With a Banjo on My Knee

While I was packing the 1,000 Knitters gear last night, in preparation for today's flight to Yarn Expressions in Huntsville, I was trying to remember the last time I set foot in Alabama. I think it must have been in the 1970s, as my family drove across country from our old post in Arizona to a new assignment in central Ohio.

I know we stayed for several days with good friends in Atkins, Arkansas. I remember Arkansas well as the first place I encountered a live chicken (eek) and the first place I swam in a mud-bottomed lake (eek) instead of a concrete swimming pool. I also remember crossing into Kentucky and being profoundly disappointed that the grass did not turn blue.

I have also sailed twice down the Danube River and can tell you that it's not blue, either. Neither is Hawaii, come to think of it, except for the wet bits. Makes me wonder what other Big Geographic Color Promises are setting me up for a fall. The Yellow River? The Emerald Isle? The White Cliffs of Dover?

Where the hell was I going with this?

Oh, yeah. Alabama.

I find that I don't remember Alabama, and I think we must have driven through it while I was sleeping in the back seat. Or we may have skipped it entirely and that this will, in fact, be my first visit.

In any case, I can't wait. When you're from up North (in my case, just barely–I was born about 15 minutes north of West Virginia), the South may puzzle or bemuse, but it never disappoints.

There's been a fun development in the schedule, by the way. All the spots for the 1,000 Knitters shoot tomorrow (Saturday) have been filled, but Interweave has engaged in heroic measures to get a small shipment of It Itches to Huntsville for a book signing on Saturday afternoon. The timing is inexact and will depend upon to some extent on how long the shoot takes, but around 3 p.m. is a good bet. My recommendation is that to call ahead on the day for a more exact forecast. Do drop in if you can.

And now I have to go because it's nearly time for head for the airport and I still don't know which knitting to take. I realize that actual knitting has been absent from the blog this week, and I hate that. I intend lots of it for next week, as well as the first reports from Dolores on her Campaign Tour. You won't believe where she's been. (Always true, but now even more so.)

Heads Up, Huntsville

Darlings, I write in terrific haste as it's just about time to head up to Wisconsin for Knitting Camp. Dolores will not be going to Knitting Camp this year. Dolores has had quite enough excitement for one month, thank you very much, and if she knows what side her hot rum is buttered on she'll sit quietly in the living room this weekend and watch re-runs of "The Streets of San Francisco."

I've just confirmed with Meg, merry proprietress of Yarn Expressions in Huntsville, Alabama, that the final public shoot for 1,000 Knitters will take place down below the Mason-Dixon line on October 11, 2008. I crunched the numbers and found that there was just enough room to allow for one more trip; and as Meg had been sitting patiently at the top of the waiting list for so long that she'd built a shack there and begun having her mail delivered to it, Yarn Expressions is where it'll happen.

If you'd like to sit, and I do hope you'll consider it, advance registration is requested. Registration will open on Monday, July 28. Call the shop (check the Web site for contact information) and they'll get you signed up and send along a model release. There's more information for models here about how it all works.

It seems impossible that it was just about a year ago that Knitter 0001 (hi, Wyett!) cast on the scarf. At this point, it's so big it takes up about one-quarter of my largest suitcase. I haven't measured the exact length yet. I'm almost afraid to.

There will be dispatches from Knitting Camp, unless I encounter Internet issues or actually drop dead from excitement upon shaking hands with Emily Ocker. Yes, I am told Emily Ocker will be there. The Emily Ocker. How often do you meet a knitter who is also a technique?

O Canada

When I was a little kid, my mother's parents lived in Detroit, Michigan. Detroit is, of course, mere spitting distance from the Canadian border. I thought that was fascinating. There was sign: BRIDGE TO CANADA. Grandma's American television caught Canadian broadcast signals; I became quite a fan of "Mr Dress Up." In any handful of change, you were bound turn up a Canadian penny with a picture of an honest-to-goodness queen on it.*

It was all impossibly exotic and alluring and I wanted desperately to go visit the strange (and reputedly very tidy) country just a few minutes away. We never did.

I finally saw it in person for about an hour when I was sixteen. My family, including our dog, had been on the road in a van for a month, driving from California to our new Air Force assignment in upstate New York. We made a brief detour north to look at Niagara Falls. They were wet.

But now I've really been to Canada, and really met Canadians. All the good stuff you've heard is true. In fact, there's a lot of good stuff you haven't even heard about because the entire country is way too modest. Or maybe they just don't want the Americans to know, for fear we'll move up there en masse. Heaven knows I was tempted to stay.

