Persevering, in Knitting and in Life
Henrietta Sees It Through, by Joyce Dennys: perfect bedtime reading.
We all have times when everything seems, to take a knitting metaphor, tangled and unraveling at the same time. It’s hard to see which end is up or what the next right action is to take. I was reminded of this over the weekend while reading Joyce Dennys’ wonderful Henrietta Sees It Through, which she wrote as a magazine column during World War II. The story is told in letters from the main character, Henrietta, to a childhood friend who is fighting overseas.
The wife of a doctor in a small town in England, Henrietta describes her and her neighbors’ war efforts, their fears, their exhaustion, and their resilience. Like The Provincial Lady in Wartime, the two Henrietta books – Henrietta’s War and Henrietta Sees It Through – explore the dark humor of the war effort, and along the way they show the real heroism that Britons showed in simply carrying on, day after day, through long years of war and bombings.
Of course, most women were knitting during this time, mostly socks or other items for soldiers on the front. In the first book, I got a kick out of Henrietta’s claim to have knit “nearly a whole balaklava helmet” while the lovesick music conductor confided in her about his love for village beauty Faith (the less subtle Lady B falls asleep when the conductor comes to her for advice). In Dennys’ sequel, the passage below spoke to me as a familiar knitters’ reminder. Faith and her conductor are at last happily married, and Lady B and Henrietta are knitting for the child Faith is expecting. Henrietta’s baby bootee is not going as planned:
Everybody looked at my knitting in silence. It was slightly grey from repeated unravellings, and not in the least like a baby’s bootee, or anything else.
“You must persevere,” said Lady B. “The only thing with that sort of knitting on two needles is to follow the directions blindly. Sometimes it suddenly turns out all right,” (p. 89).
We’ve all had that moment of thinking our knitting is a complete disaster, and it could never come out right. One thing I like about teaching is that I get to reassure my students, “You don’t have to rip it all out. You’re right on the verge of seeing how it all comes together.” I think knitting is one of the first places where I learned that sometimes you just follow the instructions blindly and hang in there for the miracle. That’s been true in so many areas of my life, and I’m grateful that I got to learn about it from knitting first.
Now, I’m not suggesting that my life is anything like that of a woman struggling through a six-year war that included countless tragedies and horrors. Nor am I even suggesting that struggles in knitting are anything like as difficult as our struggles in life. What I am suggesting, though, is that we don’t always see the end when we’re in the middle, and sometimes it’s comforting to be reminded of that. Some days, my knitting reminds me that I didn’t write my life’s pattern; I’m just following the directions through to the end.
London Yarn Shop: I Knit London
I Knit London: A Club, Shop, and Sanctuary for Knitters
One of the indulgences of the summer program I do is that they offer lots of opportunities for us to go to the theater. One of this year’s plays was The Bridge Project‘s As You Like It at the Old Vic in London (Not bad, but I liked last year’s The Winter’s Tale so much better). A lovely corollary to this, of course, is the trip to see the plays; we have a few hours in London before the play begins. When we go to the Old Vic, I like to dash up The Cut and spend a little time at I Knit London. Small but powerful, this indie is everything a yarn shop should be — and more.
What's that behind the fibre space bag?...
I think of this shop as a spiritual older brother of fibre space: each began when a knitting community prospered so much that it needed a permanent home. Both shops have a sense of humor, and both host knitting retreats that blow my mind (I Knit will have Alice Starmore at their weekender in September. Jealous!). There’s one big difference, though: I Knit has…a bar. Like, with beer and things. Some of you know that I stopped drinking alcohol several years ago, but it sure does buy me some credibility when I tell my classmates that the yarn shop I’m going to has a bar. [A little credibility. The merest whiff. I may be deluding myself. Let’s not speak of this again.]
I first learned about I Knit London because of their excellent event The KNIFTAs. That’s right: The Knitting in Film and Television Awards. Knitting scenes and actors from Nick Park to Chi McBride were honored in 2009. [Plus, check out the nifty knitted film stock they made!] After learning about the community that pulled off the event, I knew I’d found my UK home-away-from. I go back at least once every trip across the pond; they welcome me every time. Owners Gerard Allt and Craig Carruthers are committed to their community and knitters at large; when I visited last year Gerard came out to talk to me about the KNIFTAs and even signed a copy of their book Knits to Share and Care for me.
...That's right: it's What's On Tap.
