Yarniana: let the games begin!

For the past year or so I've been the happy recipient of review copies of knitting books, so it seems proper to dedicate some space here, maybe once a month, to telling y'all what's riding the latest incoming wave. Some of these volumes will be familiar to you, or at least their authors will, and others will be novel and amazing. I shall offer my humble opinions, and feel free to agree or not. (Full disclosure:  I prefer to review only books that have what I define as merit. Life is too short to read, or review, unappealing work.) Since summer approaches, I'm going to start by reviewing books that offer heat-friendly knitting, inasmuch as they're dedicated to small or lightweight projects.

***

So here it is, The Vogue Knitting Ultimate Hat Book (Sixth & Spring Press, 2012)

Maybe the grandest thing about this compendium of designs that have appeared previously in Vogue Knitting magazine, is its educational value. If a knitter were to make each one of the fifty (50!) hat patterns here, s/he would come away with a very full knowledge of knitting technique and knitting propriety, by which I mean that the designs are perfectly suited to the kinds of yarn required. (For example, one would not be advised to make the Double-Knit Hat designed by Elli Stubenrauch in a yarn heavier or less elastic than the fingering-weight called for, as that would most likely doom it to failure.)

One side of the Double-Knit Hat, designed by Elli Stubenrauch.

So, if you followed the directions as written, you'd practice (and perhaps learn for the first time) double knitting (i.e. reversible!) and intarsia. And you'd come away with a clever and useful little cap. Though I'm generally not a big fan of pictorial knitting, I must admit that I find this design, called "bird on a wire," very adorable.

The other side.

The designs are prefaced by short sections on the history of hats, anatomy of hats, and types--the latter offers useful images of basic hat shapes--and there's a mercifully brief boilerplate discussion of basic techniques. (At least there is no seemingly-obligatory section on "how to knit," which most knitting books, no matter how advanced, compulsively repeat.) The patterns themselves reflect a range of designers, from well-known (Deborah Newton, Pam Allen, Norah Gaughan) to up-and-coming (Jacqueline van Dillen, Mari Tobita, Anna Al). The fifty designs as a whole reflect the delightful way that modern knitting incorporates the textile heritage of Europe, Asia, and the Americas through technique, motif, color, and style. 

Does it have any limitations at all? Yes--these are designs intended for women, though some, like the chullos, trapper, beanie-style, and aviator hats could easily be adapted to fit those of the male persuasion. But apart from that, it really is, as the title claims, an ultimate compendium. Great photography, clear layout, instructions, charts, and timeless designs--it's really one of the best knitting books I've found, and the list price of $24.95 (obviously even less if you buy through a discounter) is quite modest considering what's included.

Isn't this pilbox by Mari Tobita elegant? And just think what a good cabler you'd be if you knitted it!

Postcards from the Great Rhody Yarn Crawl of 2013

What I liked about this event: friendly folks, beautiful yarn, fiber animals, and a great sense of knitting community.

Knitting designer and ER physician, plus two progeny, all modeling Mom's handknits.  www.casapinka.typepad.com

Friendly Shadow Pines alpacas modeling fawn-colored fleece outside of Eneri Knits, Exeter RI.

Barn of knitting people at Mt. Hope Farm.

Above:  Stitchy McYarnpants and the collected works of Stitchy McYarnpants

I bought this mug from a talented Rhode Island potter.  Check out Rising Sun Earthworks

Linda Perry of Thistedown Studio was one of several vendors of beautiful hand-dyed yarns.

The Slater Mill Guild was well represented.

So much for spontaneous knitting...

Yours truly is not in a good mood.

I had this idea a while ago that I'd just sit down and improvise-knit a shawlette in a beautiful yarn by Nashua called "Grand Opera" (whose name I like as much as its tactile qualities), and this shawlette got to a certain point, then turned into a UFO. Recently, though, I found a reason to finish it--it became clear that a friend, who is ill, could really use it--and off to work I went.

Then I ran out of Grand Opera, and it took me a while to figure out how to finish the edging ruffle.

