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.

Home Thoughts from Abroad

For twelve days we were immersed in beauteous British Columbia, communing with nature, exploring the gardens and harbor of Victoria, and enjoying a good stay in the highly-evolved city of Vancouver, a metropolis that makes so many other world-class cities seem comparatively tatty. What, was I not knitting? Quelle question! Three projects accompanied me--one, the very long scarf of hand-dyed brown sock merino that H wants for "looping around my neck" (ok, whatever; more than 2.5 feet on size 3 needles were accomplished in the car, as we drove along roads with dazzling views of snow-capped mountains, fiords, the endless Pacific ocean, and old growth forest); two, the "Rosalie" scarf I'm making in periwinkle blue alpaca/merino/silk "Wings" yarn for J (NB: the yarn looks good but splits as you knit, so can be slightly frustrating); and three, a pair of cabled fingerless gloves in slate blue "O" (organic) wool that I didn't get to. Yet.

Hard to believe, but no yarn was purchased on this jaunt. In fact, the only LYS I saw was in Victoria, a fleeting glance from the car window as we sped past. In Vancouver, though, perusing the Vancouver Sun one morning after breakfast, I read of a knitting exhibition at the Pendulum Gallery, and decided this would be a Destination. The article described the "deep-rooted knitting traditions of Norway" as the "starting point" of a knitted clothing company called Oleana. And Oleana's knitted clothing was what the exhibit was about. The Sun article quoted one of the company's founders: "You can say many bad things about Norwegians, but one good thing is we have been good knitters. We are good on the jacquard knitting or patterned knitwear."

I grew up in a heavily Norwegian-American neighborhood on the south shore of Staten Island (about which the less said, the better), where nearly every girl I knew in junior high (except me, not being Norwegian-American) had at least one of those gorgeous Norwegian sweaters, knitted in the most jubilant colors, with patterns of snowflakes and reindeer, with engraved silver clasps for closures. You can imagine how intensely I wanted to see this exhibit, if only to confirm or deny that the mists of memory had filmed over the reality of those sweaters.

The Pendulum Gallery is a self-described

legacy to enhance the experience of living and working in the downtown core. Opened in 1986, the light infused seven story soaring glass-covered atrium hall is a dramatic setting for art exhibitions. The atrium also offers the Cafe Ami, a popular eating-place with a relaxed seating area.

The primary mandate of the gallery is twofold:
1. To provide an alternative public exhibition venue in the city for artists and arts groups who would like to exhibit in a highly visible but non-traditional gallery environment.

2. To provide an exiting and varied exhibition program that appeals to both casual visitors to the building and a dedicated gallery going public.

www.pendulumgallery.bc.ca/gallery.html

Sic. (I needed to quote that verbatim for your full appreciation. Especially the part about the "exiting" exhibition program.)

Basically it's a section of the lobby in a steel-and-glass office building that has this pendulum thingy, rather large (guesstimate: around eighty feet long) of shiny metal, presumably quite heavy, that rocks back and forth ceaselessly like a sword of Damocles over the heads of innocent bystanders, over the "gallery going public" (sic), over "casual visitors," over office workers traversing the lobby, and over the "relaxed seat[ed]" in the "popular eating place" known as the Café Ami.

I, for one, did not feel particularly comfortable with this ginormous pendulum swooshing above me as I strolled the exhibit, which, as it turned out, was not about knitting but rather knitwear. Of the machine-made sort. Entitled "Beyond Borders: Oleana, the Norwegian Story," the show was essentially advertising a collection of women's apparel by one particular company. In other words, commerce masquerading as art.

However: these were, actually, beautiful examples of knitted textiles. The designs were simple, and the color work was fabulous. So...much inspiration was gathered as I perused the show, even though my nerves were shot by the time we left. In fact, for starters I might try knitting the Snowflake Scarf pattern (design by Eunny Jang, free download offered on Knitting Daily, 9/18/09) in one of the marvelous color combos suggested by the Oleana designs. whatcounts.com/dm?id=2F9966E3402CC47060A8D8A12C2273DA92D40326E9F9F53B

And I have to say...those hand-knitted, silver-clasped sweaters worn by my junior high school classmates, with their long blonde braids and apple-cheeked faces, those girls who made my life absolute hell for two years...well, they seemed kind of crude by comparison.

It Was the Best of Times...

Photo above: Jo Ann Bartholomew, Head Knit Wit; Photo below: Two members of the Langworthy Knitters calmly surveying the Table of Treasures.

Those of us whose childhood traumas include the communal dressing room at Loehmann's are not merely survivors, we are Shoppers. And we became Shoppers by learning how to maken vertue of necessitie, as Chaucer so neatly put it. Keen observation of Highly Determined Women (aka our mothers) behaving like predatory beasts--the prey being deeply discounted designer duds--and of monstrous saleswomen loudly offering unsolicited opinions-- ("Honey, that Chanel is gapping at the bust--you need a 16, at least.")--taught us how to move into and out of the fray before anyone actually realized we were there and gone. Stealth is the key to all successful shopping, (as well as to the procurement of limited seating on public transit).