When I visited this summer, I found some new and exciting yarn possibilities, including the incredibly light and soft Possum Paint…yes, hand-painted yarn made of possum fur. This stuff has to be seen to be believed, so I’m knitting it up into a lovely hat pattern for all of you. [I later saw the company, Jamie Possum, at Knit Nation 2010, and felt superbly in-the-know (or -the-knit, as the case may be). Never mind that I didn’t realize when I bought it that the yarn was made of possum. I’m pretty sure Gerard and Craig wouldn’t laugh at me if I told them that…or not much.
Coming Soon: More discoveries from I Knit London and Knit Nation, including Some Very Nice Sock Yarn.
Knitting at the Airport (and another Travel Scarf)
Flying? Bring along some sticks and string.
Several years ago, when I still lived in New York, I saw this ad campaign in several bars at Newark Airport. They had posters up, illustrating the various indignities to which one might be prey while flying: a departures board showing delayed flights, a baggage claim employee shrugging when presented with one’s claim ticket, things like that. The slogan appeared at the bottom, big black letters on a yellow background: There’s Always A Reason to Drink at the Airport. [People, I SWEAR I saw this campaign. The fact that I don’t find it when googling just means no one wants to talk about it.] I bet you now where I’m going with this…
There’s Always A Reason to Knit at the Airport. It’s true: knitters around the world will tell you that long lines, delays, and even lost bags seem much less dire of you have a nice pair of sticks and some string. On our flight back to the US last week, I knit Heathrow, the little brother of the UK Travel Scarf (now to be known as Hibernian, after the Edinburgh football team). Heathrow is skinnier than his Scottish relative, with a more cosmopolitan feel. He’s just right to keep your neck warm from the airplane air conditioning, or on a fall day in DC.
I’m not the only one who wants to knit at the airport, either. As I told you last year, there’s one airport in the UK that provides yarn and needles in its waiting area (passengers knit squares that are later stitched into blankets for charity). There’s even a product out there that I think would be perfect to sell in an airport gift shop: Knit Outta the Box. [You people know how I like me a kit.] One of the questions I’m asked most often by my knitting students is whether they can take their knitting on the plane. Here’s what I do:
The Heathrow Scarf, knit on my flight from LHR to IAD last week.
1. Carry Paperwork. Check the TSA requirements. They’ve gotten much less restrictive lately, but used to require circular needles made of plastic or bamboo. I always double-check the page, and then I print out the page and carry it with me in one of those little plastic sleeves you get at Staples. I have never had occasion to use it, but it’s a bit of a talisman against security trouble. Here, too, is a light-hearted post from the TSA blog that includes information on knitting needles. Who knew the TSA had a blog, let alone one with a light-hearted side?
2. Get Some Needles. I generally carry one Denise cord and one set of needles, broken down into their component parts. I think they’re less obtrusive if broken down, and this means I’m working on a project from the beginning (which means less chance of finishing before landing!). Also, if I’m asked to get rid of the needles at the beginning of the trip, I’m not losing any work (not having started yet), and I still have my yarn. That means I can still knit with pencils if I’m involved in some kind of plane-crash, hostage-crisis, nuclear-winter scenario in which I have only what I carried with me on the plane. [What, you don’t worry about things like that when flying? How serene it must be inside your head.] Plus, if I am asked to get rid of my Denises, I can always replace the individual tips without buying a whole new kit. One can also carry a self-addressed, stamped envelope in case one is asked to get rid of one’s needles, but I’m never organized enough to make that happen. This is necessary if you’re carrying something you couldn’t stand to lose.
3. Stuff in Some Yarn. Bring more than enough. You don’t want to get caught without enough yarn, do you? [Yes, you are reading a blog by a crazy person yarn addict. What, the last post on carrying yarn didn’t convince you?] Yarn, you may have noticed, is squishy. Put it all at the bottom of your carry-on and cover it with heavier items, and it will squash down so you can add more. Note, please, that other items you love may not be squishy (chocolate, the latest Twilight novel, etc.).
4. Don’t Forget the Pattern. You don’t want to be caught without this. Better yet, if you’re an intermediate knitter and have an e-reader, bring the Yarn Harlot’s Knitting Rules (Kindle edition) with you and teach yourself how to improvise a pattern. Her sock recipe is just what you need — and so are the hat guidelines. You can also bring the physical book along with you, but note that, like Stephanie Meyer’s books, it will not squish.
5. A Last Resort. Bring a tapestry needle and some waste yarn. You can transfer your work onto the waste yarn using the tapestry needle if the person next to you suddenly has a panic attack and needs you to stop knitting — or if you make a mistake and have the irresistible urge to break your needles into a thousand pieces. Plan ahead, is all I’m saying.
