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!

Knit It Like Nietzsche

I began the Wedding Ring Shawl.

I noticed an error in the Wedding Ring Shawl.

I frogged the Wedding Ring Shawl.

I re-knit the Wedding Ring Shawl right up to the row I missed.

And then I realized something.

The yarn's not working.

Truly, it's not. I've let the piece sit for a few days so as not to make any hasty decisions. I've played with it, stretched it, patted it, and even wet blocked a portion of it. I did everything but put it on the altar and pray for a miracle. And it's not working.

It's too thick. It's too heavy. Sharon Miller wrote this pattern for a cobweb yarn, and that's what the design needs. In this yarn, what should look ethereal looks instead like it should be hanging off Stevie Nicks in the mid-1970s. That's fine if that's what you want to knit, but that's not what I want to knit.

On the sample card Sharon sent with the shawl pattern is a gossamer silk. Much thinner, as you can see, than the red Skacel merino.



I knit and blocked a little (about 1 1/2 inch) swatch with the silk on a US 0 (2 mm) needle.



Yes. Much better. I've ordered a cone from Heirloom Knitting. I'm going to do this right, or I'm not going to do it at all. The red merino will become another, heavier lace piece.

If that which does not kill us makes us stronger, this shawl is making me a very strong knitter. Either that, or I'm going end up wandering the streets of Chicago talking to a six-foot-tall silkworm nobody else can see. Time will tell.

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...

In Which I Am Temporarily Deflated

You know that part of Oedipus Rex where Oedipus is all like, "Tra la la, I'm king and I'm married to a sexy chick and I got the world on string, dancing on a rainbow," and then gods are all like, "Ha ha dude, you murdered your father and that hot chick you married is your mom," and Oedipus is all like "Ohhhhhhh nooooooooooooo" and claws his own eyes out?

Well, I feel somewhat akin to Oedipus right now. Not because I'm guilty of patricide and incest (shut up! gross!) but because the knitting gods have chosen this moment to knock back a few beers and have a giggle at my expense.

I was fewer than ten rows from the end of the first repeat of the Wedding Ring Shawl center when I noticed something. See the little green arrow?



It's pointing to the row I skipped. Yup. Just skipped right over it. Didn't knit it at all. Left it out. Golly! Whoops!

That row mostly serves to put a space between the two beads inside the lozenge, so I didn't notice anything was goofy until I'd worked half the second row of lozenges in the repeat.

Then I said something emphatic and unsuitable for general audiences that rhymes with "Truck! Pluck! You smother clucking Tina Yotherbucker! What the ducking plucking truck! Zit! Zit!"

I could keep knitting, and chances are nobody would ever notice. But I would notice. I'd spread out the finished piece and the absence of that row would be the only thing I'd notice.

So, bloody but unbowed, I rip. This is an epic project; I'll do it well or not at all. It is the mature way. The noble way.

And if you tell me I should have used lifelines so help me beeotch I will gouge your piggy eyes out with my own two thumbs.

Helpful Commentary for Various People in This Coffee Shop

To the Guy in the Northwestern Cap

She came in here to study. She is not looking for a date. Specifically, she is not looking for a date with you. You have now told her about your swell condo, your eco-friendly hybrid car, your burgeoning net worth and your boat. Yet she has said little more than "uh huh" at any point and hasn't taken her eyes off her book for five minutes. This is called "rejection." If she is your only prospect, you're not getting any tonight. I suggest driving your eco-friendly hybrid to the video store to rent some porn to watch all by yourself in your swell condo.

To the Angry Lesbians at the Next Table

As I am in no way personally responsible for the American government's refusal to issue free tampons, the existence of high-heeled shoes, the veiling of Arab women, or the weird taste of your latte, glaring at me every time one of you uses the word "men" will not put a stop the ongoing abuse of womynkind by the patriarchy.

To the Guy in the Northwestern Cap, Again

Seriously, dude, bringing up the sad story of your childhood pet's untimely death just seems desperate.

To the Skank at the Next Table

Number one, it's not warm enough out to justify a top that skimpy. Number two, if I wanted to see bare female nipples, I would go watch porn with the guy in the Northwestern cap.

To the Kid Who Keeps Kicking My Chair

Stop kicking my chair.

