there has to be an element of unpredictability, even in a classic garment." She thinks of design "as an object. I like to demystify it. Knitting is just one of the things that some humans do." And as soon as she finishes a design, she's always thinking of the next one. "My favorite part of the process is putting things together. I love when I get to the finished state of the sweater, it is pristine, I have done all I can do, and it is as perfect as I can make it, given what I have to work with....Then I go and do it again."

"I've been very lucky to do what I love. I love knitting," she told me more than once. "It's my creative vehicle."

The belief, shared by Deborah Newton and Julia Child, that anyone can master a particular art, is a powerful incentive to novice and amateur alike. "It's the things in the corners of their lives that people are passionate about," Deborah said. And so, I hope, the encouragement offered by these two wonderful women may inspire more than a few of us to move our passions from the corners of our lives, to someplace more central.

Once upon a time...

there was a wee little yarn shop, at the edge of a beautiful forest....

It's hard to imagine a more adorable, more welcoming LYS than Country Corner Yarns in Charlestown, Rhode Island, situated next to the Millpond nature preserve, at the junction of Routes 2 and 1. While it might be the smallest LYS I've ever seen, its proprietor, Mirja Hanslin, has created an ambiance that's exceedingly comfortable, warm, and relaxing. And the diminutive size of Country Corners belies its rich selection of fine yarns, including many from Europe and the U.K., like the Bergere de France and Rowan lines (and companion pattern books).

The appeal of Country Corner (www.countrycorneryarns.com) is immediate--the building's natural wood exterior is matched inside by the rustic wood walls. One's initial focus, though, is the four big red armchairs in the center of the first room. (Regular readers of this blog know that one of my important criteria for loving a yarn store is seating and work-area placement. I am highly partial to up-front access.) Here knitters can ply their craft, peruse knitting magazines and pattern books, get project advice from Mirja, Irene, and Claudia, and chat with others. To enhance the coziness, there's also a fireplace. Sizable windows let in enough light so that the shop feels bright without glare, and you can see the yarn colors accurately. (Another bonus: classical music plays softly in the background.)

Color and warmth are everywhere. Cubbies of beautiful yarns line the walls, and yarns are ingeniously stored in cabinet-height shelving that also acts as room dividers. In the rear there's a large table at which one can spread out a knitting project or participate in a class (the shop offers several every season). The beauty of the layout is its openness to the rest of the shop, so there's no feeling of separation. This place is all about flow.

Irene DeVerna, Mirja's right-hand helper, told me she began visiting Country Corner when she was in a stressful period and needed knit therapy. It's easy to understand why she found the shop so beneficial. The sweet ambiance, the wonderful colors, and Mirja's calming presence have created a fairy-tale sanctuary for anyone who finds peace in fiber crafts.

Country Corner Yarns celebrated its third anniversary last weekend. May it flourish for many years more!

Yarn Comes on Little Cat Feet

A Boston friend, clearing out her attic in preparation for a move, came across two unfamiliar boxes and found them to be filled with an insane amount of yarn. She doesn't knit and speculates that the mystery stash is somehow connected to the detritus of her first marriage (he didn't knit either, but may have had relatives who did). Kindly, B offered me first dibs, and naturally I accepted.

They're definitely the stash of a sock knitter, these skeins, and the band colors and typography suggest ca. 1940s-1950s. I will give some of this yarn to anyone who'd like to knit socks or another garment for Afghans for Afghans, or any local homeless shelter.

I love the labels.

All's Well That...

The two Rosalie scarves (pattern in Jamieson's Simply Shetland Book 4), in Noro Kureyon (left) and Classic Elite Wings (right), are now complete.

Three Places in New England

A short piece in the New York Times (10/8/09, D3) about a weekend yarn crawl--"fourteen stores knit together"--around Manhattan and Brooklyn started me thinking.

It's hard to imagine a similar event in metropolitan New England, since there probably aren't fourteen LYS reachable by public transport or on foot within the Boston, Providence, Hartford, or New Haven areas. But the idea stuck. With automobile, one can embark on a yarn tour, if not a yarn crawl, which is what I decided to do--in Vermont and a bordering area of New Hampshire. I do wish there had been fourteen stores to visit, but in fact an Internet search came up with only four that were within reasonable distance of where we'd be staying, with friends who live in South Woodstock.

Owing to the very peculiar weather this spring and summer, official Vermont leaf peeping season happened early, and we arrived just past autumn's prime, though from the number of tour buses in restaurant parking lots, you'd never have guessed. Crowds of oglers hung over the railings at Queechee Gorge, snapping photos of the foliage, somewhat diminished in color, which dangled sparsely from the trees (it had snowed early on the morning of our arrival, though by midday everything had melted). We enjoyed a lovely dinner with our friends that evening, and the next day, after the usual obligatory death march up and down the surrounding hills with them and their dogs, I embarked on my quest, accompanied by the ever-loyal H, and T, ever the good hostess.

There is much to tell and some to omit, since my policy is not to write about shops that don't appeal to me. I will say of the two I visited of this ilk, one in New Hampshire, the other in Vermont, that the proprietors of both were cordial and knowledgeable. Perhaps if life had dealt them a different hand, their shops would have been spiffier. Instead, they were kind of dingy, sited by heavily-trafficked roads, and mainly carried yarns of the type you can find at any chain store, piled into epoxy-coated wire shelving. No thanks.

