Harvests.

My favourite time of year, and, after thirty-five years of full-time work, I have moved to three days a week. Hopefully those golden autumn days will see me out on a hike, instead of emerging at dusk with a pile of marking still to do. We'll see.
A bumper onion harvest this year, after a dry season, the rain only arriving once they were out of the ground. Our fear is that white rot will have set in and they won't be keepers. But for now, the store is full to bursting. Garlics grew for the first time, too.






















Pears from our two trees, and apples various. Pears are a mixed blessing: so luscious but ripening all at once so that there is a glut which can't be saved or stored. We have our own apples but the Bramley has been cordoned and produces a small quantity. This year, for the first time, I spotted a tree with huge cooking apples in the hedge on our allotment ground, while picking brambles. So we have been enjoying Brown Betties and Charlottes and Eve's Pudding.






And on my first day off, a quick trawl of the charity shops after a hair-cut unearthed a harvest of a different kind: two brand-new blouses in Liberty fabrics. Cost to me: £3.50 each. Cost from the companies on-line: £55.00 each. My pleasure in wearing them will be massively enhanced by this knowledge.

Catching up

Some time since I posted, so long it is hard to know what is worth recording.

Knitting first: Two more panels of the Celtic throw almost complete - the duplicates of the previous ones for symmetry. Now we have been able to photograph the replica of Gosforth cross which stands in the churchyard of St Kentigern's in Aspatria, it becomes clear to me that the central panel needs to feature two opposing cables terminating in animal heads - like sea serpents.


Elsebeth Lavold managed this on the sweater she designed for her husband, and I can see it could be adapted from a pattern for a toy - a giraffe, say - and applied in low relief. not exactly mindless knitting to work this out. The blond cables to divide the panels, on the other hand, should be easy to set up.












I am almost done on a cardigan adapting the Sirdar pattern I used earlier in the year. Some time ago, at Woolfest, I bought a skein of very expensive handspun, hand-dyed, russet colours. As usual, no use for this came to me, but I used some in the Newfoundland Mittens last year. Now, I have used a chevron lace instead of feather and fan, and incuded a section of the handspun at the sleeve-ends. This will feature also on the front panel. The lovely russet colours really "pop" against the olive green.















Thirdly, a pair of Opel socks on the needles, made more satisfying by finding the yarn and pattern in a charity-shop for £1.30. Lovely, dense wool it is too.















The summer found us in Fife, "where the Norweyan banners flout the sky and fan our people cold", I find myself adding, inevitably. Somehow, I had expected open moorland and fellside, but the richness of this lowland farming country is evidenced by the sheer number of castles, most of which we visited.

First, To Stirling, where the thing that cought my eye was the tapestry project in the castle. Of course, it is really no different from restoring the roof or replicating the roof-bosses, but surely there is something odd in commissioning such time-consuming works but choosing such a well-known series as the Unicorn tapestries. Would it not have been better to locate a more obscure , contemporary model? It just strikes me as the equivalent of hearing Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" one more time.














A relaxed day in Culross, where the National Trust has created a sense of a past that never was, Culross having actually earned its living by salt pans and smelting, featuring large amounts of coal smoke. In the palace, something I've never seen before: themed needlework in every room, produced by a very active local group. Bargello seat covers, crewel-work window seats, samplers - it really made the rooms alive for me.














A walk and demanding climb up West Lomond, from which the whole Forth was visible.














Pittenweem Arts Festival with many studios open,most impressive the lovely pottery in the Page Gallery - if only one's kitchen had that pared-down simplicity
A glorious day walking from Anstruther to Crail, the sky burning blue for our lunchtime picnic.















And then the homely glory of St Andrews: I don't often find myself yearning to be a student again but three years here, with constant access to that glorious beach, seems like an attractive prospect.

Work in Progress

A rainy Sunday: who would have guessed that this would be a rare event? Our allotment is drinking in the moisture and all the dormant weeds are getting ready to pounce, but a window opens for blogging.

I usually only post finished items, but it would be a long wait for this blanket. I had the idea before we set off for Sweden last year, having read of Elsebeth Lavold's translations of Viking knotwork from standing stones. We saw plenty of those, although travelling and complex knitting do not mix for me.