To the Mother of the Kid Who Keeps Kicking My Chair

When you take him over to Nettlehorst School to register for the mayor's very special fee-based kindergarten program for gifted white children, I hope he pees on the headmistress.

To the Short, Bald Guy Knitting at the Corner Table

You wouldn't have to rip back your lace rows quite so much if you'd focus more on the chart and less on the other customers.

Proud Son

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and all across the country mothers were getting things–flowers, cards, telephone calls–from their children. My own, dear mother deserves her own island in the Caribbean, a pony and a chocolate fountain; but since I didn't want to embarrass her with extravagance I just sent flowers.

She sent me something, too, and I want to share it with you.

First, a bit of background.


Mom and one-day-old Susan.
Susan just celebrated her own first Mother's Day.

My mother is a can-do sort of woman. If she wants to excel at something, she will. She did not, for example, learn to sew at her mother's knee. As a young wife, she decided sewing would be a useful skill. She got a sewing machine, took a class, and turned into the second coming of Betsy Ross. We reveled in an abundance of expertly hand-sewn clothes, gorgeous Halloween costumes, perfectly tailored school uniforms and matching family Christmas pajamas.

She also learned from a friend how to knit. Aside from an occasional afghan, however, this was a skill that lay dormant for years. The first time I ever saw her do it was Christmas 2005, when our incessant chatter about the joys of yarnplay persuaded her to join the fun. Her powers of recall were startling. We gave her a pair of needles and a gentle nudge, and soon she'd turned out several very nice scarves and a few patterned washcloths.

Then she decided it was time to try a shaped garment. She picked a doozy–Elizabeth Zimmermann's Baby Surprise Jacket. In case you've been knitting in a cave, the Baby Surprise Jacket (which you can find in The Opinionated Knitter and Knitting Workshop) is a little cardigan sweater that's knit as one flat piece, folded up like origami and seamed at the shoulders. It's a classic pattern and a fun project, but not always an easy knit for a beginner.

My mother, however, does not care about easy. She wanted to knit the jacket. She got the yarn, the needles, the pattern and Meg Swansen's instructional DVD, and off she went. And look at this.



Not only did she finish, she worked in a bunch of Meg's fine details including paired increases and decreases, a collar, and a cast off that eliminates the little dog-ear at the very end.



I'm choking up just looking at that. How you've grown, mother darling. There's a Rogue Hoodie in your future. I just know it.

Lace Quickie

Do not tell Interweave I posted today. I'm supposed to be finishing the essays for the little book. But I had to show you how the center of the Wedding Ring Shawl is turning out, even if it means getting locked into the cupboard under the stairs again with nothing but my laptop and a pile of Clif Bars. (Mmmmm. Clif Bars.)



Reader Emma rightly pointed out in the comments that I miscounted the depth of the shawl's border–132 rows, not 63. Given that, I'm afraid finishing by next Tuesday is out of the question. It's going to take until Thursday, at least.

Reader Laura Sue said she's fascinated with lace but having trouble getting the hang of it. I hear you, darling. My first attempt at lace was Knitty's pretty Branching Out scarf by Susan Pierce Lawrence, which many folks say was their gateway project. Me, I tried it three times and wound up bleeding from both ears.

Ultimately I realized I needed to start with something even easier than Branching Out - a pattern with smaller repeats and a little less going on in each row. My advice? Try a lace sampler. That's what I did.

After two introductory classes at Stitches Midwest, I sat down with some fingering-weight yarn, figured out how many stitches I'd need to repeat a simple motif* a few times with a garter stitch border on either side, and started knitting. When I felt I'd mastered the motif, or got bored with it, I started a new one.

Sometimes that means adding or removing stitches to make the count work properly. No problem–just do a little easy math, and put your increases or decreases evenly into a few rows of plain knitting between each section. (By the way, building a facility for that sort of calculation was good for me–it's made me a much stronger knitter on all sorts of projects.)

After about six patterns I felt confident enough to tackle a "real" project. I was terribly proud of having figured out such an effective training tool, until I learned that of course lace knitters had already been doing the same thing for centuries. I don't know if it's true that there's nothing new under the sun, but there sure ain't anything new on the needles. (Except Cat Bordhi's needles. Cat Bordhi is the exception to everything.)