I remarked several times that as an American I found it relaxing to spend a bit of time in a country that is not concerned with what Mrs McCain thinks, if she can be said to think, of Mrs Obama; that has long been accustomed to high gasoline prices; and that is not suffering what honestly feels like a new natural, political, or economic trauma on a daily basis.

I found it positively titillating to walk down the street in country where I could, theoretically, get married. Not domestically partnered or unionistically recognized or surreptitiously blessed but actually married. Mind you, my heart's rather spoken for at present and no proposals were forthcoming; but it was exciting to be so close to the action.

The reason for the visit was, of course, for a 1,000 Knitters shoot at Toronto's own, dear Lettuce Knit.

Lettuce Knit surprised me. It's located in Kensington Market, a divinely scruffy neighborhood full of artists who put their mark on everything in sight, from the sidewalks to the rooftops. The shop itself is tiny. Somehow, given the reputation, I'd expected room after room. No. Two tiny, packed show rooms in a Victorian row house, with gorgeous yarn spilling right over the threshold and onto the front steps. Behind these, a small kitchen/storage room with access to a back garden. Nothing more.



I had come to shoot in this remarkable location thanks to the creative thinking and beneficence of two right-on women, Rachel H and Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. The latter writes a pretty good blog. You should check it out some time.

They enlisted the help of their friends to make everything work, and work it did. I owe enormous special thanks to these six folks.



Top row left to right: Rachel H, whose talent for planning is such that she could arrange world peace by next Tuesday, given the opportunity; Denny, who is...forget it, I'm not going to try to describe Denny; Megan, who owns Lettuce Knit but let us play with it for a whole day.

Bottom row left to right: Juno, whom I long have admired from afar and now know is even wiser and funnier in person; Ken, who kindly housed me during my visit and also made sure I got from Point A to Point B without wandering into the woods; and Stephanie, who as I mentioned before is a blogger of some note. [Note to self: I think she writes books, too. Double-check before posting.]

They had planned everything so well that all I had to do was show up. Ken understood my neurotic need to always arrive early and we got to Kensington Market in time to savor the local cocoa.



(I don't drink coffee, which puzzled the natives. When they found out I also don't drink beer, several heads exploded.) Ken's working with some of that new Noro sock yarn, which I have not yet tried but feel I soon must.

No sooner had we opened the doors than the knitters began arriving and the scarf, which already took up a quarter of my large suitcase, began growing again.



In this batch, there are a few folks you might know including Debbie New (second row, center) and Amy Singer (fourth row, right). Debbie, whose previous knitting projects include a lace boat (you don't believe me? read the book), spent the time before her portrait knitting a windmill. That's what she said, a windmill. Amy, who is famously allergic to wool, graciously donned gloves so that she could work with the same yarn as everybody else.

The steady stream of knitters never slowed. Stephanie made sure I paused between sitters to have a bite of this or that, knowing full well that left to my own devices I would eat nothing and die. Every so often, I would hear screams from the front of the store as Rachel and Denny drew the winners of hourly prizes. Two winners got sock yarn in a colorway I'm particularly excited about...more on that later, though.



In the sampling above, the second row from left to right shows Stephanie's daughters Sam and Meg, and their charming friend Maddie. Stephanie's friend Rams (third row, left) showed up all the way from America as a surprise, and brought along her lovely pal Vicki (third row, center). Just below Rams is the delightful Fiona Ellis, who I hear writes books. So prolific, these Canadians. Must be nothing else to do in the winter.

And we had an American writer on hand–Leigh Witchel, who took notes and is writing up the day for Vogue Knitting. Leigh is a friend of mine, based in New York, who has been trying to get into the series forever. But I was away when he came to Chicago; he was away when I came to the East Coast. We missed each other just slightly in California and Pennyslvania. Finally, we intersected in Toronto.



If that doesn't confirm Toronto's reputation as Knitting Crossroads of the World, I don't know what could.

By the end of the day I was flying on adrenaline and cupcakes, and got everybody who was still hanging around to do something I've not done before: try on the scarf. All at once.



How could I not have enjoyed a day with that lot?

Usually the morning after a shoot I fly home, but this time I got a bonus day to spend with Stephanie, Juno, Rams, and Vicki; and in the evening Ken, Rachel H, and Steph's whole family. Aside from getting hassled by a roving mariachi gang (I'm serious) it was a perfect way to ease down from the high and prepare myself for re-entry.

It's always good to come home, but part of my heart's up there in Canada. I think I left it behind the Chesterfield at Stephanie's hoose.

