Setesdal
Sunday morning in summer -- laid back; time to blog. Today, we'll start the Sweaters From the Past project, but first, I must tell you -- so you don't miss it -- that Amber has been successful at indigo-dyeing, and if you go over to her site you can watch her video of yarn magically turning blue, which I highly recommend. It's got Sam all excited -- apparently you don't need horse urine, you can just go buy ammonia, a much easier alternative. Still smelly, though. Nevertheless, smelly or not, I foresee indigo in our future. Here's the deal, Sam -- grow the indigo, and we'll dye some yarn, and you can have a vest.
Now, for our Feature Presentation:
I learned to knit, as a child, using the method taught to me by my mother, who learned it from her mother, who learned it from a woman from Germany. June Hiatt calls it "Reverse Left-Finger Knitting," which means, essentially, that one carries the yarn in the left hand, and the stitches are on the needle in reverse. It's quick as hell, but has some limitations -- purling is even easier than knitting, but the purl rows tend to be larger, which screws up the gauge, AND you can't knit garter stitch or seed stitch, or knit in the round, or the stitches twist. Nevertheless, that's the method I used for decades; I was adamantly faithful to it. It worked well for Aran knitting, which I loved, and that was fine with me.
The first time I went to visit cousins in Norway, though, it occurred to me that I was being an idiot. Why remain faithful to a method of knitting that wouldn't allow me to make the sweaters that all my cousins were knitting? Dumb. Just dumb.
So I bought a book of Norwegian designs -- it's Norsk Strikk: Fra Tradisjon til Mote -- and I picked out a design,and I asked my cousin Liv to translate some of the words for me, and I bought supplies in Mandal, and I went home and taught myself (from another book) how to knit like everybody else, and I never looked back.
I can still knit the way I was first taught, but I don't very often -- it's so quick for stockinette that it can be very useful, but frankly, since my gauge is easier to control with the more normal method, I like it better. And I'm nearly as quick now as I was before, so what's the point of going back.
My own Norwegian family is from Vest-Agder, but I chose the sweater design from nearby Setesdal -- I loved the black-and-white design, enlivened by embroidery bands and pewter clasps.
So, here's my first stranded color work sweater:
and a closeup of the neckline:
Not too shabby for a first attempt. And it's good to have options now. Once I made this, I figured that I could knit anything I wanted to, ever. Cool.
I think it's useful for knitters to try different methods. Next, I plan to learn how to knit backwards. I figure that'll come in handy on things like bobbles.
Tomorrow's Bastille Day, by the way -- peasanty French food is in order -- we're having some white-bean soup I found in the Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Cookbook, and some French bread.
The child has suggested that we read the section in A Little Princess wherein Sarah explains the Fall of the Bastille and Marie Antoinette's execution -- ok, good. Nummy. That should go well at dinner.
Now, for our Feature Presentation:
I learned to knit, as a child, using the method taught to me by my mother, who learned it from her mother, who learned it from a woman from Germany. June Hiatt calls it "Reverse Left-Finger Knitting," which means, essentially, that one carries the yarn in the left hand, and the stitches are on the needle in reverse. It's quick as hell, but has some limitations -- purling is even easier than knitting, but the purl rows tend to be larger, which screws up the gauge, AND you can't knit garter stitch or seed stitch, or knit in the round, or the stitches twist. Nevertheless, that's the method I used for decades; I was adamantly faithful to it. It worked well for Aran knitting, which I loved, and that was fine with me.
The first time I went to visit cousins in Norway, though, it occurred to me that I was being an idiot. Why remain faithful to a method of knitting that wouldn't allow me to make the sweaters that all my cousins were knitting? Dumb. Just dumb.
So I bought a book of Norwegian designs -- it's Norsk Strikk: Fra Tradisjon til Mote -- and I picked out a design,and I asked my cousin Liv to translate some of the words for me, and I bought supplies in Mandal, and I went home and taught myself (from another book) how to knit like everybody else, and I never looked back.
I can still knit the way I was first taught, but I don't very often -- it's so quick for stockinette that it can be very useful, but frankly, since my gauge is easier to control with the more normal method, I like it better. And I'm nearly as quick now as I was before, so what's the point of going back.
My own Norwegian family is from Vest-Agder, but I chose the sweater design from nearby Setesdal -- I loved the black-and-white design, enlivened by embroidery bands and pewter clasps.
So, here's my first stranded color work sweater:
and a closeup of the neckline:
Not too shabby for a first attempt. And it's good to have options now. Once I made this, I figured that I could knit anything I wanted to, ever. Cool.
I think it's useful for knitters to try different methods. Next, I plan to learn how to knit backwards. I figure that'll come in handy on things like bobbles.
Tomorrow's Bastille Day, by the way -- peasanty French food is in order -- we're having some white-bean soup I found in the Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Cookbook, and some French bread.
The child has suggested that we read the section in A Little Princess wherein Sarah explains the Fall of the Bastille and Marie Antoinette's execution -- ok, good. Nummy. That should go well at dinner.
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