Yesterday I took a short break from my Kingscot obsession project.  I kind of had to because I was beginning to experience signs of muscle strain.  I don't worry about injury as much as I should, but I do consider the consequences of an unreliable grip.  Even I will take a break if it looks like I'm in danger of dropping my wine glass.

Fortunately, I have a brilliant new distraction.  The Yarn Gods have been magnanimous of late, bestowing me with a bounty of things to play with, courtesy of a secret, but extremely well-loved, maker of string.

But why should I have all the fun alone?  Just because I'm not at liberty to reveal the source of the yarn doesn't mean we can't do show and tell.  Since I am frequently asked how I really work, today I'll share some of the process with you. 

As is often the case, this design begins with a very special yarn.  It's totally out of my usual gauge range, and a color guaranteed to make a grown knitter cry.  And something about it just grabbed me by the throat shrieking "Make Me Now".  Yarn never has to ask me twice.

Because this yarn's guage is so different to what I usually do, I uncharacteristically started from Square One.  I actually cracked a book.  And then I decided to Swatch.  (What madness is this?)  I elected to translate a cable from a stitch dictionary to a chart, since that is how I like to work best.  I do a better job of translation if I do it before I have memorized the pattern by actually knitting it.  Guess I take things less for granted at that stage.  I find this part of the process completely mind-numbing.  If there is ever a point in the work where I ask myself whose Big Fat Idea this was, it's at this juncture.  I trudged through by promising myself that I would get to touch the yarn as soon as the chart was done.  You know, Carrot, Stick, whatever it takes.



After the chart was done, I worked some plain old stockinette; so clueless was I as to what size needles would make what kind of fabric.  It felt like working rope with broomsticks.  Totally foreign, but not at all unpleasant.  Once I sized up the needles enough times to stop making chain mail, I took the new chart out for a spin:



I often know exactly what qualities I'm looking for in cables, so I choose really carefully, and I usually don't have to try many out before picking the winner.  Such was the case here:  This baby was a perfect match for the yarn.  Kinda modern, no?  I love how it works with the painting on the yarn, rather than competing with it.  If I had to analyze it, I'd say it's something to do with the open spaces between the cable ropes.  Fortunately, they don't pay me for my analytical skills.  I just know if I like something or if I don't.  That's the Big Magic:  Preference and Perseverance.



I knew before I started what silhouette this yarn wanted to be made into, so once I had the cable chosen, I sat down to draw the sketch before it all got away from me.  This part of the work always feels like flailing around with a butterfly net:  The idea is right there, if I can just sneak up on it and capture it before I lose my chance.  Sometimes I snack during this part.  A Lot.  That cracker box is nothing but an empty husk, my friends.  Okay, I just realized you can see the empty wine glass in this picture, too.  Just testing my grip.  Honest.

After the garment shape is roughed in, I dash down a few technical notes for myself.  These can be anything from notes on shaping to words that are in my head as I'm dreaming it up.  This fast and dangerous sketch is my road map for when it's time to knit.  There will be "real" drawings later - schematics that a person could really use to make a sweater with.  But those won't be possible for me to draw until after the knitting has been done.  And/or done wrong.  Just depends on the day.

I left it at that; happy with my pretty swatch pinned out to dry on an upholstered chair, chart drawn, working sketch made.  The next step will be to combine the elements into a proposal for the yarn company.  I'll use them all to present my vision of what the design will be, in a kind of collage that outlines the key elements.  After that, I take a deep breath and show the yarn makers, hoping  that they like the idea enough to move ahead.  This part is emotionally tough, because many projects die right there on the vine if they aren't what's wanted.  Or if I haven't presented them in a way that lets people outside of my head understand what I'm going for.  Always wonder about that: What if I had drawn a better picture?  Used more/less/better technology/pencils/hand puppets? 

But of course, that way lies Madness.  We can only do what we can only do.  I try to remember that while finished results are a big payoff, the journey of getting there is important and fulfilling, too.  In fact, I can't believe that I got to spend my day doing this.  Love. My. Job.