*American money has a portrait of a queen, too, but only on the ten dollar bill.

A Reminder for All of Us

I've just finished downloading and sorting the photos from this weekend's 1,000 Knitters public shoot in Toronto. It has taken about six hours. The keynote of the day was joy–joy in the gentle weather, the beautiful setting, the good company, the abundant creativity.

I'll put up a full description tomorrow, but I find I can't wait until then to say something that's been increasingly on my mind for months now. The more knitters I meet, the more I want to say it. Looking over Saturday's faces and remembering the many conversations has convinced me that now is as good a time as any.

Ours is an odd hobby. As Stephanie has noted, according to trustworthy estimates we, the needleworkers, outnumber golfers in North America. We are enthusiastic–even evangelical–about what we do. Yet knitting enjoys nothing close to the media attention or popular regard given to the sport of golf. When was the last time you saw a copy of Interweave Knits at an airport newsstand? But I bet you could find a copy of Golf Digest.

It may not be fair, but it's the way of the world. Until those at the very top of the power hierarchy put down their clubs and take up needles, I won't hold my breath waiting for serious coverage of yarn issues on the nightly news.

The media–and the world that consumes it–neglects most folks. It seldom (except in a voyeuristic, often disrespectful manner) dwells on fat people, short people, quiet people, shy people, poor people, plain people, nonconformists, minorities, or those who simply work too darn hard every day to seek the spotlight.



Unfortunately, many of us–myself included–take this to heart. When you are bombarded each day by advertisements, television shows, billboards and books that tell you in no uncertain terms that you are not okay, it's easy to feel too flawed even to leave the house. When you never see yourself reflected accurately in the whirling collage of popular imagery, it's easy to wonder if you count for anything.

But here's what I've come to realize. The world is wrong.

The society that doesn't value handwork is wrong. The magazine article that suggests you are less than human because you prefer an evening with your cat and spinning wheel to dinner at a noisy new restaurant is wrong. The company that doesn't believe you can enjoy a knitting circle and also chair a board meeting is wrong. The husband/wife/parent/child/friend/boyfriend/girlfriend who sneers at your knitting as a dowdy little hobby for boring little people is wrong.



I've met more than 900 of you now and spent at least a few minutes talking to each of you. I haven't met a boring knitter yet. I haven't yet met a knitter with no talent or no story to tell. I haven't met the knitter who shouldn't feel proud as all hell at his or her desire to create beauty every day, when most of civilization does nothing from cradle to grave but consume, consume, consume.

The wider world is too busy chasing its own tail to understand what's worthwhile. Pity it. Attempt to educate it, if you like. But if it persists in being clueless, let it go.

Stop waiting for approval. Celebrate yourself. You are beautiful, you are talented, you do count for something. And you have a lot of interesting things left to knit before you die.

Toronto Packing List

1. Camera. Would be difficult to photograph 120 knitters for 1000 Knitters Project without camera.
   
   
2. Scarf. Would be difficult to photograph 120 knitters working on scarf without scarf.
   
   
3. Yarn. For raffle at Lettuce Knit. Am sure there is already plenty of yarn in Canada, but have impression they are always happy to get more.
   
   
4. Other raffle prizes. Not yarn, but still pretty cute.
   
   
5. Moose repellent.
   
   
6. Lyric sheet for "O, Canada." In case of impromptu sing-along.
   
   
7. Bag of extra u's. For use in "honour," "colour," etc. Natives apparently sensitive about this.
   
   
8. American-Canadian dictionary with metric converter and supplement on proper usage of "Eh?". In case am suddenly separated from guide and must speak unassisted to locals about curling, back bacon, or toques.
   
   
9. Hockey skates.
   
   
10. Passport. May help if American border guards balk at permitting re-entry of Arab Democrat hippie homo yarn smuggler.
    
    
11. Stephanie's birthday present. Don't forget livestock certificate.
    

Keepin' It Weird

First, I must offer my thanks to all of you who left comments or sent e-mails asking whether I was sick, dead or perhaps trapped beneath a fallen refrigerator and therefore unable to blog. The answer, happily for me, is None of the Above.

I just don't know where the week went. I came back from Austin, I did some work for the little book, and I got ready for my first-ever trip to The National Needle Arts Association's summer trade show. That's a mouthful, so most folks just call it TNNA. The semi-annual TNNA shows are where needlework retailers go to meet vendors large and small, see what's new and place their orders. Chances are, if it's on a shelf at your local yarn store, the owner first saw it at TNNA.