Despite all of this preparation, I knit at the gate more often that I do on the plane. I have this worry that the person next to me will freak out when they see my knitting needles, and who really needs additional stress when they’re hurtling through the air in an aluminum tube? If I’m knitting at the gate, any knitophobe can move if they don’t want to be near me, and I occasionally meet fellow knitters that way. Last week, though, Mr. Trask and I were seated in one of those two-fer rows, and I know his only fear about knitting is that I will try to teach him how. So, in between gluten-free airplane meals, I knit Heathrow and watched The Bounty Hunter (passable) and Cop Out (ridiculous, but included the NSFW-due-to-language clip below).
UK Travel Scarf: And Now The Exciting Conclusion
The scarf is finished...all but the fringe. You have to have something to look forward to, right? Oh, and that background is our crazy London flat.
Previously, on Knit Like You Mean It…
- Kathleen and Andy take a very long trip, and Kathleen decides to knit a very long scarf.
- Leg One: Conductor’s irritation at unnecessary 4-minute delay. Scarf at one row out of 54.
- Leg Two: Several friendly Scots offer encouragement. Scarf at 7 rows of 54.
- Leg Three: Lunch in Carlisle prompts gratitude at not having to sleep there again. Scarf at 18 / 54.
- Leg Four: The trip to Wolverhampton includes some reflection. Scarf at 23 / 54.
- Leg Five: The trip to Oxford is the last one for the night. Scarf at 29 / 54.
And now…the final day of the UK Travel Scarf Tour (2010 edition).
Leg Six: Oxford to London. One hour, 19 minutes (predicted to be much longer).
Feeling much cheerier after a night and morning in Oxford. Also, that vending machine next to me? Sells Cadbury. Yes indeed.
We woke up in lovely Oxford, only slightly depressed by lukewarm showers at our charmingly-askew hotel. All such problems are swept away by a trip to Blackwell, and so to Blackwell we went. I snuck in a row on the scarf between bites of gluten-free brownie in their cafe. 30 rows out of 54. After that, we walked around Oxford for a while, picked up the extra bag I’d left behind at Lincoln College (reunited with yarn from Knit Nation 2010!), and hauled everything down to the train station. We had a brief wait on the platform: 31 rows of 54.
So let’s stop for a moment and realize that, in 9.5 hours of traveling on Day I, we rode several different trains without a hitch. Five legs of a journey, four different rail companies, and yet the worst thing we faced was that four-minute Get-Yer-Foot-Outta-the-Door delay. Pretty impressive. So I am happy to give the British rail system a pass on what was a somewhat odd final trip.
I’d looked up the train the night before: we were taking the 14:05 from Oxford to London Paddington. No changes, no nothing. But when we got to the station the 14:05 was listed as only going as far as Ealing Broadway, and when I asked the extremely helpful man at the station he said we’d need to change at Didcot Parkway to get to Paddington. This sounded fine to me, especially since I needed to finish the scarf so the more travel time the better.
When we got on the train and the little digital display said we were going to Paddington, I took the bad news well. Sure, we’d get there in a little under 90 minutes, but then we’d be in London, and, heck, London is nice and the scarf doesn’t need to be finished exactly on time, right? You see what a good sport I am. I was now done with the middle stripe: 38 rows of 54. That had to be good enough. I considered casting off in London, no matter where I was in the stripe pattern.
The Scarf at Paddington Station: Did Paddington Bear wear a scarf? I can't remember.
A few moments later, our conductor came around, and he told the woman in front of me that we’d get to London Paddington at 16:45. That didn’t add up…sure, the math was going my way, but when does that ever happen? I’m a knitter. I know all about math working against me. Heck, I was on row 39 of 54!
Still, he stressed that we certainly wouldn’t get in before 16:45, explaining that it was Sunday, certain tracks were closed, there had already been delays, etc. Even as we passed station after station with their little light-up boards announcing that our train was arriving ON TIME, I knit happily along, secure in the knowledge that the conductor knew best and I certainly had at least another hour to go. Plus, I was on row 41! Practically flying along.
Knitting on the London Underground. See how close I am to finishing?
Not so (you knew this was coming, didn’t you?). We arrived the same way Andy Bernard graduated from Cornell (and anger management): on time, at 15:47. We might even have been a minute early. I didn’t believe it when we got to the penultimate stop at 15:35; I just thought, “Wow, it’s a long way from Ealing Broadway to Paddington.” I almost didn’t get off when we got to Paddington. Mr. Trask had to be very firm with me. He finally lured me out with the promise of a photo in front of the Paddington Bear Shop.