After you cast off the sampler, block it–an important skill to practice. You'll have either a mat, a doily, a scarf, or a table runner, depending on how fast you knit and how carried away you got.

If you can't sit down with an experienced lace knitter for a lesson, the most comprehensive source of free instruction I can think of is Eunny Jang's excellent series of blog articles, which begins here. Marilyn (aka the Knitting Curmudgeon) also has a concise and informative tip sheet in the "Free Shit" section of her sidebar.

Okay, I have to go write now. But this has been fun. Let's do it again. And remember, not a word to my editor or I will be so mad and you will not be invited to my slumber party.

*My favorite source of motifs of all kinds is the classic series of books by Barbara Walker. If you hunt around, you can also find an avalanche of free patterns online.

STOP! WAIT! BREAKING LACE NEWS! The lace book I've been waiting for more than any other is open for pre-orders. Nancy Bush on Estonian Lace. I have goosebumps. Or maybe they're nupps.

Overstimulated

I imagine that there are people who can be creative in a vacuum, but I'm not one of them.

I had a visitor once, a young aspiring decorator, who told me candidly that my living room gave him a headache."I don't understand your theme," he said, wincing.

Well, Mary, there ain't no theme. If I like it, I hang it on the wall. If it has a happy association for me, I hang it on the wall. If it makes me want to pick up a pen and draw, or sit down at the keyboard and type, I hang it on the wall. You're not going to see my apartment in Homosexual Interiors magazine, except possibly on the "Yikes!" page, but it keeps me going.



Working on the little book has made me understand for the first time that if I'm cut off from stimulation, I stop producing. At one point I tried to go the monastic route, with life reduced to barest necessities and all extraneous matter removed. For a week, all I made were doodles of little, pinched faces that got angrier and angrier; and finally a picture of a lady kicking a cat down the stairs.

So I relaxed, and let myself indulge in other stuff–like really, really bad late-Victorian chick lit. Here's the latest gem on the bedside table: Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L.T. Meade. I picked this up at a bookshop in the neighborhood for a pittance, attracted by the cover art (shown left), the title, and my previous experience with other titles by the author.

Polly is a "new fashioned" girl. What could that mean? According to the flyleaf inscription the book was a Christmas present for "Violet from Mamma" in 1900, so it could mean Polly shows her bare ankle to the butcher's boy, or joins the Suffragettes, or travels to the Middle East and converts to Islam.

Well, I'm about a third of the way through Polly and I'm still befuddled. Nothing remotely new-fashioned has happened yet. Polly's mother dies on page six, as most good mothers do in these books. It's such a common plot twist that as soon as I see an angelic mommy surrounded by an adoring brood, I automatically assume the Grim Reaper is crouched behind the pianola sharpening his blade.

Polly and her twenty-three siblings are left carry on with their father (a good doctor, but apparently a lousy obstetrician) and a handful of servants. Dr. Daddy is worried about the kids running wild, since he is constantly being called out to preside over other childbed deaths in the neighborhood. He says that if his eldest daughter can't keep house he's going to hire a governess.

The children, who have all read "The Turn of the Screw," understandably freak out. I've reached a point in the tale where Polly, anxious to do her bit, has begun to order the servants around according to cockeyed notions gathered from old cookbooks. It's not going well. Breakfast is a mess; and on top of everything else it turns out that father is going blind.

I can hardly wait to find out what happens next. Maybe new-fashioned Polly will attempt to save his sight by performing emergency surgery on the dining room table, using her copy of Mrs Beeton and dead mama's embroidery scissors.

I sure hope so.

And Some Knitting

I also decided that if you're writing a knitting book, knitting counts as research and development. So I'm still tapping away to finish up the essays, but I've also started Sharon Miller's Wedding Ring Shawl.



The picture shows the eighth patterned row of the 300+ in the center square. After that, there's a very deep (63 row) border knit around and around the center, followed by a sideways edging. So I won't be able to show you a picture of the finished piece until at least next Tuesday.

The best part is the temporary cast-on in pink acrylic DK yarn, which makes it look like I'm working a misbegotten pink-and-red baby blanket for a kid named Valentine.

La commedia e finità

I did it.

