Beginner's mind

My hands itch to start another project even though currently there are six (at least) in medias res. Some I've put aside temporarily because I'm stuck or at a point where I need to rip out a few inches and just can't face that. One, a scarf for H, is worked on only while I'm riding shotgun in the car, since it's mindless and he doesn't expect it at any particular time. Now I'm wanting to make J the "Rosalie Scarf" from Jamieson's "Simply Shetland, 4," though I'm not planning to use the lambswool-and- cashmere blend they recommend.

Just before leaving for harpsichord camp I visited Jo Ann Bartholomew, owner of Knit Wits in Westerly, RI. She mentioned that she loves to start projects, finding the beginnings the most interesting. Sometimes she has friends finish the pieces for her. I've never delegated the finishing to others, but I do understand the intense rush of excitement generated at the start of a knitting endeavor, since there's so much to absorb--the pattern instructions, the feel of the yarn, the way it knits up and develops, complicated thoughts about the person who will wear the completed item.

I enjoyed my visit with Jo Ann, since I was able to talk to her and watch her in action. Jo Ann is extremely nice to her clients--knowledgeable, cheerful, and kind. She's a really good person, period. Knit Wits is a bright spot in an otherwise banal strip mall off Route 1. The most impressive aspect of the store is the enormous table to the left of the front entry. There sit any knitters who feel the urge, and they knit sociably, or ask for help with a project, and Jo Ann or her staff always oblige. During the short time we chatted, five different people asked Jo Ann for guidance on a project or for advice about what kinds of yarn to use for a specific pattern, and she had sensible answers for everyone.

If you're wondering what the big deal about this is--after all, running a yarn store is her business--it's pertinent to mention that unfortunately many yarn stores in this area actually charge for helping someone, and sometimes will refuse to help a knitter unless she's bought her yarn at the store. While one can see the business mentality at work here, such a policy is, IMHO, petty and not conducive to positive energy. In general, when I review a Local Yarn Shop (LYS), I'll make a point of mentioning whether or not it charges for help, and you, gentle reader, may decide for yourself where to seek knitting advice. It's worth stating that at least two of the Rhode Island LYS I've visited that charge patrons for knitting help have their worktables stuffed in the way back of store, forcing everyone to knit in a cramped manner. They generally limit their help to specific times of the week, as well as the number of people who can attend the help sessions. The going rate is about $10/hour per person for a group help.

To me it's not so much about the money as about what it means to charge knitters for help. LYS tend to cultivate an image that's people oriented, more about knitting sociability than commerce. The deliberate blurring of the line between customer and friend creates the warm and fuzzy atmosphere knitters enjoy; when a shop's policy is "show me the money" for a courtesy like knitting help, it feels, almost, like a slap in the face.

This is definitely not part of the Knit Wits ethos. Jo Ann doesn't even care if a knitter who bought her yarn elsewhere comes in for some guidance. She knows that building a dedicated clientele is furthered by the generous spirit of her shop.

What I do on my summer vacation...

when I'm not knitting....I'm playing the harpsichord a lot this week at Amherst Early Music, a convocation of music professionals, conservatory students, and dedicated amateurs comme moi, at Connecticut College. I'm signed up for Harpsichord Master Class with Peter Sykes, Continuo and Figured Bass with Allisa Duryee, and Baroque Ensemble with Peter Sykes. In the latter I'm playing continuo with two alto recorders and what H calls a "Vasco da Gama."

On display here, photos of the various instruments I played today. And I did manage to knit a few inches of a pair of Maine Mitts from Clara Parkes's The Knitter's Book of Yarn during my lunch break.

The rain is raining all around

It started up again about 5.40 a.m. There was an hour or so of hiatus, then it resumed. Lightning, thunder, torrential downpours, the works. Nearly four inches so far....

...it falls on field and tree;

It rains on the umbrellas here,

And on the ships at sea.

The fascination of the abomination

Some years ago, when I was laboring in the satanic mills of academia, an element of my survival strategy was, as one of my fave poets aptly wrote, to catch the joy as it flies. This meant that I deliberately sought random forms of cheap entertainment as a way to tune out the noisome atmosphere of the workplace. (Note: I still do this, but now rely on different rationales to justify my habit.) One principal diversion was an extremely hilarious blog--alas, defunct since 2006--called "You Knit What?" (www.youknitwhat.blogspot.com). On arriving at my office, I'd boot up the computer and, even before listening to officious voicemails, printing out my class plan, or scanning the crap retrieved from the faculty mailbox in the department lobby, immediately pull up "You Knit What?" anticipating a merriment injection strong enough to override the day's onslaught of neurotic encounters with my so-called colleagues.

Seldom was this blog disappointing. Its creators had a knack for finding pattern-book photos of hideous and demented-looking knitted articles that some very odd people, somewhere, had taken time to make. Commentary on these items, provided by the bloggers as well as readers, was usually as amusing as the items themselves, sometimes more so. Frequently I laughed so raucously that other faculty members on my floor noted the disturbance and made inquiries.