I'm adding a tipping of Misti Alpaca Handpaint in a colorway called Maple Gray, which sounds kind of New Englandy. It looks fine. The only problem is that a metal end of the Addi Turbo circ I was using decided to disengage itself from the cord yesterday. GRRRRRRR!!! This is the second time in two years that an Addi Turbo has crapped out on me. The first time I returned the badly-behaving (and I shall add, expensive) needle to the company and it was swiftly replaced. Now, however, I no longer have the packaging...though I will make a valiant attempt to effect another exchange. I do not understand why these needles are so cantankerous. It's not as if I abuse them. Has any one of you, gentle knitters, experienced similar problems with these otherwise acceptable needles?

So I am trying to figure out if this UFO will ever leave the premises. (Maybe it wants to live here forever and is indicating that via paranormal behavior?) Tomorrow commences Day 1 of the Great Rhody Yarn Crawl, and I have plans to participate. I might have to bite the bullet and buy another size 5 circ.

Lola has picked up on my mood.

Sighted in Savannah

Last week, H and I were desperate to leave the New England winter behind, so we betook ourselves to Savannah, Georgia, where spring was well underway.

Oh, what a beautiful city! And quite pedestrian-friendly, too.

Luckily, on one of our rambles, we happened upon this wonderful LYS, The Frayed Knot, which I noticed immediately because of the amazing yarn-bombed bike in the window.

The bike's adorners were Jennifer Bagwell-Harvey, who owns The Frayed Knot, and Jami and Marianne, the owners of Perlina, a bead store that cohabits with the LYS. They are all lovely gals and the shop is well-stocked, so if you happen to be nearby, a visit would be in order.

***

When we returned to Rhode Island, spring had finally gotten its act together!

Sprung!

Last week at this time I was in NYC, tanking up on the usual mélange of music, art, comestibles, and social visitations, including a meeting at Lion Brand Yarns, for whom I'm now writing knitting-based fiction. Talk about a dream come true! Here's the first installment, called "Patterns of Change," published online yesterday in Lion Brand's Pattern Journal. (You can subscribe on the website, to get every installment delivered to your email box!) To prepare for the assignment, I actually began knitting the afghan on which the story focuses.

It was a great meeting, and afterwards I was delighted to tour the adjacent Lion Brand Yarn Studio, the company's retail shop on West 15th Street. It's a visual feast-- bright, light, extremely well stocked--and the staff runs a great variety of knitting opportunities, ranging from classes and workshops to a free knitting-themed film festival called "Flicks with Sticks." Neuroknitter and I are planning a private yarn crawl of the Big Apple in a couple of months, and this shop will definitely be on our list of Must Visits.

Customers can help themselves to yarn for swatches, enabling informed decision-making!

This long view of the Lion Brand Studio gives a general sense of its depth and breadth.

***

Now I'm back home, trying to catch my breath. Here in New England, spring's emerging in its typically ambivalent way, bringing snow and snowdrops (and crocuses) simultaneously.

As I'm currently knitting a hat out of assorted green yarn oddments, 

my thoughts have naturally run to the bottomless topic of stashbusting, and that made me think I should also stashbust the freezers. (We have, um, more than one. Would you believe... four?) So yesterday I made thirty-six jars of raspberry-gooseberry jam. This made about as much of a dent in the collective freezer contents as the green hat will make in the G section of my stash-a-teria, a.k.a. the store-room that moonlights as my creative unconscious. But the jam turned out really well, and I give you the recipe on the off chance that you've got ten quarts of frozen raspberries and one quart of frozen ripe gooseberries that you're desperately wanting to use. You do, right?

A sight for sore eyes.

SMW's Raspberry-Gooseberry Jam, for about eleven quarts of berries

 (results may vary, but it generally tastes like summer)

Cook your gooseberries (I used one quart), fresh or frozen, in their own juices in a covered pot over a low heat. When they burst and exude their inner gunk, remove from stove and cool. Then run them through a food mill twice, the first time with the coarse disk, the second time with the medium disk, to remove skins, seeds, and tails.

Put all your frozen raspberries (ca. 10 quarts) into a very large heavy pot (non-aluminum; Le Creuset or similar recommended), put the heat on low, and when they're all melted, soupy, and slightly bubbling add about one cup of sugar per quart. Then add the pureed gooseberries, mix well, and add more sugar if you want. (I prefer tangy.) Bring the mixture to a simmer, and while bubbling, stir in and completely dissolve one or two packages of pectin that you happen to have lying around. (I used 1/2 package of granular regular pectin, and one entire package of low-sugar pectin. Check the instructions on the box(es) in the canning section of your local hardware store to see what kind of pectin is best for you (liquid, granular, regular, low-sugar), then buy at least double the quantity.) Keep stirring, and when the fruit mixture starts to look slightly glossy on top, you can start canning. I use a variety of canning jars, but I never make jam in containers larger than six ounces, because once opened, large quantities of home-made jam have a way of mouldering in the fridge.