This raises questions about what makes a LYS a place where a knitter feels comfortable. Does one look for a cozy ambiance? A wide selection of yarns, patterns, and knitting-related literature? A good choice of notions? Helpful but unobtrusive sales people, educational offerings (classes and demonstrations), fair prices, convenience of access?And must a LYS meet all of the above, or will hitting just a few of the criteria satisfy?

To some degree this is a matter of taste. On the one hand, I have few preconceptions about what a yarn shop should be like, but on the other, I know what I don't like. I don't like cramped and dark places, stores where sales help breathe down my neck or ignore me, places that sell mostly synthetic yarn, places that sell hundreds of Christmas stocking kits, and places that are glaringly illuminated and belch crappy pop music out of their sound systems. (That about covers it.)

Just to add something definitive into the mix, at each shop I visited I asked the proprietor if she carried local yarns. This, it seemed to me, might distinguish yarn purveyors in rural New England from those in, say, Boston or Providence. In every case the answer was yes, though one shop had just sold its last two skeins of the local (fiber unspecified) stuff. Three of the four shops I visited (including the place in New Hampshire) carried beautiful alpaca yarns from nearby farms, and two carried an extremely nice heavy worsted from Bartlett Yarns, milled in Harmony, Maine, but processed (minimally, which gives the yarn great character) from the fleece of sheep in other New England states, including Vermont and New Hampshire. (www.bartlettyarns.com. Warning: this is a fairly rough website, and if you want to order yarns, you may be better off phoning than placing an order online.)

So...let me tell you about the two best shops I visited on this tour. They're both in Vermont, one in Norwich, the other in Woodstock. They're both visually charming outside and inside, with a great selection of yarns and matériel, knowledgeable owners, and a restful ambiance. Northern Nights Yarn Shop is in a lovely historic building in Norwich, at the corner of Elm and Main Streets; Whippletree Yarns on Central Street in Woodstock (www.whippletreeyarn.com). Northern Nights (no website) is two sizable rooms of great stuff, like the Bartlett yarn I mentioned, but also much fabulous fiber from all over the world, including a wonderful stock of Rowan and Colinette yarns. There's also an appealing atmosphere, quiet and calm as a library, as if time has stopped and the only thing that matters is deciding, in the most leisurely manner, what you're going to knit next.

Whippletree also has a wonderful array of top quality yarns from everywhere, and as well, a super selection of local yarns--skeins of un-dyed, machine-spun alpaca in different weights and yardages, hand-dyed and handspun alpaca, and an impressive selection of Vermont Spinnery products. The downtown area of Woodstock has, like the rest of Woodstock, a Martha Stewarty charisma, so if you have some time to stroll leisurely about you will find many diverting business establishments and domiciles of nineteenth-century vintage that will charm you into a stupor. Norwich is similarly appointed, though smaller, but it does feature the King Arthur flour store, where you can find ingredients and baking equipment you never dreamed existed. In sum, both yarn stores and towns are entirely worth a visit, and I will be returning to both when I next avail myself of T and M's hospitality.

On this foray I came away with a Knit Scene magazine, and the Sundae pattern book from Berocco (found at Whippletree), and two skeins of undyed brown Bartlett heavy worsted (from Northern Nights). At $8.00 for a 210 yard skein, this is a great deal, and a great way to support New England sheep farms. And on the trip back to Little Rhody, we stopped at the Currier Museum of Art in Manchester, New Hampshire. What a hidden gem! If you've never been there, you have something wonderful to anticipate. www.currier.org

All politics is local?

It would be a great thing if all politics is, really, local, as the late Boston politico Tip O'Neill famously said. As a way of endorsing the magical thinking behind this postulation, I made a red baby's cap (or, if you will, a cap of red yarn for a baby) for Afghans for Afghans (www.afghansforAfghans.org), the noble organization that distributes American handknits to the deprived children of that country. Confronted by the situation in Afghanistan, a situation dreadful in more ways than can be enumerated here (though illumination, particularly with regard to the plight of Afghan women, may be found in the compelling memoir, The Bookseller of Kabul, by Asne Seierstad), one feels entirely helpless. Since I already feel entirely helpless and entirely demotivated by most oppressive political (and environmental and nuclear and economic and healthcare) situations, which unfortunately seem to govern the world these days, I do the little I can, mainly by contributing money to organizations that deliver aid, and teaching conversational English to immigrants and refugees at the International Institute of Rhode Island (www.iiri.org). And now, by knitting for Afghans for Afghans.

Afghans for Afghans organizes knitting campaigns, supplies patterns, and delivers, by email, densely-worded announcements regarding its activities. In the past I've always seemed to be out of phase with the A for A calendar, but luckily Hansina Wright, the force majeure at Mystic River Yarns in Mystic, CT (www.mysticriveryarns.com), has dedicated part of the shop as a collection center for donations, and throughout the latter part of the summer and early fall has sponsored an A for A knitting circle at her shop on Schooner Wharf.

I stopped by there yesterday to deliver the red cap (modeled by Ted in the photo), and have a look at the beautiful garments and blankets knitters have contributed. I was also pleased to meet Ruth and Heather, the two impressive knitters in the photograph above who were working on A for A projects, and adding to the positive energy of the shop. (A side note: Ruth writes a most interesting knitting blog: brainknit.blogspot.com.) Since the pile of knitted donations on display (see photo above) was substantial, it's clear that there are more than a few knitters in the immediate area (coastal southeastern CT, southern RI) who have joined the collective. Here's wishful hoping that our local efforts will have some small impact on the bigger picture.