My long-dormant shopping instincts--veritably comatose since I'd left the Big Apple in the 1970s--were awakened on Saturday morning, when I hit the Summer Sale at Knit Wits in Westerly. Several members of the Langworthy Library Knitting Association arrived shortly after I did, but I could tell, from their refined perusal of the Bargain Table, that they had been raised in civilized society. Here was the deal: you grabbed a bag, and as much as you could stuff into it could be had for $25. Adrenalin pulsing, I immediately set about amassing the most beauteous yarns I could lay hands on. About 10 minutes later I was done. It was a superb haul--by the most conservative estimate, around $300 worth of stuff, including 13 skeins of bamboo yarn (celadon, butter, black, slate blue), 5 skeins of oatmeal-tweedy Khatmandu DK (85% merino, 10% silk, 5% cashmere), 5 skeins of Classic Elite mohair in raspberry ombre, and so on and so forth (to spare you my insufferable gloating I shall cease forthwith). But what joy and, indeed, rapture!

Summer of Love: the photos

Check out Joan Baez and Arlo Guthrie on the jumbotrons to the right of the stage. And, apropos of nothing, here's a link to a fabulous knitting calculator:

http://www.jimmybeanswool.com/secure-html/onlineec/knittingCalculator.asp

Summer of Love

Every marriage has its give and take; ours has mostly to do with music. H favors that of the guitar-banjo-vacuumcleaner-truck-tires-on-gravel voice type; mine is mainly keyboard, orchestral, and operatic. When I play my instruments, the house fills with celestial sounds; when H listens to his, um, stuff he diplomatically wears headphones. It's not folk music I object to; that is, obviously, the basis for much of beauty in the classical repertoire. It's the ersatz folk music that H favors--the excruciating voices, the banal lyrics, the impoverished melodies and harmonizations.

(A typical conversation:

H (listening to NPR's "The Folk Heritage" on the car radio): Wow, isn't that a great song?

S (car passenger hostage): Do you realize that song has only three notes and two chords?)

But, as I began saying, give and take is a key to marital harmony. And so, when I learned that ninety-year-old Pete Seeger would perform at the Newport Folk Festival, along with other luminaries of the folk music world--Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Arlo Guthrie--I decided we should go, and bought tix as soon as they went on sale in May. (Therefore I didn't feel too overweening as I dragged H to a performance of Purcell's chamber opera "Diocletian," replete with period instruments and baroque dancers, along with the inevitable countertenors in chitons and laurel crowns.)

I was actually looking forward to the event, and planned my attire carefully--an ankle-length granny dress, a large floppy cotton sunhat, love beads, big earrings, patchouli perfume, and (of course) sandals. Alas, the forecast promised rain in the evening, and I couldn't deal with the thought of a long, wet cylinder of cotton jersey sticking to my legs, so I substituted a top and slacks for the gown. This was something of a disappointment, but hey, I lived. And it did actually rain, so I wasn't annoyed at having to ditch my ensemble for no good reason. H, too, was busy with preparations--he insisted we buy sand chairs with carry straps (wise decision) and wore his most sunburn-preventing clothing (special SPF shirt and slacks, as well as a wide straw hat).

You are wondering, perhaps, what my narrative has to do with the avowed purpose of this blog, i.e. knitting in New England. Well, obviously I wasn't just going to sit through this concert and do nothing. So I brought along the pattern for Jamieson's "Rosalie" scarf, two pairs of #6 needles, one pair of #7 needles, and three different kinds of worsted: Noro Kureyon, Classic Elite "Wings," an alpaca/silk/wool blend, and a lovely wool-and-cotton yarn, "Bergerine" by Bergere de France, that I recently found in the sale bin at Fresh Purls on Hope Street in Providence.

The reason for all this equipment was uncertainty. I had no sense of how the yarns would knit up into the pattern, and if the indicated needle size (six) would harmonize with the yarn. I began with the Noro and soon realized that its texture mandated a larger needle, so I began again with sevens. Another question mark was the recipient. I had thought to knit a scarf for J, but as I began with the Noro it just didn't seem like her, who, I'm pretty sure, is more of an alpaca person.

After a while another knitter found me and inquired about my project. We had an interesting discussion. She's a physician but believes that the huge yarn stash in her basement is telling her that she needs to be a fiber person. (Apparently in a former life she was a weaver.) She showed me a lovely scarf she's making (or was it a shawl?) for a friend. She said these weren't her personal colors (lilacs, blues) and she allowed the project to suggest to her the intended recipient. A little while later, I realized I was making the Noro scarf for M, as these were indeed her colors (blues, greens, purples). Someone (KM, are you reading this?) has often said to me, "You put out your call to the universe, and you get what you want." I believe that is what happened yesterday, the answer having come in the form of this serendipitous conversation.

Oh yes, the music. Well it was pleasant at its best and boring at its worst. Sad to report--Joan Baez's voice has lost its luster. Pete Seeger is still the eminence grise of the folk music world, and I love his socialistic idealism. Judy Collins, who trained as a classical pianist, accompanied herself beautifully on both a Steinway and guitar. Arlo Guthrie was an amusing raconteur, whose backstory made lyrics as inane as "I don't want a pickle,/ Just want to ride on my motor-sickle," fairly enjoyable. All in all a pretty nice day, even with the rain. H had a great time and appreciated my gesture. He bought me a rainbow flag with the word "Peace" written across it. We'll hang it from our deck.