So, can I blame the UK trains for keeping me from finishing the scarf? I guess I can’t. The London Underground was awfully helpful.
Just please don’t remind me I’m about to go back to DC in August, where the last thing I need is a scarf. Maybe I should knit myself a bikini on the plane.
The UK Travel Scarf
Like this scarf, our trip had its ups and downs.
Are you ready for a marathon post? (Yes, you are.)
Mr. Trask and I had a nifty plan. We thought we’d save a little money. If you buy a round-trip ticket on the British rail system, it often costs just a couple of pounds more than the single ticket. For example, a single ticket from Oxford to London is #19.90. A round-trip one is #20. Amazing, right?
So as we went from point A to point B to point C…we bought the round-trip open return tickets. That means you have a month from the date you started to use your return ticket. Easy as pie. Now, if you do as we did and leave one day when you will retrace your steps alllll the way back to your starting point…well, you’re going to have a long day, with lots of connections to make.
The Road from Pitlochry...or the tracks, anyway.
I was not very enthusiastic about this trip, I will admit. But then Mr. Trask said, “You can knit on the train,” (looking meaningfully at the horde of yarn I had acquired since our arrival in Scotland). And I realized, as I do from time to time, that my spouse is a brilliant man.
What better time than a 9.5-hour train ride to start and finish a scarf? It would keep me busy, and I had some lovely new yarn from McAree Brothers in Stirling: Sirdar Sublime DK organic merino (rav lnk), soft and buttery, in lovely colors. I’d make stripes in the scarf. Heck, I’d knit the scarf side-to-side instead of up-and-down! Mr. Trask agreed to photograph me at each connection, showing the progress I’d made on the scarf. And a brilliant, slightly batty idea was born.
So the real point of this post is: was I able to finish a vertical-striped scarf made of wool I bought in Stirling, Scotland, while catching various connections to sundry trains? The answer…below.
Pitlochry: the sticks and the string have yet to meet. See how cheery I look?
Leg One: Pitlochry, Scotland to Stirling, Scotland. One hour, 11 minutes.
The day started out well, despite my having slacked off on knitting a gauge swatch the night before. I cast on 30 stitches and knit 36 rows – a nice big swatch is always better. The train stations in Scotland are really picturesque; it was a pleasure to sit there and knit, waiting for our train. The station had what was called a charity bookstop but was really a table full of used books set up outside on the platform. Since I’d just stuffed about fifty square miles of yarn into my luggage, I decided I didn’t need anything else to carry.
Since it was Saturday morning, the train had a holiday feel to it: everyone was on their way somewhere fun, or at least acting that way — except for the conductor, who as we pulled out of the station announced that we were leaving 4 minutes late because “someone had their foot in the door.” I swear it wasn’t me.
My gauge swatch gave me 4 stitches and 9 rows to the inch. I did some quick math and, between Perth and Gleneagles, started to cast on 240 stitches using the long tail method. I had gotten to 170 when I ran out of long tail. Gnashed teeth, considered making scarf much shorter (and, hey, much quicker to finish!), ripped out and cast on again. This time, had very long tail left over but cut off the extra and hid it at the bottom of my bag.
Arriving at Stirling, we bought cold drinks and reminisced about UK Knit Camp, and I knit row one of the scarf.
Stirling: Knitting helps me make friends.
Leg Two: Stirling, Scotland to Edinburgh Waverley. Fifty-five minutes.
This was the leg, we knew, that would separate the men from the boys. Edinburgh is chock-full of tourists in August because of the Fringe Festival, a glorious affair that offers show upon experimental show for the intrepid theatre-goer. That was why we’d stayed in Carlisle: we could stay there more reasonably and sanely, but pop up to the festival each day as well. Our time in Edinburgh had taught us that the train station would be a zoo, but we were feeling all right until the nice couple sitting next to us told us that, not only was the festival still raging, but that the Edinburgh Tattoo and the first football match of the season were also happening that day. Of course they were. The feel of this leg of the journey was ever so slightly more competitive, and after two stops people were standing in the aisles and even in the area between the cars to get to Edinburgh. Still, most of us were more excited than upset about the crowd and its reasons for being there (but I may only say that because I got a seat).
