train socks

After finishing up my business in Boston, I took the Acela train down to Washington, DC. What a civilized way to travel! Six and a half hours of peace and scenery. I watched the morning sun glitter on the Atlantic Ocean. I spotted a great blue heron standing among reeds, and a young eagle flying with a wriggling fish in its talons. And somewhere along the way, I pulled out a pair of socks to work on.


The socks are improvised toe-up socks with slipped stitches, short row heels, and two variations of ribbing at the cuff. Yarn is Fleece Artist Sea Wool in "Midnight." They're for my sister.

These were the infamous socks that I'd started on the trip to India. I worked on them everywhere, even while riding a camel, but I most associate them with our epic overnight train ride from Jaisalmer to Delhi. By that point, I'd finished one sock and was at the heel of the second. But I could not for the life of me get that damned heel right.


I was knitting in bad light, in motion, with a hungry stomach, a caffeine-withdrawal headache, and frayed nerves due to horrible and unpredictable train delays. I kept making mistakes that I wouldn't catch until hours later.

By the fourth time that I had to rip out the heel, I burst into tears and banished the socks to the bottom of my bag. It was, shall we say, not my best moment. It's taken months to work up the courage to pull them out again. But now you know why it was fitting to re-start them on a train trip and why I'm so relieved to have them finished.


Do you know what I realized as I was sewing in the ends? The parallel lines of ribbing at the top evoke train tracks for me. It's a subtle reminder of the journey made by these socks.

And keeping in the poetic train vein, have a listen to Feist + Ben Gibbard's haunting version of Train Song. My sister introduced me to it some months ago for us to sing together, and it's been running through my head as I wrote up this post.

Claybrook Farm

I'm back in Boston this week. It's been splendid: the hustle and bustle of the city, the scent of lilacs and lily-of-the-valley, good friends, greenness. Loveliest of all, on Sunday I got to visit Claybrook Farm and get a dose of rural New England perfection.


The farm is owned by my friend's aunt Charlotte, who has a fantastic quilting studio in the 18th century barn. It was such a pleasure to see her artistry and craftsmanship, not to mention the most incredible fabric stash you've ever seen! I wish that I'd taken photos of her work to show you, too, but pretty soon you'll be able to see some of them on her new blog, Claybrook Farm Quilts, which we set up while I was there.

They also keep a small flock of Shetland lambs. There's "Patches" leading the charge downhill, and later captured competently in Emaline's arms. I got to snuggle a little lamb, too, but I realize now that I was holding it as if it were a cat.




We got a real kick out of the chickens, too. Even got to catch some of 'em!




Both of these dear friends are knitters, by the way. My friend on the left is the one who taught me to knit while rambling around Peru during college. Someday I'll tell the story ... maybe on my 10-year knitting anniversary next year.

wabi-sabi coasters

I had a bit of yarn left over from the Katarina Cardigan. Would've been such a shame to waste it. Inexplicably, I decided to make coasters.


I cast on 8 stitches at the center and worked my way outwards on double-pointed needles, increasing 8 stitches every other row. I was hoping that it would smooth into a circle, but with such a small piece of knitting, the corners of the hexagon stand out.


For the backing, I used a few scraps of linen fabric, left over from my Cro-Magnon dress. I traced out the blocked hexagons, added an extra inch or so, sewed around the edges, turned right-side out, and zig-zagged the knitting on top.

Here's what it looks like on the bottom. I'm digging the wonky thread tension. Gives it a wabi-sabi quality. Makes me want to run my finger along it.


I like these coasters well enough, but I have to say that they took a stupid amount of time considering how small they are.

Katarina Cardigan

This sweet little cardigan is finally, finally finished. I'm pleased as punch!


Basic details: based on the Katarina Cardigan by Cocoknits. Knit on size 6 needles in my Spring 2009 share of wool/mohair yarn from Juniper Moon Farm. I modified the heck out of this garment -- gauge, sizing, armscye depth, sleeve cap shaping, waist shaping, border stitch, collar depth -- but I think it was worth it to get the fit that I wanted.




That said, it was quite a saga, with much gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair along the way! Let me remind you ...

On a lark, I cast on in February. I finished the main body by early March, but the edging was not to my liking and I had to cut it off and re-knit. I finished the collar by mid-March, but I didn't like how it flared and had to re-knit it as well. I slogged through the sleeves by late March. And then it took me a month to knit the sleeves caps nearly a dozen times until they were right.


But I'm happy in the end. And I don't even care that it's finished in time for 96 degree weather .... I'll pack it away in lavender for the summer and look forward to wearing it come autumn.

desert day

It was a weekend of unseasonably mild weather before the summer heats sets in.

An old friend blew into town, and we had a brilliant day hiking up the Peralta Trail in the Superstition Mountains. Here's the view northwards to Weaver's Needle:


My favorite desert flowers -- ocotillo, yucca, prickly pear, cholla, brittlebush - were out in force, shimmering in the harsh sun in vibrant hues of orange and yellow and magenta. It amazes me that such an unforgiving landscape can produce such delicate and ephemeral blooms.