Instead, I chose to use two knotwork designs from St*rmore's "Celtic Collection", from the sweater called "Cromarty". It is wonderfully ornate, looks great on the waif wearing it, but would make me look very squat indeed. As a set of knots , however, it's fairly straightforward. So then, the notion is to alternate these complex designs with strips of narrower, rope-like cables, either in natural aran or in pale terracotta. I am drawn to the latter because, in West Cumbria, there are to be found some Viking crosses covered in Celtic knotwork, the material of which is red sandstone. The cross at Gosforth is particularly famous as its slender shaft carries four different stories. I am hoping to create some kind of visual reference to these crosses in the cabling on the blanket.

At present, however, what I have are two seven inch strips of knotwork in pale duck-egg blue. Symmetry will almost certainly demand that I knit at least one of these again to create a matched pair. It's a work in progress, as I say.

Reading about Uk Ravelry Day on Jean's blog, I havered over pros and cons: Coventry is a two and a half hour's drive for me, but Meg Swansen and Jared Flood were to be there. Then, Jean directs me to go, and I buy my tickets without a second thought. How to explain that reasoning to others? I don't have tickets for Jared's sessions - already full - but only for Meg's big presentation. Now the question is, whether to book for the September I-Knit event with Alice St*rmore? What does Jean think?

Living in hope

At last: a finished item. A cardigan knit to Sirdar 9074 for myself.
In fact, the light does the colour no favours, as the yarn, bought fronm the Trefiw Woollen Mills in Snowdonia, is a lovely dark heathered purple, very rich at close quarters.

I bought 14 balls and tried a couple of patterns without feeling convinced. This one is very simple but the front borders are picked up and knit from tiny side fronts. Then it's just feather and fan, four inches deep. I could see a number of ways in which this might fail dismally.

What's more, a week or two ago I popped into Oxfam and spotted a turquoise rendering of this pattern, freshly knit and obviously sent in depair to the charity shop. Something about the setting in of the sleeves, it might have been. So I wasn't totally convinced that this would fit, especially as I seem to have at least five balls left over - how can that be?
In fact it fits neatly and looks great, the scalloped edge of the feather and fan forming a pleasant edge to edge effect.
Today, the first mowing of the lawn as Spring moves ahead. In the garden, pear blossom just bursting through, and grape hyacinths in full bloom.

On the allotment, we have put in parsnip, beet, carrots, leek and lettuces, and planted the first row of early potatoes. Onions and garlic are already established. It is only a week since we ate the last of the parsnips, the flesh sweetened by the frosts. Parsnips seem much more resistant to pests than carrots which everything else eats before we get them.

Seed Beds

Can it be so long since I posted? A lowering chest infection, allied to a visit from friends requiring a major house-clean and followed by the long awaited Ofsted inspection - all these have prolonged the hiatus.

First up, the Noro scarf. This was interesting to knit, though how people knit three in a row, I don't know. There were several knots, involving quite sudden colour shifts. And it was bought at full price, which isn't my usual practice.


However, it does turn heads and surprise people, because they may be everywhere in blogland, but not in Braintree.

The colour shifts are quite lovely, and I was surprised by how one colourway did not repeat the same colour sequence in the second skein, but introduced new mixes.

The most downbeat response I had was from a fellow knitter who told me that her mother used to knit scarves like it from her scrapbag. I don't think she can have looked properly.




Next, I found myself knitting a tea-cosy, almost an exact replica of one in our kitchen drawer knit by my late mother-in -law many years ago, and which we never use. This one was requested by one of my team, a young man who described his ideal Saturdays as lingering over the papers with a pot of tea. I was pleased to be able to oblige.

Quite a cheerful effect, and knit from leftover yarn, so costing nothing.

In between, a dark green ribbed scarf for another colleague, but no picture to go with it. With double knitting used double this was a quick and very effective knit.

So then, the allotment. Three weeks it has been fine enough to dig and we have made good progress, even though we have to ease ourselves back in to this level of physical activity, after the winter.

My husband, planting up the onion bed.