Seventy-five finished ink-and-wash panels for the book. On time.

It's funny. Now that they've left the nest, seventy-five doesn't seem like such a large number. But I took photos like this one, of a batch drying on the living room floor, to remind me of how it felt.

Just looking at that makes me want an epidural.

Mind you, I still have essays left to finish in short order; but writing isn't quite the physical labor for me that drawing is. And there are more presentation-quality drawings in this book than I've made in the rest of my life to date.

I think I'm going to have a little lie-down, now.

No, wait a moment. Word on the street is that the Summer 2008 Interweave Knits is on the shelves and landing in many mailboxes. I have an article in there–my first for IK–about Meg Swansen, Elizabeth Zimmermann and the fifty-year story of Schoolhouse Press.

Nothing daunting in such an assignment, no. Quite simple, really. Write a complete history of the world's most beloved fiber company in 1200 words, using an interview with one of your personal household goddesses as a primary source. Hah. No sweat.

But it really was fun. The fact is, the folks at the Schoolhouse are just as down-to-earth as the knitter on the street. Making a living with yarn and related paraphernalia hasn't dimmed their enthusiasm. When I spoke with Eleanor–who has worked there for 25 years and seen a thing or two happen in the field–it was a heady combination of knit chat and history lesson, with generous doses of good humor thrown in.

Thanks to everybody who agreed to be interviewed–I'm indebted to you all.

And Eunny seemed pleased with it, so here's to hoping more work from IK comes my way.

And Also...

I finished the Primavera Socks. I love the Primavera Socks. I will knit the Primavera Socks again. There is no higher compliment I can pay to the designer. And Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock (this colorway is "Violet") is so fantabulous to touch that I had to take seventeen photographs before I got one in which my toes were not curling.



Now. Where's that red laceweight?

Notes to Self

My sketchbooks for It Itches* are dotted with questions I jotted down while working on the rough cartoons, so I'd remember to research or puzzle out the answers later on.

As I enter the home stretch, I keep running across them as I flip through looking for the bits and pieces to be used in finished drawings.

Here's a representative sample:

• Miles Topeka to Kansas state fair?
• Where do breasts go?
• Length and curve of blade? Bloody?
• Number of panes in Shetland window?
• Lion? Unicorn?
  
• Bird and squirrel can be friends?
• Which fricking e has accent and is grave or aigu?
• Fat baby pajamas?
• Wolf toes?
  
• Would she say this to him like that?
• Mausoleum door locks?
• Ask Leigh how large ballerina ass?
• Ancient sheep face hair?
  
• Table can support bear? Two bears?
  
• How big should balls be?

Yeah. Just standard knitting book fodder.

Your encouragement in the comments to the last post is much appreciated. Please don't think I'm whining–the chance to publish a book is a blessing, and my worst day as a cartoonist is better than my best day trying not to smack rock-stupid university alumni across the face.

While the pen's busy the needles are idle, aside from occasional rounds on the second Primavera sock. I'm almost to the toe, and still loving the pattern. I expect to finish book and sock almost simultaneously.

I have promised myself that once the final packet of drawings flies off to Colorado, I may begin Sharon Miller's Wedding Ring Shawl. (Yes, I bought the pattern before it sold out. Nyah, nyah, nyah.) Mine will be worked in a handsome, red Merino laceweight. Of course, it's not as fine as the cobwebby Tinkerbell dental floss Mrs Miller recommends; so if I actually reach journey's end, the finished shawl won't slip through a wedding ring.

I wonder if that means I'd have to call it something else? If you call it a wedding ring shawl when it won't actually fit through a ring, does the Shetland lace cartel send goons to your apartment to shoot out your kneecaps?

Those chicks in Heirloom Knitting look pretty tough. I wouldn't put it past them.

* Internet fun fact: If you Google "Interweave Itches," the first result is my book.

Instead...

...of a real post, today I present a still life entitled, This Is Why I Am Not Giving You a Real Post Today.



The book deadline approacheth. Apparently there have been pre-orders, and not all of them are my mother, so I have to finish on time. Above you can see seven (out of seventy-five*) inked cartoons on the drawing table, each awaiting the finishing touches of watercolor wash as needed.