I had yarn and needles tucked into my backpack. I always do. This was to be a Vermont shawl, which I need to test knit in a commercially available yarn before I can release the pattern. I was trying out a sportweight alpaca in heathered greens. I worked on it throughout the evening, too, but I decided I didn't like it in this heavier weight, so I unraveled it after all that.


No matter. That was a minor point to the day. I was just happy to be out there, drinking in this beauty.

homemade heating pad

The thing I like best about sewing is that the results are so immediate and functional. Take this project: a heating pad and cover in a simple, natural, cotton muslin.


I've been dealing with a hurt muscle that needs some heat to unknot it. I sketched out an idea for a heating pad. Swung by the fabric store for some unbleached cotton muslin and the natural foods store for some bulk brown rice. Ironed, measured, sewed, filled, and stencilled.


And in an evening, I crafted myself the perfect heating pad. I can heat it up in the microwave in just a minute or two. It's just the size I wanted. It has an earthy, nutty smell when I've heated it up. It soothes my sore muscles and makes me happy.


And it happens to perfectly match the vase of mint that I've had on the windowsill. I love it when small things fit.

issues

This little shawlette is really pissing me off.


I don't know if I even feel like writing about it, it grates me so just to look at it! But here's the short version: it was meant to be a simple experiment in shaping, with slightly more than a half-circle shape, and an edging of bobbles like raindrops hovering on the edge of a leaf.

The fabric flowed off my needles. The shaping is fine enough for an experimental piece. But the edging has been hanging me up for days.


I decided I didn't like the bobbles that I'd swatched. I tried bobbles in five different sizes, with different spacings and techniques. I tried to do a knitted-on lace edging. Three ways. I tried several different types of crocheted edgings. Thought I'd gotten it right, then came up 5 yards of yarn short. I unravelled the edging yet again, made some adjustments to save on yarn, didn't like it, and ran out of yarn anyways.

So that's where I am. Frustrated with all the hours wasted. Not liking the garment. Considering frogging it so that it doesn't mock me from the knitting basket.


Leila came over to investigate while I was taking photos. She walked across it and was not impressed.

weekend knitting

Classic weekend view ....


Knitting between climbs in the great outdoors. Sun glinting off my needles. Peace and quiet.

And, yes, that is a ball of Noro Cash Iroha sitting in the dirt. It'll all come out in the blocking.


Between the driving and down-time knitting yesterday, I nearly finished the small shawlette I'd started that morning. If all goes well (by which I mean that this improvised shawlette miraculously came out the way I'd hoped) it'll be finished and blocked this evening.

blue contemplation

How good it felt to sew the ends in on this little project!


The yarn is naturally dyed wool that I bought from Earth Arts when I visited her New Mexico studio/home last summer. I started knitting it into a Contemplation Pouch last autumn. I don't know why it took me so long to knit on the strap ...

But I'm happy in the end! The yarn is a little sturdier than the other wools that I used in the pattern, and it's a little bigger, too. It's the perfect wee bag to carry my iPod, phone, and leash on my morning walks.


(I tried to get a photo of myself wearing it for scale. At least you get a peek at the cat in the background!)

In other news, we finally put up a laundry line! We've been air drying our clothes on a wooden rack ever since we moved to Arizona, but never got around to installing a line. We finally did it last week, and it's great!


Again, I don't know why it took us so long; once I decided it was time, it only took half an hour to pick it up at the hardware store and install it (or rather, tell Mountain Man to do it, ha ha!).

branching out

Rock towers and desert in the first morning sun, seen through the screen of our tent. A beautiful scene to wake up to on a Sunday morning ...


As for the crafting, well, I sincerely thought that I'd be finished with the white cardigan by this weekend, but I've gotten all fumbled up trying to modify the sleeve caps. I find it so aggravating that I may very well never finish it.

I sorted through my many unfinished projects to find something more finishable to bring along, and I found this little gem: a Contemplation bag in naturally-dyed wool. It was knitted and embroidered when I was in Taos last fall and has been waiting for a strap ever since.


I half finished knitting the strap in between climbs on Saturday and completely finished it on the drive home. Now it just needs to have the ends sewn in, and I'll give it a proper showing.

While pulling out this project on Friday afternoon, I remembered how much I loved its delicate branch motif. It was inspired by a wind-blown branch in an old Buddhist painting. I wanted to explore other ways of incorporating it into my crafting, so on Friday evening I cut out a stencil of it and painted it onto a few pieces of chocolate-brown cotton jersey.


For my first experience with fabric stenciling, it was surprisingly smooth and satisfying.

My grand plan was to make the "Reverse-Applique Bandana" from the amazing Alabama Stitch Book. It's made out of two layers of cotton jersey. You stencil the top fabric, stitch the two fabrics together around the stenciled shapes, and then careful snip out most of the stenciled fabric. In the finished project, you get glimpses of the bottom fabric, framed by a hint of the paint and hand-stitching.