Bright spot: as I settled into my seat and started row two of the scarf, a lovely Scotswoman asked whether I’d been up at Knit Camp; of course, she had too. We compared notes: she’d taken dye classes and brought her husband up to the spinning night on Friday, and he was thinking of buying a spinning wheel himself! I asked Mr. Trask whether he’d like to learn to spin; he declined. My new friend and I agreed, though, that any husband who was willing to come to Stirling for a few days so his wife could go to Knit Camp was a good husband indeed. As the train started, our conductor announced that we were leaving one minute later than the schedule had indicated (no reason given).
At the next stop, the couple with the Edinburgh-Tattoo-and-Football-Game information got on, and the wife asked what I was knitting. I explained that I was making a scarf, and knitting it side-to-side rather than end-to-end.
“She gets these ideas,” said Mr. Trask. The husband looked sympathetic. The wife revealed that she starts more projects than she finishes, and I said that I do, too.
“But I’m trying to finish this one today, in the course of our trip down to Oxford.”
“You must be going the long way round,” said the husband. We allowed that, indeed, we were.
At Edinburgh, I started the stripes.
Leg Three: Edinburgh Waverley to Carlisle, England. One hour, 20 minutes.
At Edinburgh, we had a brief delay and I finished the first eight rows (in a nice oatmeal brown color) and changed to the next stripe (in a lovely cream). I got the merest hint of aggressive about keeping our place in line for the train to Carlisle and as a result we did get seats. On the way to Lockerbie, I switched to the third stripe, a nice aqua blue. At Lockerbie, a group of teenagers in fancy dress got onto the train (costumes: glittery soldier; pimp; tarty maid; naughty policewoman; and “I’ve got to put on my costume when we get to Carlisle.”) and I discovered an impossible snarl in the nice aqua blue. I should never use the center pull end. It never works out for me. The costumed girls laughed heartily, but I am about 85 percent sure they weren’t laughing at me.
By Carlisle, halfway through our journey but NOT halfway through the scarf, I was beginning to feel very gloomy. The scarf wasn’t done, the trip was definitely not done, and I didn’t have a costume on. Lunch helped some, and so did admitting to Mr. Trask that I was not sure where our passports were, and had been wondering about their whereabouts since Edinburgh, when it first occurred to me that I hadn’t seen them for several days. Mr. Trask reminded me that I had given them to him at Stirling, and all was right with the world. I changed stripe colors again.
By Carlisle, the scarf was not as long as I would have liked. But at least we didn't have to stay at that hotel again.
Leg Four: Carlisle to Wolverhampton. Two hours, 22 minutes.
I didn’t have a chance to tell you all about our time in Carlisle, so I’ll give you a brief rundown: we found a lovely Greek restaurant, a fantastic gluten-free cafe, a very nice art museum, an impressive castle, and the absolute worst hotel either of us had ever stayed in. I am not exaggerating here; the first evening was traumatic in the truest sense of the word. We spent our dinner at the Greek restaurant listing out all the bad hotels we could think of, and comparing them to this one. It was, hands down, the worst. Before you ask, our survey included both Fawlty Towers and that Yours Is A Very Bad Hotel place. So our brief stop in Carlisle was still too long, and we were glad to get along to Wolverhampton.
It was during this leg of the journey that I remembered my first trip around Scotland, with my mother, between my first and second years in college. We rented a car and drove all over, alternately bonding and arguing, the way mothers and daughters do. The car was a standard shift, and of course everything was reversed on it (since one drives on the opposite side of the road, one also shifts with the left hand rather than the right; also, the windshield wipers are where you’d expect the turn signals to be). Mom drove the entire time, because I was 19 and she didn’t yet trust me as a driver. I found the road part of our road trip to be a highly anxious experience; she wanted to center herself, rather than the car, in the road, which meant that my passenger side was often in the bushes by the side of the road. Every time we got to a rotary, she’d start around it, make a nervous squeal, try to put on her turn signal to indicate she was leaving the rotary, realize she’d turned on the wipers instead, swear, and then run my side of the car back into the bushes as we got onto the straightaway. She was a wonder, my mother.
On the train to Wolverhampton, knitting and I had A Little Moment.
What I’d forgotten was that I was knitting the entire time. I’d bought some Manos del Uruguay wool (rav lnk) before we left to make my boyfriend-of-the-time a scarf, and I just knit stripe after stripe of garter stitch. By the end, it looked very like a Doctor Who scarf (though when someone said that to me I didn’t know what they were talking about). I loved everything about this scarf. I loved the feel of the yarn. I loved the colors. I even loved the way the backs of the previous row’s stitches popped out on the wrong side when I changed colors. I thought that part was super-cool. And the knitting kept me from screeching at my mother, teenager-style, every time she nearly killed us on the road.