Before I get to that, though, I gotta tell you about the 1,000 Knitters shoot at The Knitting Nest in Austin.

The Knitting Nest is a new shop. The owner, Stacy, hasn't been open for long but I think she's going to be around for a while. You know how some shop owners create a good, solid shop with good service, and then others do that and also build what amounts to a haven for the yarnishly inclined? Stacy's of the latter variety.

Our little trio got an extremely warm welcome at the airport from the Knitting Nest's own trio: Staci (the Nest's beloved teacher), Steph (who isn't strictly on the payroll, but acts as a combination porter, ambassadress, cheerleader and photographer), and David (Stacy's husband, known for good reason on her blog as Mr Wonderful).

"Welcome to Austin, Ms Van Hoofen," said David, extending a hand to Dolores.

"Don't be so formal," said Dolores. "Call me Dolly and gimme a hug, you big longhorn."

David hesitated, fingering his wedding band.

"Give her one," I said. "Or she'll just take it anyway."

A few minutes later the hug was over and we were off to the hotel. Harry had been chatting with Steph and was clearly enamored of her KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD t-shirt. He'd been extremely excited at the prospect of going to a town that holds great store by its weirdos and was eagerly scanning the sidewalks for his first sighting.

"Can I meet some weirdos? I think weirdos are cool. I think I want a KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD ball band. Is that a weirdo over there? How about her, is she a weirdo? She looks like she might be a weirdo."

"You know," said Steph, "I'm pretty weird."

Whereupon Harry was struck speechless for the rest of the drive.

The day of the shoot dawned bright and hot. I opened the curtains to find this splendid view waiting. Nothing gets my blood pumping like a cool new skyline first thing in the morning.



I listened to the weather report for the sheer pleasure of hearing the weather lady say "The hot, dry and sunny trend will continue through the week." You don't hear that in Chicago unless it's followed by the words "April" and "fool."

I asked Dolores and Harry if they wanted to come along to meet the knitters, but they declined. Dolores was set on visiting the museum and libraries at the University of Texas campus. Harry, with map, camera and binoculars at the ready, was going weirdo watching.

By the time David and I got to the shop–an hour early–there were already folks waiting outside. Inside, there was a buzz of cheerful preparatory activity as Stacy and her crew put the registration table and everything else into apple pie order.

Then the doors opened and all cheerful hell broke loose. We had 57 knitters roll through and it was a group I'll never forget.



Guess what? We passed the 800 mark with Sherilyn, Knitter 0800.



And Ana, Knitter 0772, knit one of her hand-made Lone Star stitch markers into the scarf as a souvenir of Texas. I was touched.





One of the things I'm discovering is that the cliché "everybody has a story" is actually true–and the stories are fascinating. So far in these little reports you're getting mostly the images; but the final project will be just as much about the stoies. Here are two stories I have to share, in brief, from Austin.

Meet Rachel, Knitter 0794.



Rachel used to be a Texas Rollergirl under the nom de skate Kitty Kitty Bang Bang. She has since retired, and now goes by Knitty Knitty Bang Bang. I am fairly certain she is the first roller derby queen in our line-up.

Meet Sam, Knitter 0809.



So far as I know, Sam is the only person in the series who learned to knit in order to pass long, tedious hours sitting in a tank in Iraq. Thank you for serving, Sam.



And before any of you write to ask, Sam is married to the adorable Amy, Knitter 0808–fourth row below, on the left. So fuggedaboudit.



The last of the two sitter's was Amanda, Knitter 0813. Amanda's just finishing up her college degree in Photojournalism and was kind enough to show me her portfolio. The kid has it, in spades. Somebody at Spin or Rolling Stone needs to take notice. I hope some day one of the things they'll say about me is that I shot Amanda Klaus before she got all famous and uppity.



And we capped it off with the Lady Herself, Stacy, the mastermind behind all of it. Stacy, what can I say? You are a perfect example of why Texas hospitality deserves its legendary status.

When the day was done Stacy asked me to decorate the blank wall of the sit-and-knit area, which we'd used as a backdrop, with a portrait of the candidate whom she, a loyal Fibertarian, will be supporting come November. Dolores breezed in just before dinner (naturally) so she, Harry and Stacy's adorable Westie, Hank, struck a pose.



If you're curious as to how the drawing emerged, the awesome Steven has a sort of time-lapse series on his blog. (Love the title, by the way.) How anybody will be able to sit and knit with this staring down at them I don't know, but it ain't my shop.