As the world has been bereft of "You Knit What?" for three years, I've rarely since had the opportunity to see a pattern as hideous as most of those featured on the blog. Except I suddenly find myself in the strange position of knitting something which, if not de facto hideous, is so weird that it's difficult to believe I'm actually continuing to work on this thing. But frankly, it's as if I'm spellbound. As I continue to knit, the thing in question becomes ever stranger, and I need to finish in order to find out exactly how strange it will be. The fascination of the abomination indeed.

Since you're now intensely curious to know what the abominable thing in question is, I shall confess: it is a set of "partner mittens" (www.coats.de/PDF/smc_paarhandschuh_engl.pdf). This is a free download from a German yarn company, Schackenmayr, and I should have known it was problematic when the instructions, horribly translated, made little or no sense and required two trips to Mystic River Yarns for consults with Gale McGee, who finally penetrated the mystery of the idiosyncratic language and helped me to continue.

Why am I doing this? Obviously it's not just about being enthralled by the weirdness of it all. It's because I'm making these mittens as a gift. But who would want a gift that looks as weird as this?

My dear friends B and F are perhaps the world's cutest couple d'un certain age. A few years ago they found each other--or re-found each other, since they'd been friends since college--while rehabilitating from painfully-terminated marriages. But now they have each other, are living together (very beautifully!), creating a life filled with joy and mutual respect. They are sometimes prone to PDAs, and as a way of supporting that inclination, I thought, "Why not make them a set of partner mittens?" The only pattern I could find online at the time of inquiry was that which I'm mashing my way through.

I'm just about finished with the partner mitten, a misshapen lump with two cuffs, that allows lovers to hold hands warmly. I made the man's left hand and the woman's right hand, realizing that some of the work would have to be ripped out and redone, since the measurements for thumb and finger length specified by the pattern are all wrong. But there you have it. I'm forging ahead. How will my dear friends respond to this gift? Should I even give it to them once it's completed? And so this tale is to be continued.

Coda: I just found this pattern online for "lovers' mittens," aka partner mittens: www.gallentine.org/Knitting/loversmitten.html It seems really sane. And so a new element enters the mix.

Where sheep may safely graze (sort of)

In case you're not up on the latest thrilling news about the weather in New England, this spring hasn't been optimal in terms of sun and fun. Think rain along the lines of Noah's fludde for most of the past two months (or maybe it just seems that way). H and most other gardeners are beyond frustrated because little is germinating, lengthening, or otherwise doing as it should at this time of year, save for the grass, which grows apace and has to be cut as soon as the rain ceases--which it does intermittently--to keep a roaring prairie from overtaking the areas surrounding our house.

Yesterday the sun made a rare appearance and we began the protracted celebration of our summer solstice wedding anniversary (#11!) by driving to Beaver Brook Farm, in Lyme, Connecticut. (www.beaverbrookfarm.com) to commune with sheep, cows, fiber, and cheese.

Several kinds of sheep are raised at Beaver Brook, including (if I remember correctly) Corriedale, Romney, Friesians, and Dorsets. Their fleece is varied in color and texture. The yarn for sale is high in lanolin and fairly coarse. It's well priced at $14 for a two-ply 240 yard skein. Colors are varied shades of natural (I bought two creamy white ones), including marled brown and white, and some appealingly vegetable-dyed shades of cadet blue, Nantucket red, and sage green. My guess is that the wool softens a lot after washing, but since it's lanolin-enriched, it's ideal for heavy-duty outerwear. The farm's shop also sells yarn wound onto cones, and it's priced by the pound--that comes out a bit cheaper than per skein, so would make sense to purchase for large projects.

The farm sells dairy products made from cow and sheep milk--it was quite interesting to watch the sheep in their milking stanchions. (They were not wholly placated by the blue buckets of feed placed before them.) The farm sells meat as well, and at Beaver Brook, perhaps more so than at less bucolic establishments, one is confronted with the cognitive dissonance of contented cows and sheep and gamboling lambs (who are insanely cute, very tame and friendly, and freely roam the farmyard), and their ultimate disposition.

We concluded the trip by having lunch in Niantic, and walking along the shore, where Niantic Bay flows into Long Island Sound. It was a lovely excursion, and today it's raining again. Supposed to continue until the middle of next week. What is so rare as a day in June? A day without rain?

Fiber is good for you.

We came, we sat, we knitted. Three staunch members of the Langworthy Library Knitting Association celebrated World Wide Knit in Public day (WWKIP), June 13th, in Wilcox Park, Westerly. A passerby told us that we "looked like a picture," whereupon I whipped out my camera and asked if she'd mind photographing us. After almost two hours, we declared our demonstration a success and adjourned to Bruna's Table, a lovely bistro on Canal Street, for lunch. Inspired by the positive energy of our actions, we began laying plans for a more comprehensive celebration next year.

All we like sheep...

Yet another sheep-shearing demo, this time using modern implements (electric razor) in contradistinction to the historically-correct blades wielded by the shearing re-enactor at Coggeshall Farm (see post of 18 May 2009).  Site of depilation was Swiss Village Farm in Newport, RI (http://www.svffoundation.org), a foundation dedicated to the salvation of rare and endangered breeds of farm animals, open to the public once a year (6 June 2009).  Sheep pictured were Tunis.  Note the noble border collie resting to the right of sheep pen; he was quite amazing in action.