So, on the road to Wolverhampton, I remembered my mother a bit, and I remembered what it was like to be a fairly new knitter and find absolutely everything about the craft beautiful. I had a little moment with knitting, there in the train headed south, and felt grateful again that I have a skill that can keep me sane when I have to do something uncomfortable, and sometimes even keeps the people I love warm (I’m not going to tell you about how the boyfriend would never wear the scarf. It would depress you. In his defense, it was a really, really long scarf).
Wolverhampton.
Leg Five: Wolverhampton to Oxford. One hour, 33 minutes.
At Wolverhampton, our time to make our connection was about 10 minutes, and was complicated considerably by a sudden platform change. We made the train without a minute to spare…hence no update photo from the Wolverhampton platform.
By this point in the day (about 7:30 p.m.), the train was full of people on their way out on a Saturday night…and a whole gaggle of cheerful men on their way home from a football match. The football hooligans (who were, in fact, very well-behaved, considering) kept announcing to each other that they’d been drinking all day. Weren’t they together all day?
Outside Birmingham Airport, the conductor ran back over the stops our trains would be making: including “Basingstoke — don’t know why anyone ever stops in Basingstoke, but never mind.” I reached the midpoint of the scarf, wondered whether the stripes clashed, recognized that I was way too far in to make a change, and sent up a prayer to the knitting gods: Please Don’t Let the Stripes Clash.
We spent the night in Oxford, so I will conclude this report tomorrow, for maximum suspense. Will we get to London? Will I finish the scarf? Will we ever recover from almost 10 hours of sitting backwards on the train? The answers to all these questions and more…tomorrow.
One Long Train Ride, and One Long Travel Scarf
The UK Travel Scarf
Curious about what I’ve been doing this weekend?
I’ll give you the full story tomorrow.
UK Knit Camp, and How We Learn
NOTE: Due to technical oddities, I am blogging from my iPad. That means the formatting isn’t very nice, and all photos appear at the bottom of this post. Many apologies!
People, I have been to the promised land. With the help and support of my trusty husband, Mr. Trask, I flew to England…I took the train to Stirling, Scotland…I took the bus to the University of Stirling…and I walked right on into UK Knit Camp. And it was good.
Let me rephrase that: it was glorious. Just a few years ago, Brenda Dayne was lamenting the fact that there were no knitting gatherings in the UK like the Knit Camp that Elizabeth Zimmermann founded in the US in 1974. What Brenda wants, Brenda gets…just a few years later.
I was, I will admit now, a little worried about UK Knit Camp. Mr. Trask has been so very nice about it, finding us a hotel and encouraging me to drop in the very day we arrived, reassuring me that he was happy — nay, EAGER — to run around Stirling Castle and the Beheading Stone without me, reminding me that he enjoys sitting in coffee shops and reading, even telling me he knew that I’d be buying yarn there. With all this understanding buoying me up, is it any doubt I would end up shriveled in a corner, talking to no one, weeping into my expensive and irrational yarn purchases? (I have no doubt this kind of insanity is limited to my brain. You would be much more sensible about the whole thing.) I would have to hide the disappointment from him, keep a stiff upper lip, and say that I’d made tons of friends and all the yarn I’d bought had a purpose and could never be purchased elsewhere.
As you were no doubt on the verge of telling me yourself, I needn’t have worried. Knit Camp had that indefinable Knitting Camaraderie to it…people wearing ravelry badges and hand-knit garments grinning at each other as if we were all at our favorite niece’s wedding, with no ceremonial commitments at all and a long night of dancing ahead of us. (The truth, of course, is that we are all in on a wonderful secret: Knitting Is Cool.) The town of Stirling is beautiful, all Scottish and gray, with old stone buildings and gorgeous sunsets around 9pm. The bus to the university was easy as could be, and once I got to the university I had only to follow the signs to get where I was going. (Full disclosure: I didn’t notice the signs at first, even though they were both prominent and plentiful. I spied a woman in a hand knit shawl with a Knit Nation tote bag and, wouldn’t you know it, she knew the way. And she very nicely didn’t point out that I would have to be really unobservant indeed not to have seen them for myself.)
Soon enough, I was in the Knit Camp office, which featured a whole mess of yarn and nice ladies to help us. This was where things got exciting for me, and sad for my wallet. Look how nice the yarn was! See how it all wanted to come home with me? See how much of it there is? And…around the corner there…is that Jamieson and Smith?!?