And then they fed me barbecue. Real barbecue from The Salt Lick. We all ate around the big table in the shop like the Waltons, although I don't recall that the Waltons ever talked about yarn over dinner. (More fools they.)



Knitting Nesters, you won my heart. I hated to leave and I can't wait to come back. Thanks for everything. Miss you, miss Texas, miss the brisket. Especially you. And the brisket.

Nesting

Greetings, y'all, from Austin. 

The trip down was lovely. I flew out of  nasty, rainy, chilly Chicago and landed in sunny, warm (okay, hot) Texas right on schedule. I am almost pathetically happy to be here. The people are friendly, the sun is shining, and it's hot. Super hot. My spicy Arabian blood is dancing for joy. 

The Austinites think I'm insane, and keep pulling me back into the air conditioning, but they didn't spend the winter (which is still going on) in Chicago.

Dolores and Harry have opted to spend the afternoon at the hotel pool. So far, there have been no frantic text messages from Harry so I presume little miss fluffy hasn't groped a lifeguard or done a drunken cannonball into the lobby fountain.

It looks to be a fun shooting day tomorrow. There are piles of people signed up.  I'm typing this from the big work table at The Knitting Nest in company with a delightful group of ladies who have come all the way from Dallas for a getaway weekend with 1,000 Knitters as the centerpiece and stopped by early to say hello and get first crack at all the yarn.

Here's a group shot, courtesy of the Photo Booth program on my Mac.

I'm the bald one. Left to right, with hair, are Annise, Liz, Betty, and Tasha. In the background, Malabrigo and Cascade.

If this isn't heaven, I hope heaven is something like this.

Moment of Ooooooh

When last we met, I had just placed mixed Wedding Ring Shawl v.1.0. Then I placed an online order for a cone of cobweb-weight silk yarn in silver from Heirloom Knitting in the United Kingdom. That was on May 22, a Thursday. The next day I got friendly confirmation of shipment from Mike. And guess what showed up in Chicago today, May 29, also a Thursday?



Now that, my friends, is customer freaking service.

Let me tell you, Gussie, I feel like I'm hosting an angel in the parlor. It's so light, and the color is so delicate it's almost not there. I just want to sit on a floor cushion and contemplate it* from a respectful distance.

There's no time, though because tomorrow I leave for the next 1,000 Knitters shoot at The Knitting Nest in Austin, Texas. I haven't been to Austin for years, which is far too long to stay away. Often when I travel I worry about being too weird for wherever I'm going. Austin's one of the few places where I worry about not being weird enough.

Of course, seeing as I'm traveling with Dolores, who has decided this would be a great opportunity to stir up Fibertarian loyalties in the president's home state, maybe my fears are unfounded.

*By the way, in case you're wondering, the cone is perched on an antique, traditional Norwegian yarn adoration pedestal, or garnaädøratpedystöl. Usually they're terribly expensive and impossible to find outside museum collections, but I picked mine up for a song at a flea market in Little Oslo from a woman named Oonehoode Olsen who says during the Golden Age no knitter in Norway would have been caught dead without one. No, seriously! That's what she said!

Galloping Towards 1000

Now that the little book is for the most part tidied away, I'm playing catch-up with a lot of life–including the 1,000 Knitters Project.

Back in April (though it seems like a year ago) Wool Gathering in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania hosted what turned out to be the largest public shooting day yet - more than 130 knitters in one session.

And here I wondered if y'all would get behind this idea when I first proposed it.

Even if we'd only had three people, I'd have enjoyed hanging around Wool Gathering. It's a beautiful shop in a beautiful town, well worth the short drive from Philadelphia to enjoy the historic and eclectic shopping district even if you don't knit.



The owner, Jackie, is a vibrant and creative shop owner who has made the shop into a wonderful resource and gathering place for knitters. When my buddy/hostess/handler Carol (one of the trio behind Knit So Fine) and I arrived to set up, Jackie and her able crew were already in full swing setting up a sign-in table on the sidewalk, as well as chairs for knitters waiting their turns.

It was a good thing they prepared, because before the opening bell officially rang we were already inundated. I was drowning in knitters, which is of course my favorite way to drown.



I was inside the shop chatting and shooting, while just outside the window I could hear the growing hubbub of knitters passing the time in the warm sunshine, getting to know each other before it was time to come indoors and add their stitches to the project. I met so many of you who are frequent commenters (hi, Anne Marie!) and even more of you who had absolutely no freaking idea who I was.