Images of the allotment tend to focus on its scruffy side, but to be up there as a fine March breeze blows across to dry the soil, and to be pottering about from job to job in the Spring sunshine - most of all, to be ready to go home, tired but content: these are some of the pleasures of life - or,at least, of middle age.

Little fingers

Fingerless gloves in pink for Katie, aged six. An acrylic/polyester mix called Stretch, and a pig to knit with.

Just what the Christmas holidays need to give a sense of purpose: focused knitting to clear requirements - pink, purple, green - without that doubt which surrounds knitting for actual gifts. As someone said, simultaneously too much and not enough.



In purple, for Holly, aged eight. This time a variegated wool yarn with more cling, so a more forgiving knit.
Finally,


in dark green for William, aged five.

The delight with which these were greeted made the separate picking up and knitting of those forty little fingers and thumbs worthwhile - forty, as Amy already had hers.

On a different tack, I called at Indigo, in Penrith, on the way to our cottage. A moment of pure indulgence in treating myself to four balls of Noro Silk Garden to knit the inevitable ribbed scarf. Not sure that it really holds the attention to the extent that I would find it worthwhile knitting another, but I had to have it after seeing the photo of Franklin outside the Ritz wearing one.

New Year's resolution: At this point, after two weeks of rest and recuperation, making the effort to be more sociable seems like a realistic plan. After two weeks of school, doubtless previous reclusive habits will prove irresistible. The world is too much with us, late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers...

Visible and Invisible knitting

Comes the Christmas hols at last: long hours snugged down with little to do - ideal knitting time. So this is the time that the itchy rash on my left hand kicks in severely enough to keep me awake at night. I consider a work glove for my left hand only. I'm convinced it is shampoo which is the cause as it's only my left hand. Washing in rubber gloves is very odd.
Just an odd suspicion that it could be fibre related, although why just the one hand is the mystery.

My last pair of Newfoundland Mittens, in Jamieson and Smith scraps of Autumnal colours. Running out of one dark earth colour, I combine two strands of a brown and a deep mauve. I am amazed to see that it blends in right away. All these pairs have now been gifted.


Next up was the invisible knitting: black cashmere and merino linings for my red Komi mittens. A thin wind blew straight through these on the Lorton walk last year, so the lining is essential. Let's hope the weather allows for airy but not damp walking.



Then, a project I have been putting off: Fingerless gloves for a 10 year old. Short fingered gloves actually, and very fiddly to make. What's more to the point, no child's hand to check out the fit. But, with the body in two by two rib, these are very forgiving, and seem to have passed the cool test. Bit too cool for me in mid-winter. Now I only need to knit a pair for the 8 year old, the 6 year old and the 5 year old.

Among my souvenirs

What would the collective noun be for mittens? A clutch? A handful? These are Newfoundland Mittens,the beauty of which is that they are knit in one colour at a time, the slip stitches suggesting otherwise. And they use hardly any of each yarn, so the remnants from sock knitting or that odd skein bought some time ago, turn out to be perfectly adequate. Add to this a quick turnaround, with a finished item always in view and they form the ideal winter project.

Summer, however, usually finds me searching for that elusive textile treasure. Having once picked up a stunning white quilt in France for under twenty pounds, I remain convinced that neglected gems are still out there and find myself incapable of passing a Brocante without checking it out. The quilt, it turned out, was English, seventeenth century, and not unlike one in the Burrell collection.




Here, we have a sampler, found in the scruffiest of village vide-greniers in the Auvergne. It was filthy, stained, crumpled. Gradually, I noticed that the same three letters are repeated in different styles. Who was this girl, and why did she stop where she did, when the letters are so very ambitious and the stitching so very regular? After a little pre-testing of a thread end, I boiled it in Persil, not without trepidation, and it was transformed.

Odds and Ends

That's an awful lot of pumpkin. My first soups, pepped up with curry spices, didn't get over the essential wateriness of the vegetable, its tendency to puree without being blended. It need something very pungent to permeate its blandness. A small amount of bacon scraps, fried to release the fat and brine, had just that smoky saltiness it needed. That, and the roasting of the cubed pumpkin to dry it out a little. A bowl of this was very welcome on a wet November evening.