Why yes it was. The purveyors of real Shetland wool. From the Shetland Islands. In lots of different colors. With lovely patterns. In little kits. Have I told you how much I love a kit? (Another story for another time.) You can imagine the carnage. Suffice to say Mr. Trask and I spent some time looking for a cheap suitcase after I got back. I will be wearing my hiking boots for the rest of the vacation; their space in the suitcase is now occupied by yarn. (Also, I might have thrown away some of my underwear and toiletries. Who needs ’em?)
I didn’t stay for the full week, much as I would have loved to. I did take a class with Jared Flood. It seemed a little silly to take a class from him when I was all the way over here, but his was the class with information I needed, and who could ever get enough of Jared, anyway? I learned so much in just a few hours. I’m often amazed at the oral tradition of knitting: there are still techniques floating around out there that can only be found in one or two fairly obscure books, and that most of us learn from demonstration and hands-on experimentation rather than how we learn most things: by reading. In this case, I learned (drumroll) how to reinforce the edges of a steek using crochet, and then how to cut that selfsame steek. Amazing, right?
Miraculously, I am considering steeking for real sometime soon. Both Jared’s Rockaway cardigan and Mason-Dixon’s glorious Baby Dotty blanket seem possible now. That would not have happened for me had I simply read about the technique.
What about the rest of you? Do you learn better by reading or by being shown how to do something? Is the same thing true in knitting as for other things (like, I don’t know, cooking? Math?)?
I tell you all this: I will return to Knit Camp whatever the cost. (Don’t tell Mr. Trask that, though. I’ll be breaking it to him slowly, over time.)
And finally: those of you who have been paying attention will have noticed that Mr. Trask and took a meandering route up here (Oxford to Carlisle to Stirling to Pitlochry, with several train changes in between). To retain the savings of our round-trip tickets, we will be dashing back down that route tomorrow. In the brave spirit of Knitting Like One Means It, during our 9+ hour journey I will try to start and finish a scarf made of yarn purchased in Scotland. I’m swatching tonight; stay tuned for the results!
Keep Calm, and Carry Yarn
Tilly Flop Designs at Knit Nation 2010
At Knit Nation in July, I saw several variations on the Blitz-era poster “Keep Calm and Carry On.” Originally a message of encouragement to Britons during World War II, the poster was rediscovered a few years ago and enjoyed a brief revival, partly as a reference to our trying economic times. Inevitably, variations have sprung up: this summer, I have seen “Keep Calm and Carry On Shopping” bags, “Keep Calm and Drink Up,” tea cups, a “Keep Calm and STFU” t-shirt, and too many others to mention. [As an aside, the link to the tea cups is for Whittard of Chelsea. One can also buy a Big Ben-shaped teapot at Whittard’s. Give it some thought…]
Knitters, who have a lot of experience Keeping Calm in the face of (knitting) disaster, have their own take on the phrase. At Knit Nation, Tilly Flop Designs had some good ones on display in the form of greeting cards: Keep Calm and Cast On, Keep Calm and Knit One More Row, Keep Calm and Make It For Next Christmas, etc. You can see some of them in the Tilly Flop Etsy shop. My favorite is one Tanis Gray mentioned on Facebook a while back: Keep Calm and Carry Yarn. [Google stalking revealed that one can have it in a poster or a project bag from JennieGee’s Etsy shop. Want!]
Old Maiden Aunt Emergency Yarn Keychains at Knit Nation 2010
This idea of yarn as security blanket clearly lurks in most knitters’ minds, as evinced by another product from Knit Nation…the emergency yarn keychain from Old Maiden Aunt. Tiny little skeins of yarn with a label and a keychain, these guys won’t make up a full pair of socks, but they will make you feel a little bit happier every time you take out your keys. I bought one in purple, just ’cause. It made me think of the way, when I was a child, I would carry a book with me everywhere. Not every trip in a child’s life offers a time to read — for example, a play date with another child — but I remember thinking, even early on, that you just never knew when you might need a book. [I have a vague recollection of sitting down and starting to read during one of these play dates. Oh dear…such an introvert, so early on. Let’s not talk about it.]
I got to thinking about the little things we do to survive uncomfortable social situations again a few days ago, while reading Alexander McCall Smith‘s book “Corduroy Mansions.” In it, a character named William uses one question to get out of uncomfortable discussions with cabbies: he asks, “What do you think of the government?” Either a cabbie feels free to give a monologue on his thoughts about the government, freeing William from the need to talk, or he thinks that William is somehow connected to the government and not to be trusted (in which case our fearful friend is also relieved of the necessity of talking). William avoids small talk at cocktail parties by wearing one of two lapel pins: one says, “Ask me about Salvation,” and the other says, “No longer infectious.” Either one gets him lots of space from people who go to cocktail parties to socialize.