We had a real kaleidoscope that day, a cross-section of knitting humanity. People came from other states–Washington, Virginia, Maryland, Ohio, New York, Delaware. We had young, youngish, young-at-heart, old, and one lady who said she was representing the "really, really old" and offered to pose nude. (I declined, as we were in a public space, but she was a looker.)



On occasion a sitter will show up with a little gift, and while I don't usually post about them as I consider them personal, I absolutely have to show you a sample of what bj (she prefers the lowercase) brought all the way from New Jersey. She works for Mars (the candy company, not the planet) and she gave me five pounds of these.



1000 Knitters Project M & Ms. In the basic colors of sheep's wool.

Speechless.

It was a delightful day, even if I'm rather fuzzy on what happened afterward. I know we all went out for a delicious dinner, and then very good ice cream. And then Carol tossed my exhausted carcass into the back of her car and drove us home.



Thank you, Jackie (giving the bunny ears) and Carol (getting the bunny ears) and all the wonderful crew at Wool Gathering. I can't wait to come back. For one thing, I know you have Rowan in there and I did not get a chance to shop.

And Now for a Little Announcement

This has been in the works for a long time. Today another stop–international, no less–is on the calendar. Click here for the full details...

Holy $#@*

Kids, I am alive and awake but just about done in. Pulverized. Wiped. It's all I can do to write this brief dispatch from a horizontal position.

Yesterday, during an eight hour shoot at Wool Gathering, I photographed 131 knitters for the 1,000 Knitters Project.

My memory is scrambled like eggs at Sunday brunch but I recall an atmosphere of cheerful insanity and controlled chaos. Yarn was everywhere. Also cookies. And five pounds of very special candy. Then somebody threatened me with a crochet hook...

I'll have to sort it all out and write a fuller report from home. Right now I'm going to try to keep still and enjoy restorative quiet play time with Carol's daughter's Pretty Pony Princess Magic Castle.*

131 freaking knitters in one day. Dude.

*Staying in this room has allowed me to be the six-year-old girl I always wanted to be. Ooooh! Rainbow Brite!

So Many Knitters

I'm sitting here with my half-packed suitcase nearby. I can't quite believe it's time to travel with 1,000 Knitters again. The more the series grows, the more surreal the experience feels.

I know photographers with more training, more experience, more talent, and more money than I. And yet so many of them have projects that have been stalled or stunted for months or years. So why is this one flying along at such a startling clip?

The difference, of course, is all of you. It's your interest and support that power the dynamo. Without you, I'd have a ball of yarn and an empty frame.

With all that's happening I never got around to properly thanking Lauren (aka Knitter 0176) and the Windy City Knitting Guild for a splendid Chicago shoot, during which we added more than fifty sitters to the line-up.



We also achieved a milestone, though due to a miscalculation I was wrong about when exactly it happened. Ladies and gents, I give you Diane, Knitter 0500, who brought us to the halfway mark.



Lauren, who has the patience of three or four especially put-upon saints, managed to get me to a Guild meeting after only nine months of planning. It was wicked cool. I want to go back again as a private citizen so I can just hang out and knit.

And then, of course, there was a shoot during the Yarn Market News conference. I owe that opportunity to the magazine's intrepid editor (and conference planner), Karin Strom. Talking to so many folks who who keep us in yarn and needles and roving and wool wash and notions and cute bags and other necessities of life was a treat and an education.



(The only bummer was missing Cheryl Krementz, who couldn't come along with the team from New York. Cheryl's a smart and prolific writer–not only for YMN but other publications including Knitty.com; and she always gives me juicy illustration assignments for the magazine. One of these days, Cheryl.)

And that brings me to this past weekend, and what I was doing while Dolores was inflicting deep mental scars on those poor 4-H kids.

The folks from The Yarnery, who apparently don't require sleep like the rest of us, decided it would be nifty to schedule a visit from yours truly the day after a night of testifying and song with the Yarn Harlot. (Seriously, dudes. They sang to her. It's on You Tube.)

After such a night they would have been fully justified in being cranky and overtired, but no. Tim and I dropped by the shop to say hello and chat with the Yarnery's vigorous men's group, and I got a royal welcome. They had cookies!



These three guys from the group (Eric, Scott, and Sean) came the next day to have their portraits made.



Scott's the one who made the cookies. From scratch. Exceptional chocolate chip cookies. And he showed up for his sitting with more cookies. I like Scott. I wish I lived closer to Scott's oven.

The shoot was at Yarnover, a long-running annual day of fiber-related indulgences put on by the Minnesota Knitters' Guild. This is a seriously impressive event, folks. The vendor market was large and varied, although I totally didn't buy anything. Except some yarn.

