Season of mists and melancholy

New England's at the verge of autumn, the season I love most for so many reasons, not the least of which is the pleasure of knitting wool when it isn't blazingly hot. We had a miserable summer in terms of high humidity and temperatures, followed by the destructive rain and winds of Hurricane Irene, and now Tropical Storm Lee, which seems to be providing an entire week of rain and gloom. Autumn is yet two weeks away, but already there are signs...tinged foliage, browned leaves in the driveway, migrating birds, cooler evenings, dusty blue and pink asters and burgeoning goldenrod. School is again in session and yellow school buses incessantly rumble down the road. Everything is moving on.

There is an elegiac feel in the environment, bred from the turning of the seasons, the messy weather and the pervasive bad news churned out by the media, by politics, by unemployment statistics, by the impending tenth anniversary of 9/11. The other day I visited a LYS in Westerly that's going out of business on the 15th of September. It is a decent little shop, and I wrote about it in this blog two years ago, but the downtrodden economy apparently delivered the coup de grace. Inside the shop knitters pawed through discounted yarns and notions, and the owner was putting on a brave face, yet it was impossible not to feel the sadness. I asked her what she would do next and she said, "Maybe I'll be a waitress! I love working with people....but I will also do something creative; I have to keep that alive."

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!

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.