Now, similarly, we knitters carry yarn and needles with us, and those of us who knit in public do so in part to let others know knitters come in all shapes and sizes…perhaps in part to fend off people who might want to chit-chat about non-yarn-related matters…but also to attract those who want to talk about that all-important subject, My Knitting and How I Do It. That’s right — my introvert qualities go right out the window when it comes to other knitters. I luurve other knitters, and I luurve talking to them about my yarn, or their yarn, or even my latest error-filled project. I’d be happy to wear a lapel pin that says “Ask me about Knitting,” or one that says, “No longer addicted to worsted weight yarn,” or even to ask a cabbie what he thinks about knitting. I will wax not just poetic but positively social when it comes to knitters, knitting, yarn, and related items. I feel safe in knitting; talking about it is like having that book in my hand, long ago. I’m safe when I knit, and I feel safe with other knitters. And that, as those of you who know me will agree, is a minor miracle.
Until next time: Keep Calm, Carry Yarn, and Talk to Another Knitter.
Oxford Knitting Shop: Port Meadow Designs
Edited 11/6/2012: Unfortunately, Port Meadow Designs has now closed. We are in mourning for Jericho’s LYS.
Port Meadow Designs, Oxford, UK
I first studied at Oxford as an associate undergraduate student, doing a junior term abroad stint. I loved England, and I hated it. I was 20 years old, depressed, touchy, moody, obsessed with all things British, attached to my hometown in a way I hadn’t realized before, subject to the misery of a rainy day, on and on. I loved my classes, but couldn’t quite settle in to life abroad. In my younger self’s defense, Oxford in March is a much grayer place than Oxford in June. Now, when I am so happy to be here, I don’t understand it – but back then only two things sustained me: buying books at Blackwell on Broad Street, and staring at the wool in the Rowan shop in Gloucester Green. I bought so many books that, when summer rolled around and I had to go home, I had to buy a suitcase to get them all home (leave a book behind? Never!).
What’s odd to me now is that I didn’t buy any of the Rowan wool. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I know it was expensive and I know I was a little intimidated by both the store and the gorgeous wool. But I spent many hours staring at the yarn – what exactly was I thinking, that I had to save money? The book-buying suggests I was NOT concerned about that. I wonder whether I would have been happier had I been knitting a nice long scarf in 1995. Certainly, a scarf of Doctor-Who-vian proportions had sustained me through a trip through Scotland with my mother the year before. Anyway, I didn’t buy any yarn there, but I remember that shop very well. I was disappointed that it wasn’t around when I got back to Oxford a few years later, and last year during my summer of study I couldn’t find an Oxford yarn shop to save my life.
Well, I’m here to tell you that yes, Virginia, there is a yarn shop in Oxford again – and it’s quite nice.
Port Meadow Designs probably hasn’t gotten the buzz it should for several reasons: first, it is both a clothing and gift shop AND a yarn shop; second, it doesn’t seem to have a web presence; and third, it’s named after Oxford’s famous Port Meadow, which is a great allusion but does mean googling “Port Meadow Oxford” doesn’t bring up a yarn shop right away. Port Meadow’s owner, Azize Stirling, was quoted in the Oxford Times several years ago (it’s the traditional “knitting is the new yoga” story). Even without much in the way of advertising, Port Meadow has been around for several years, and is doing very well. They stock the big names like Rowan, Noro, and even Manos del Uruguay, and they offer the latest magazines from the UK like Yarn Forward and Debbie Bliss. The staff is friendly and helpful and went out of their way to make me feel at home.
All in all, husband beware – I found myself a local yarn shop for the summer.
Next Up: Returning to i knit london…
The fibre space Bag in Paris
Those of you who know me well know I can take a good thing too far. Well, blame Danielle — she asked us all for photos of the fibre space bag around the world, and I’m doing my part.
This weekend, the fibre space bag took the Eurostar train through the Chunnel with me to Paris. It’s seen the Eiffel Tower before, so spent most of its time searching for knitters in Paris. Follow its travels in my “fibre space Bag Grand Tour” Flickr set.
If all goes well, next stop for the bag will be a trip to London or Stratford-Upon-Avon. Send yarn shop recommendations!
Knit Like You Mean It. 