And the classes–oh, the classes. What a list of instructors. I actually got to meet the Rainey Sisters, Joan Schrouder and Lucy Neatby; and I heard Chris Bylsma, Sally Melville and Melissa Leapman were in the house. And those are just the names I know about.

All told, 73 absolutely gorgeous knitters for the day. Here's a tiny smattering.



There in the center of row three is Lucy Neatby, who announced, "I'm going to put a hole in your scarf," and then did. You can see it clearly in the center of the bottom row, in the portrait of my buddy Robert. Robert was one of the first guy knitters I ever met, back at my first Stitches Midwest.

The final knitter of the day was Gerrie (0622).



Gerrie was scheduled in the last spot, but her goodie bag–crammed with toothsome fresh-baked treats from the Franklin Street Bakery in Minneapolis–was waiting for me at the shoot first thing in the morning. When I'm walking around Provincetown in a caftan this summer, Gerrie, I'll think of you.

I owe special thanks to everybody at The Yarnery, especially Maura (who deftly handled all my arrangements) and Mary Lou, Knitter 0620,



who served as my assistant during the shoot. She went above and beyond by running to Home Depot to replace a lightbulb that the airline managed to smash through a cardboard box, a metal protector and five inches of bubble wrap. Mary Lou, you were the perfect companion, especially when Lucy invited us to rummage through her case of samples and we discouraged each other from "accidentally" walking away with certain pieces.

I can't wait, my dears, to come back again if you'll have me. Even if you don't sing to me because nothing rhymes with 'Franklin'. (And nothing family-friendly rhymes with 'Dolores.')

The Rest of the Story

Continued from yesterday's post.

I heard nothing further from Dolores or Harry until late that night, when Tim answered the bell and found the two of them standing, muddy and rumpled, on the doorstep.

"You must be Dolores," said Tim.

"And you must be a master of deductive reasoning to figure that out, " said Dolores. "Do we get to come in, Sherlock Holmes, or would you prefer that we sleep outside so our frozen bodies can be nibbled by rabbits?"

"Or cows," said Harry. "You don't have cows in St. Paul, do you?"

"For the last time, you little drama queen," said Dolores, "she was just being affectionate."

"She ate my ball band!" Harry said to Tim. "I had to come all the rest of the way naked! And it's cold out there! I hate cows! You don't have any cows, right? I'm not staying here if you have cows!"

Tim just looked from them to me, and back to them, and back to me, and didn't say anything.

"Go back to bed," I said. "I'll sort these two out."

You've never seen a man move so fast.

While Dolores huffed around in the bathroom repairing the day's damages to her toilette, Harry sipped a restorative mug of cocoa and filled me in on the trip.

"Well I would have been done for except it turns out Dolores speaks Cow. She told Bonnie Belle–that was her name–to knock it off and take us to the closest road gong north. We had to walk through this huge field and whenever Dolores wasn't looking the stupid cow kept trying to bite me. I hate cows!"

"We've established that," I said. "Why didn't you guys call and tell me what was going on?"

"Well we were going to," he said. "But when we got to the road Dolores said she wasn't doing anything else until she had a martini. And then she spilled her vodka flask into her purse and it got all over the phone and we couldn't make it do anything but play her Thong Song ring tone."

"And then?"



"Well we sat there for a long time and she was real grumpy and then we saw headlights, and she stood up and started shouting and waving. And then it turned out it was this bus full of students from the 4-H Club going to Minneapolis for a big meeting, so when Dolores said can we please get on board they were totally cool about it! They even let me have some of their cookies!"

"Lucky break, that."

"I know! The cookies were really good! So anyway, the best part is tomorrow they said we can come with them to their big meeting, because this one kid said he has been working with livestock since he was just little and he never, ever saw a sheep like Dolores before. And guess what? They asked her to come up on stage for the presentation on sheep breeding and you know how she loves to be in front of people."

I don't need to tell you the rest, of course. You've doubtless seen the headlines everywhere regarding the riot that broke out at the regional 4-H conference, and the exhibit that was cited for disturbing the peace, public lewdness, indecent exposure, and corrupting 300 minors.

After much finagling and pleading she's managed to avoid the possibility of jail time. But if we get out of this without a humiliating appearance on the "Today" show I shall be very surprised indeed.

Tomorrow I'll tell you how my weekend in St. Paul went, in case anybody cares.

Help a Friend?