Then, what about pumpkin pie? Trawling the Net for a recipe proved how many variations there might be on this theme. My local shop was out of some key ingredients, such as maple syrup, and pastry is something I've never mastered. Instead, I believe I have invented a completely new dessert here. Most of a pack of Hobnobs with about two ounces of butter to make a crust. Two eggs beaten with milk, brown sugar and cinnamon to bind it all and roasted pumpkin as the filling. Baked for forty-five minutes, by which time the biscuit of the crust has assimilated with the egg mixture to form a kind of parkin around the pumpkin pieces. I could see us having this again, or maybe something else completely unexpected, dependent on the store cupboard.

Pumpkin Eaters

The harvesting of the pumpkins: much to-ing and fro-ing with the wheelbarrow and an attempt at the world's strongest woman contest. Such glorious autumn weather, so that we were able to clear the bean row, the corn patch and the courgettes. How bucolic that sounds!

Weighing in at 30 pounds, the big one beat those grown by the nurseryman who has the plot just over from us. Not that we were trying for a record with these. But I did notice last year how well they stored into real winter. And I do like the idea of produce stashed away against the cold.

Turkish slippers

A pair of fancy knitted slippers, given to me by my sister, who bought them from a stall in a street market in Istanbul. It is part of the challenge of the holiday to locate a little something which will suit the taste of the recipient, while also redolent of the place visited. Over the years, I've been gifted reindeer horn buttons from Iceland and Mountain Colours sock yarn, on this principle.




The slippers are of interesting construction: DK, starting with an 8 stitch strip for the heel . This is knit for abour four inches, then stitches picked up on each side, probably on two separate needles. After about four inches of Garter, this is joined and a stocking stitch Fair Isle section begins. The decreases for the toe are on every round, at the top and bottom of the foot, so as to create a pointed toe. The final section is Kitchenered, so there is no seaming involved. The top edge is then finished with a row of crochet. I could see these being travel slipers, as they are flat to pack.




On the mitten front: I was pleased that the mittens finally arrived in Rochester, after more than two months travel. It had seemed silly to send them air-mail when it was still summer, but I wasn't expecting it to take this long.



Meanwhile, Helena has named me as a "Blog she likes to read", which makes me feel a fraud as I post so rarely. I have enjoyed seeing new blog titles mentioned on this scheme, however. I always read Jean Miles, as she posts daily and always has something of interest to say. I also love Knitting on Impulse and Little Cotton Rabbit. Both of these are the work of artists in colour and design, very different in style but very beautiful to look at.

Harlot Saturday

First, the latest shawl for the Wrapped in Care project. This one a lovely mixture of colours, remarkably subtle for such a budget purchase. The pattern is simply that basic triangle, with moss stich on alternate chevrons to give some textural interest. I hope it does give some comfort to the recipient.

On Saturday, to London to the i-Knit event in Westminster, to hear Stephanie Pearl-Mcphee, the Yarn Harlot. I have been amazed by her posts on London in the last few days. How many of us could hit the National Gallery, jet-lagged, exhausted and basically lost, and write so well and with such relish about the paintings there? The times I have visited galleries while abroad and been already footsore and past it before I even reached the art-works. Venice, now, is as she describes, an unexpected treasure at every turn, but who would see London in that way?

So, her talk was a delight, her accent and delivery slow and warm. Knowing her audience obviously helped, as it must have done over all those other dates on the tour, but she was funny and serious, not the easiest combination to manage. And the audience! Looking along the row it seemed like everyone in the place took out their work in progress and knit through the talk. Where else would that happen? Yet how many meetings and courses might be vastly improved if it were the norm? Someone was even spinning with a drop spindle - this seemed a bit extreme, as the range of movement required was wider.

The mittens I knit that day, one during that talk.

With me at the fair was my sister. We found just watching the crowd fascinating: the range of hand-knits on display. Always a fine line, that one, even at a knitting event. Large shawls may once have been universal female dress, as in Mitchell and Kenyon's films of factory workers coming off shift, but what messages do they send on a wet Saturday in September in broad daylight? Small shawls seemed like the way to go, not least because the price of lace-weight never fails to astound.