This part for me did not go as smoothly. Fortunately, I'd also stenciled onto scrap fabric to practice first. Here it is, with my reverse applique experimentation ....


It was rather slow-going and uneven, since I'm a rusty hand-sewer. But the real issue was that the reverse applique was a bit too textured for me, at least in these colors (high contrast) and with this stencil (smaller than with the sample stencil that comes with the book).

I much preferred the simple lines of the printed fabric. So, in the end, that's what I decided to go with. For the rest of the weekend, I simply used the stenciled triangle of fabric as my bandana.


Ha ha, sort of a silly look, I know. But I do wear a bandana a fair bit when we're out camping and climbing (as evidenced here, here, and here) so this will become a staple in my outdoors kit!

Isolation Canyon

Weekend in Isolation Canyon, camping and climbing. Here's what it looks like from the rim of the canyon (with me, crouching at the top of a climb)

I feel like my eyes have been dulled by the yards of white wool and natural linen passing through my fingers. What a refreshing shock it was to be on the quartzite walls, my face literally pressed into the rock's warm hues.


It was a real sensory pleasure to be out there. Enjoying the chatter of the birds, the rushing of water, the silence of night. The aromas of woodsmoke and morning coffee and sunbaked pine needles.


And all the beautiful textures ... to have hands gripping rock, grasping for sturdy branches, plunging into cold water, digging through rich earth, ruffling through happy dog fur.


Those hands were knitting, too. My clean hands project was the sleeves of my white wool cardigan. My dirty hands project was my mystery shawl in gray wool. Neither is much to show now, but hopefully the cardigan will be finished by our camping trip next week!

linen & leather

I've started sewing. It's rather free-form ... I don't really know what I'm doing, but I'm having a ball playing around with fabrics and simple garment construction.

My initial pieces are in a linen-blend fabric. I cut out an A-line shape that's just big enough to fit over my hips. Sewed up the side seams, hemmed the bottom, threaded elastic into the top hem, and voila!


My sister teased that I looked like I was wearing a gunny sack, but I was undeterred. I love this skirt. LOVE it. Love it so much that I turned the remaining fabric into a dress.

I had just enough fabric to cut out another version, with the same skirt but then continuing straight upward into a tube top. I hemmed the bottom and top. Threaded 1/8" elastic into the top. Stiched on some simple straps made from scrap fabric. And sewed a wide belt out of linen fabric and a remnant of leather.


The first straps I'd sewn on were of leather, too. Two inches wide. But when Mountain Man started to tease me about how I'd need to carry a wooden club as an accessory, I decided to back off the cavewoman look and just keep leather at the belt.

I'm exceedingly proud of the belt. I built it around an asymmetrical scrap of soft, olive-colored suede that I'd found at a fabric store. I cut two piece of linen that were about an inch bigger around than the piece of leather, and which then tapered to narrow ties, about five feet long in all. I sewed the right sides of the linen pieces together, turned it inside out, top-stitched the linen, and then laboriously hand-sewed the leather on top with buttonhole thread.


The hand-stitching through the leather took a painful 2 hours, even though it was just a simple basting stitch. All I can say is that it was damn good that the one sewing book I've bought so far is the amazing Alabama Stitch Book. It emphasizes the artisanal art of hand-sewing and applique. And it taught me to "love" my thread before I start stitching (I thought this was silly when I first read it, but it started to make sense when I was in the depths of frustration with the stitching).

Anyways, these are simple pieces, but I'm happy. Here's one more shot for the full "cro-magnon couture" effect, along with my cave bear ...

desert afternoon

By nature, I am not a person of the desert. But this landscape is slowly seeping into my being.


Mountain Man and I drove out to the McDowell Mountains today for an afternoon of rock climbing. It was breathtakingly beautiful, with springtime wildflowers and the honeyed sunshine of late afternoon. Deep blue lupines, radiant golden poppies, and luxuriant green grasses carpeted the hillslopes. Here and there, a Parry's Penstemon stood up like a fuschia sparkler.


The most exhilarating part of the day was our encounter with a Red-Tailed Hawk. While we were up on the cliff, the hawk kept soaring back and forth below us. It was magnificent, and I felt my heart skip a beat every time I saw it fly past or heard its call.


We reckoned that the hawk's nest was on the same granite crag that we were climbing, but we had no idea how close we'd come to it until we were rappelling down at the very end of the day. The crack that we'd just climbed took us within 20 feet of that beautiful bird's nest.


It was a spectacular feat of engineering, carefully constructed some 100 feet up the face of the cliff. Inside the nest, nestled among soft grasses and leaves and feathers, were three perfect eggs. Magical.


Back down at the ground, we watched the mama bird swoop back in to her nest and hunker down. She must have been relieved to see us off the cliff, and we, in turn, were relieved to see her return.

There was some knitting today, but it seems prosaic after all this natural splendor, so I think I'll leave that to talk about another day.