This isn't the sum total of my progress, of course. It's just that I'm having trouble sending the other finished panels to Interweave because once they go into print I can never, ever change them.

That's been the biggest surprise of this whole process–the realization that at some point, final art is final.

It's enough to make my hands shake, so I try not to think about it. Nonetheless, my usual creepy-crawly line may look a little creepy-crawlier when the book is published.

*Somebody asked whether the book will be new material or stuff from the blog. Both. Some of the cartoons will have appeared here, but the majority are previously unpublished and all but one will be completely re-drawn. Some essays will incorporate material I've used before but, again, I'm reworking everything and much is brand new. OhgodIneedadrink.

Notes

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!

An Interlude with Evelyn Clark

Last Christmas, I chose Evelyn Clark's Flower Basket Shawl as a present for my mother. It was a success on all fronts. Mom liked it, and I liked knitting it. I liked it so much, in fact, that I made a very public offer to feed Evelyn bonbons and tweak her dear little nose.

Now Evelyn's famed Swallowtail Shawl has been chosen by the readers of Interweave Knits as one of five designers to be featured in their new, free eBook, The Best of Interweave Knits Readers' Choice Awards. And in spite of my earlier statements, she was not too creeped out to answer a few questions about her work and her inspirations.

Q. You're best known for your lace designs, particularly your lace triangles. What was your first encounter with lace? Was it love at first sight, or an acquired taste?

A. I was really inspired by Robert Powell's lace shawls, and it was while knitting them that I fell in love with lace. The fabulous Icelandic Three-Cornered and Long Shawls book (Prihyrnur og Langsjol) by Sigridur Halldorsdottir* has many top-down shawls, and while studying the shawls in that book I realized I could use a top-down construction for a shawl I wanted to do as a result of the listing of the salmon. That became the Pacific Northwest Shawl, thanks to Bev Galeskas of Fiber Trends who was willing to publish my results.

Q. Tell me a bit about your design process. For example, do you like to start with sketches? By picking up needles and playing with yarn? Some other way?

A. I love to graph, and I do that with a pencil and a very large eraser. Then I start the piece, and start over if it does not work. Sometimes I have to knit the whole piece to see if it works and sometimes more than once. The beauty of being able to design for my own amusement is that I can take all the time I want.

Q. So many of your designs are based on natural motifs and indicate a very close, loving observation of the natural world. What's your favorite way to get back to nature?

A. I do like to garden and hike or walk. This year I also am able to travel more, and I am looking forward to finding new inspiration on those adventures.

Q. When you spin, what's your preferred equipment?

My favorites are the Bosworth mini spindles, and I have knit four shawls from yarn I spindle spun and plies. I love that spindles are so portable and highly recommend Priscilla Gibson-Roberts' book Spinning in the Old Way for anyone interested in spindling.

As a prize from the Wild Fibers Magazine/Buffalo Gold contest for the Heartland Lace Shawl, I got a Lendrum single treadle wheel. Having the wheel makes me acceptable at spinning retreats, but at home, I keep returning to the spindles.

Q. If you could be any fiber-producing animal, what kind of fiber-producing animal would you be, and why?

A. Some of the native peoples of the Pacific Northwest had a little wooly dog whose fur they used for fiber. Since I am not fond of standing outside in all sorts of weather, I think I would be better at being a dog that could creep close to a fire occasionally.

* * * * *

The Best of Interweave Knits Readers' Choice Awards will be available for free download from the Knitting Daily Web site until 5 pm MST on May 15, 2008.

To view and purchase more of Evelyn Clark's designs, visit her Web site.

This is the final stop of the week-long blog tour celebrating the release of The Best of Interweave Knits Readers' Choice Awards. For previous stops, visit:

Monday, April 14: Sandi Wiseheart on Smoking Hot Needles

Tuesday, April 15: Norah Gaughan on Lolly Knitting Around

Wednesday, April 16: Kate Gilbert on Moth Heaven

Thursday, April 17: Stefanie Japel on Chez Aristote

*Now available as a reprint from dear, old Schoolhouse Press.

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.

Life as Usual

I'm back from the photo expedition to Yarnover and had a splendid time. It was a chance to reconnect with my buddy Tim from St. Paul, who extended his hospitality and hoisted my bags; to meet the wonderful people from The Yarnery and a whole lotta terrific knitters; and to add a further 73 people to the 1,000 Knitters Project–sneak previews to come.