Sweden

I often feel that I am bound to be disappointed in my holiday experiences. This is because the places I wish to visit are romanticised versions of the past: they don't exist now, but they probably didn't exist then either. I want to see the herringboats returning to the little villages where the fisher-wives hug their shawls about them, their needles busy with the need to clothe their families against the bitter cold. I want cedar chests of patterned bodices and knitted red braces, boiled wool jackets - that sort of thing.



So, now, who knew that Sweden is a hot country? Who could have guessed that we'd be grateful for air-conditioning in the alarmingly luxurious spa hotel where we found ourselves in Gothenburg? Who knew that the city was hosting a gig by Iron Maiden whose fans would arrive in their thousands just as we did?


We explored the Bohuslan coast and the museum at Uddevalla, hoping for inspirational examples of Bohus knitting. In fact, the kits in the gift-shop were strikingly more alive than the exhibits. Commmercial hand-knitting with very fine yarn - 3-ply, it looked like, is definitely a thing of the past.


On to Gotland, an island where the sheep features heavily. In Visby, a walled Hanseatic town, a brilliant museum full of Viking picture stones and silver hoards - one find per year still on Gotland, so rich they were, from trade in Baltic beeswax, apparently.


In the town centre, a shop full of pared down linen clothes and wool and linen yarn- Yllet - they have a website. And a different shop with this simple style:














Gotland itself is dry and gritty, at least in August. We saw many wonderful church interiors; there are 92 built prior to 1361. And more of the picture stones, some in the church-yards, some in the open-air museum at Bunge.




At Orebro, a spectacular Slott and very civilised public gardens full of sculpture leading to Wadkoping, a collection of wooden houses and craftworkshops.

Orebro, castle

Then, finally, to Stockholm, where the wonders of Internet booking found us on a motor-yacht, once, briefly the property of Barbara Hutton, given to her as an 18th birthday present by her father, just as WW2 broke out, it seems. Moored alongside Riddarholmen in Lake Mallaren, the equivalent of the Thames just by the House of Lords, it was ideally located. The restaurant, as the sun set, offered this spectacular view, of what is apparently City Hall, built 1915. Probably better not to know that.

Stockholm, sunset.

Mittens finale

This is what 400 gm of Aran yarn looks like translated into 11 pairs of mittens. I got to six and considered moving on, but then I thought I would just see how many pairs I could get out of the ball. That's £2.50 worth of yarn.

Why was this project so compelling? Well, the pattern by Elizabeth Durand was both convincing and easy to memorise. I converted it to two needles as I don't have four needles that size.

Then, it was really quick to complete a pair - one pair I knocked up while chatting to a friend as she got ready to leave after a short stay. I was also intrigued at the idea of school age children who would actually wear hand-knitted items. The average Braintree child would freeze to death rather than wear something not made by Nike.

This is my piece de resistance, the only pair which demanded any thought. Basically it's a motif from Alice St*rmore's book "Fishermen's Swe*ters", just placed on the back of the mitt, and fancy cabled ribs. I can't decide whether the effect is unbalanced and clumsy, or unusual and appealing. It was certainly a clever technique for closing the motif at the top.

Rochester Mittens

Six pairs of mittens for a charity appeal based in Rochester, N.Y.

I was inspired to knit these by two things. One, a comment on my blog by a librarian in Rochester blogging as http://raveller.blogspot.com/ Just Another Raveler. She went on to post a wonderful image of blue hostas just for me. I'm a sucker for the enthusiastic response, which seems to me more American than British.

Secondly, the fact that I had bought a giant ball of blue wool from the stock of a wool shop which Kerrie and her partner at Hipknits had bought in Scotland and shipped down. I picked this up really cheaply. It's only 20% wool but the rest is Courtelle and it certainly has a lovely handle.

I was reminded, as I knit the pair with the star design from Sheila Mcgregor's Fair Isle knitting patterns book, just how motivating it is to knit simple geometric designs.

The story on the appeal references the work of one Mrs Nellis in 1933 organising a drive for knitted clothes in Rochester. I am surprised that there is the same need in 2008, but it appears to be so.

Ribbons

This is Ribbons by Sasha Kagan. It's in Jand S jumperweight, a yarn which holds layers of memories for me.