Sound and fury before the storm. A contest.

Sky Scarf, begun 2-23-13, showing only one day of blue sky since.

The current New England winter has organized life into milestones not dissimilar from Kübler-Ross's Stages of Grief and Dying: the Anticipation of Storms, the Fearful (and sometimes Angry/Fed Up/Curmudgeonly) Anticipation of storms (fomented and abetted by the Culture of Fear media, including and especially The Weather Channel and its team of storm-a-holic reporters), the Stoic Preparation for Storms (Bread? Check.  Milk? Check. Gasoline? Check.), the Experience of the Storm Itself, and the Passing of the Storm, when we all emerge from our hidey-holes and trade tales of what we endured during the storm.

Currently New England is in the Fearful Anticipation Stage, as the weather brewing is supposed to dump snow and freezing rain on us ferociously, starting any minute now or maybe tonight or maybe early in the morning; the tides are high and already eroding the beaches with surge; the northeast winds are gusting up to sixty+ miles per hour.

The wind-whipped Wood River, Woodville, RI, in Fearful Anticipation Mode.

So, to take our minds away from all the ominous, foreboding, depressing etc. of winter's last gasps (note to self:  Daylight Savings Time begins at 2 a.m. on Sunday March 10), I will draw your attention to a cute little book recently sent me by its publisher:

You might be wondering why I'm touting this, since this blog's focus is on New England--but, gentle knitters, I must confess that I was born and raised in New York City, and return there often. (In fact, I'm going to the Big Apple next week.)  And given that I'll be sitting around a lot during the next bout of Awful Weather, I'll at least start working on one of the clever designs in Knit New York.

British designer Emma King's patterns are all witty, but what really tickled me is a knitted Staten Island Ferry. It was my sad fate to spend my formative years on Staten Island, but my luck to commute from SI to New York on the ferry twice daily, whilst I attended Manhattan's High School of Performing Arts. Sailing past the Statue of Liberty every morning and afternoon, and Ellis Island, Governor's Island, and viewing the Verrazano Bridge in the distance, on the bright orange ferry with dark blue letters--there are many happy memories for me clustered around those commutes.

Furby's on the same page with me.  We will be knitting a ferry during the impending storm.

Other KIY NYC icons in the book are the Empire State Building, the Walk/Don't Walk street-crossing sign that all dyed-in-the-wool jaywalking New Yorkers ignore, and a red fire hydrant, etc.

The publisher, Collins and Brown, has kindly made a free copy of Knit New York available as a giveaway.  If you, dear readers, will post a brief comment here explaining why you'd like the book, I'll choose a winner--contest closes on Sunday the 10th at midnight! (Please note:  the contest is limited to people with mailing addresses in the US.)

O.k., time to batten down the hatches!

Sky in a basket, sky in a scarf

Well, here's the view from the second floor of my house. A few things might jump out at you, like the fallen tree that (sob) used to tether my beloved clotheslines. The tree was a casualty of the blizzard oddly called Nemo (Latin:  no one).  And you might also notice the dregs of snow on either side of the Wood River. What you probably haven't thought much about, though, is the sky. In the photo it's relatively flat and seems unimportant. The color is that of skim milk--kind of white with sickly blue-grey around the edges. The sky has been this color, or much greyer, for most of February. It is a February New England sky.

I've been thinking a lot about the sky because I'm making a Sky Scarf. I suppose you could call this project conceptual knitting and maybe aleatory knitting, too, since random factors come into play. (For more information about this see the charming website called Leaf Cutter Designs.) The color of the scarf depends on the color of the sky wherever you happen to be. Every day for a year the knitter looks at the sky and knits a stripe representing the sky's color.

I began knitting on 23 February, my birthday, and will conclude on the eve of my next birthday. Let's hope I get to use some of the bluer colors in the foreseeable future!