However, as Dolores and Harry decided they wanted to come along, you know that's not the whole story.

Those of you who tune in regularly will be not at all surprised to know that shortly after I landed in the Twin Cities on Friday, I got a frantic telephone call from Harry. He was jabbering a mile a minute and sounded oddly muffled, as though he were calling from inside a suitcase.

Which, in fact, he was.

"Slow down and speak up," I said. "I can't help you if I can't hear you. Now, what did you say?"



"It's terrible," he whimpered. "I was really having fun because I went to the café car to get a soda pop and I met this guy from Fargo and he said do you like Scrabble and I said sure and he said me and my sister brought our Travel Scrabble so why don't you come play with us and I said okay I have to go tell my friend first but when I got back to our seats Dolores was up in the luggage rack and three conductors were trying to pull her down again and she was screaming and yelling bad words and then she bit the one guy's hand–"

"She bit a conductor?"

"Yeah I guess while I was gone she started handing out campaign flyers and the man got all mad and said you can't do that in here lady and she got mad back at him and threw her purse and it hit this other lady in the head and knocked her glasses off and people started running around and I climbed in here to get out of the way and now I can't even find my soda pop and it's dark and I'm scared. What do I do?"

I sometimes wonder if Harry thinks I possess a little book entitled How to Handle Any Emergency that includes entries like "Train Travel: Trapped in Suitcase Due to Sheep/Conductor Fracas."

Before I could offer any advice, I heard a zip and a scream and Harry was gone. There followed a tense hour while I waited for news. Amtrak customer service, helpful as ever, hung up when I called to say I'd received word from a ball of sock yarn about a fight taking place on the Empire Builder between three conductors and the sheep who lives in my apartment.

Finally, my phone chimed: CALL FROM VANHOOFEN, D.

"If this is your one call," I said, "you've dialed the wrong number."

"Oh thank you, thank you so very much for your support," she grumbled.

"Where are you?"

"We're not sure. Somewhere in Minnesota. It's snowy and I see cows."

"It sounds awfully quiet. Is the train delayed?"

"We're not on the train."

"You're not? Well, what's the name of the station?"

"We're not at a station."

"What?"



"We're in a field next to the tracks somewhere or other. They slowed down and pitched us off the back of the caboose. If any of my hats are crushed, I'm going to sue."

I heard Harry scream.

"Harry!" shouted Dolores. "Just shut up! That cow is more afraid of you than you are of her! Smile and make friends!"

Harry screamed again. Louder.

"Whoa," said Dolores. "Gotta go."

There's more to tell, but duty calls. The rest of the report to follow soon.

Leaving, Apparently, on a Jet Plane

Yes, I'm booked on American Airlines for the flight up to Minneapolis today. However, the flight has not been canceled. My original flight was canceled yesterday, but I noticed it while checking my stock of frequent flier miles and managed to jump into the last remaining seat on a slightly earlier flight.

Minnesota knitters have warned me that the local forecast calls for rain, snow, hail, pestilence, earthquakes, dead arising from their graves, hay fever, and unattended toddlers, so I've packed accordingly. Unfortunately even my large suitcase isn't big enough for the collapsible harpoon, so I'll have to make do with a dpn if the situation arises.

Dolores and Harry are coming along, but they have opted to forego air travel entirely and will head north on Amtrak. Harry is excited at the prospect of lunch in the dining car, and Dolores is excited at the prospect of eight hours in a vibrating seat.

If all goes well, I look forward to meeting bunches of you tomorrow at Yarnover, although I'm skittish about following close on the heels of Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's visit, which was also sponsored by The Yarnery. It's a bit like having the Rolling Stones open for the Jonas Brothers.

What I really want is to some day tour with Stephanie. You know, like that gaggle of blue-collar comedy guys who all tell jokes about living in a swamp and sleeping with their first cousins? For our finale we'd sing the bluegrass classic "Will the Circle Be Unbroken," with Stephanie playing the banjo and me on the bull fiddle, only with new lyrics about sock knitting.

Hey, Steph, you in?

And Now, A Little Message for China