I have a good friend, Leigh Witchel, who lives in New York City and is hoping to catch a ride out to Kennett Square, Pennsylvania for the 1,000 Knitters shoot this Saturday at Wool Gathering. I know that's one heck of a trip, but on the off chance that anybody's either going out from the city or able to provide (for example) a lift from the train in Philadelphia, would you kindly be in touch with him? (If his name seems familiar, maybe it's because he's a regular contributor of features to Vogue Knitting and Knit 1. Also, he's clean and polite and a good conversationalist and cute.) His email is leigh (at) leighwitchel.com.

Great Day

Well, zowie. After I pressed "Publish Post" and my recurring nightmare became public reading matter, I had a long moment of wondering whether I ought to delete it. As you know if you're a frequent visitor, this blog is seldom a venue for soul-baring. One ought to play to one's strengths, and frankly there are lots of people blogging whose naked souls have more to offer the reading public.

Still, I use this space to clear the occasional emotional blockage. It was indeed kind that so many folks not only indulged the momentary lapse, but also offered comfort, advice, and encouragement. And it's fascinating to hear from others who still break a cold sweat at the sound of "Clean up on Aisle Four!" over a fuzzy loudspeaker.

Today was a terrific day, spent in the company of yarn industry types (mostly independent shop owners, along with a sprinkling of manufacturers, distributors, and sales representatives) who gathered in Chicago for a conference hosted by Yarn Market News. I do illustrations for that charming and useful publication on a regular basis, and when they rolled into town on their Big Wheels they asked me and my little camera to come over and play.

I'm too zonked to do a full report with photographs and tap-dancing alpacas, but I'm too wired to fall asleep without first saying what a positive jolt it is to spend the day (and then dine well) in the company of people whose waking hours revolve around keeping us supplied with yarn, needles, and the sundry impedimenta of the fibery life.

I know well that not every LYS owner is a saint with an encyclopedic knowledge of Cast Ons of All Nations. Nor is every yarn shop the rose-covered cottage we might wish. But this group–they love what they do and are spending several very long days learning to do it even better. As they fly in the face of grim ol' American practicality by supporting creative work in the midst of a yawning recession, I salute them and wish them godspeed.

There should be a little drawing here of eighty shop owners storming the barricades with knitting needles aloft, or maybe raising a cable swatch over Iwo Jima; but when I start wishing people "godspeed" it's time to step away from the keyboard and go to bed. If my prose got any more purple it'd be on television group-hugging a chorus of child actors and singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmitz." Feh.

Good night, y'all.

Good Dog!

The 1,000 Knitters scarf is growing like a kudzu vine. There was another public shoot last night, at a meeting of the Windy City Knitting Guild.

This came, of course, hot on the heels of Saturday's shoot at Yellow Dog Knitting in beautiful downtown Eau Claire, Wisconsin. It's a pretty shop; I took a few snaps during the interlude of calm before the doors opened.

It was evident within minutes that this was going to be an unusual day.

Here is Jaci, Knitter 0414, the first person in the chair. Note the headgear.



No, Jaci does not habitually parade through town wearing a tiara. Turns out this one is shared among the august sisterhood known as the Yellow Dog Divas, who have achieved such status through a process shrouded in myth and mystery. All I can tell you is they seem to be a very, very happy group of women.

Even the non-divas at Yellow Dog are a jolly lot. Dixie, the owner, has a knack for turning customers into family. She issued a call and in they flocked, ready to knit.











Ironically, nobody said "Cheese."

These three came all the way from that other snowy state next door.



On the right is Nic, wearing the sheep yoke sweater she finished in the car so she could wear it for her portrait. But...hold on...is one of the sheep listing slightly to one side? And do I smell...vodka? And cigarettes?



Ah. That explains it. (Thanks for the photo, Liz!)

We had a steady stream of sitters from start to finish, but I nosed around the racks before I left. You know, just to be polite.

Yellow Dog carries handsome, hand-turned wooden needles made by local craftsmen,



and is also one of the fortunate few sources in America for Garnstudios yarns. I fell in love with this tweed.



I also got a crush on Dixie.



(I was powerless to fight it. She taught me Magic Loop and how to carry two colors in one hand, weaving the floats on every stitch, all in the course of one hour. Evil seductress!)

Sunday, as a bonus, I got to visit with the local spinning guild before it was time to head to the airport. My wheel has been neglected for far too long; here was inspiration to dust it off and get it moving.



And then it was time to head to the airport. I sat at the gate working on the Primavera socks and thinking about how funny my life is these days. When you let an idea loose in the world, you never know where it's going to take you. If you're lucky, you might even wind up in Eau Claire for a little while.