I first met it in Whitby, in a shop called "The Shepherd's Purse". I'll never forget the impact of seeing, in effect, the whole shade card range in skeins hanging from a line across the shop. On that occasion, I bought navy and three shades of mauve for a a striped sweater. That would have been in the early 80s.

Sasha Kagan's book was published in 84 and I must have bought it soon after. The yarn for this was bought in the now defunct but much mentioned "Art Needlework Industries" shop in Oxford, again a treaure house of colour and texture.

Sadly, when I visited the actual premises of J and S in Lerwick I was very disappointed. This was in 2000, so it may have changed since. It was as if Kaffe had never existed; in fact, the view seemed to be that his technique, presumably of darning in the ends, was not up to snuff. But what of his technique of using colour in surprising and pleasing ways? The whole place seemed to be stuck somewhere about 1958. Very sad.

Pansies

Yesterday, to a reunion of old colleagues from thirty years ago, at the home of a very dear friend. Sunshine and showers, walks in woodland, lively conversation and delicious food - the ideal summer Saturday.

This little cardigan is from Sasha Kagan's book, "The Sasha Kagan Sweater Book" published in 1984. It was fun to knit because it had white mohair bands and silver lurex stripes behind the flowers.

I was amazed to find that my friend, who is modelling it here, had kept it stored over several house moves. I don't think I would still fit into items I wore in 1984. Only the pleated sleeve caps really reveal its vintage, and the mohair bands have felted a little. However, the colours retain their freshness and the Jand S jumper weight yarn has held up very well.

Wrapped in Care 2

Another shawl in this periwinkle yarn for the Wrapped in Care programme. This one is the simplest triangle with some YOs added for interest. It was a pleasure to knit, although it takes some time to achieve an appropriate width at the top. I'm using straight needles so it is very bunched up by that point. Casting off is a revelation.

Last weekend, I compared notes with my work mates on plans for Saturday. The highlight of my day was to be collecting a load of well-rotted FYM from a colleague's field where she keeps horses. Even I thought it sounded downbeat as a leisure activity.

Saturday dawned to quite heavy rain, but it faired up enough to allow us to set out. In heavy drizzle, we clambered acroos the midden to reach the well-rotted sector, ankle deep in horse-muck. Twelve bags later, we drove off, filthy and sweating, but feeling that we had got a treasure.

Wrapped in Care

A simple shawl for the charity Wrapped in Care which provides shawls for mothers.

It's a lovely colour: periwinkle, my favourite after a deep peacock green. What's more, the project specified easy care yarn, and this is 100% acrylic at £1 per 100 grams.

The pattern is Matilda, free on Kate Blackburn's site. Very easy to knit, once I had got over a major misreading of the first line and decided to fare forward hopefully, essentially knitting half a shawl, upside down. I don't think you would be able to tell.

harvests

First, some of the fifteen hats, sweet as slices of Battenburg, knitted for the Save the children appeal publicised in "Woman's Weekly", that ancient home of the knitter. The premise is that new-borns lose heat rapidly so hats will save lives. Let's hope it is so. I was less convinced by the injunction to attach a label to each one berating Gordon Brown for his failings. In some world weary corner of my mind,I wonder if that, rather than the knitting, was the point of the campaign.

Next, gooseberries from our allotment. We planted four bushes, thinking of jam, sturdy and reliable producers They are certainly that: unlike tenderer fruit, they overwhelm us with their bounty each year. This is a small proportion of what one bush has produced.

Finally, the green house on our plot. This is the ancestral greenhouse which we dismantled in Ealing and transported to Essex. Months of restoration followed. Then we realised that, although useful as a store and as a shelter, it did not work for plants as it easily became too hot and they dried out.

One day in 2006, we visited the plot after a dreadful storm to find no greenhouse, but shards of glass and splintered wood everywhere. A weaker man might have called it a day at this point, but not my husband; this was his grandfather's greenhouse after all. Weeks of toil saw it restored to its former state, but with several cunning additions; metal stakes in each corner to anchor it and nylon rope over the roofridge lashing it to its breeze-block base. And both of us thoroughly enjoyed the shared project: simple physical work in the open air, re-using old materials, holding on to the past.