In my hysteria enthusiasm to start the Kingscot with my newly refurbished yarn, I managed a new trick.  My loathing for ribbing stems mostly from its inelastic (and inelegant) cast on edge.  And if I dislike 1 x 1 rib, I hate 2 x 2 at least twice as much. 

But there is no denying that the 2 x 2 rib used in the Kingscot cardigan is not only beautiful, it's an integral part of the silhouette.  So 2 x 2 it had to be, but I just couldn't settle for the usual cast on edge.  Enter my pal (okay, I've never met her, but she's sure given me a lot of cool tricks) Montse Stanley.  Montse maintains that there is no perfect cast on edge for 2 x 2 rib because they all slant unattractively.  This one slants as well, but I think it's as close to perfect as knitters have gotten.  Read on, try it out, and weigh in!  Do you know a better way?  Yes, it's fiddly, and there's that waste yarn to mess with.  But I think the end result is totally worth the trouble.  Here's how:

1.    Cast on 1/2 the number of stitches required, using smooth waste yarn.  Any old cast on will do - just get the stitches on.  This only works for even numbers; in my case, I ultimately need 80 stitches, so I cast on 40.


40 sts cast on in smooth strong waste yarn.

2.    Now purl one row:


One row purled.

3.    Thus begins the fiddly bit:  Knit the next row, but instead of wrapping the yarn around the needle once as you normally would, wind it around a second time.  That's two wraps for every single stitch.


Knit row, with each stitch wrapped twice instead of the usual once.

4.    Break the waste yarn and start working with your real yarn on the next row, which will be all purls.  Notice that as you knit into the twice-wrapped stitches from the previous row, you get great big elongated stitches of waste yarn.  These will help you in the next step.  Work a total of 4 rows in your real yarn.  You still only have half the number of required stitches (in my case, 40).


4 rows worked in real yarn.  Double-wrapped waste yarn row creates elongated waste stitches.

5.    Now find another needle a couple of sizes smaller than the one you are using for the ribbing.  Mine is a gold one in this photo.   Working from the wrong side, use your finer needle to pick up the purl bumps of real yarn from its first row.


Picking up the purl bumps of real yarn.

Keep going until you have picked up every single purl bump onto your finer needle.


All the purl bumps are now stitches on the finer needle (below).  Original needle is still in place (top).

6a.    Next, using the mate to your original needle (same size as the ribbing will be worked in), purl 2 sts from the top needle.


Purl 2 sts.

6b.    Now knit 2 sts from the lower (finer) needle, and repeat to the end of the row.


p2, k2, repeat to end.

This is what it looks like at the end of steps 6a & 6b.  You have folded those first 4 rows of real knitting in half horizontally, into a tubular edge.


Kickass 2 x 2 tubular edge shown from the wrong side.


Kickass 2 x 2 tubular edge shown from the right side.

7.     Last, either cut or unknot the waste yarn and pull it out.


Waste yarn removal.

Continue in 2 x 2 rib as you normally would, but with a well-earned degree of smugness.


Totally elastic tubular edge, with no visible cast on loops at lower edge.


Fiddly and worth it.

I will never approach hat edges or sock tops, or any 2 x 2 edge with fear or loathing again.  And now you, Gentle Readers, are free as well.  Knit Long and Prosper.

In which I ignore perfectly sound advice. 

My pal Carson said "You won't like spinning that.  It's for needle felting".  He was perfectly correct.  I would probably not like spinning, or wearing an entire sweater made of this fluff.  But it's put up in these adorable little knots of roving that are every different color!  How could I resist?  So I made a bunch of cute little 2-ply skeins, and when I'm done there will be twelve different colors of yarn to play with!



And in case that wasn't enough fun, check out my e-bay score:



These are the coolest old textile mill bobbins.  They are marked "Gull Silk Co." on the end, and needed only a bath in oil soap to be ready for action.  What a fun way to store my tiny skeins!  I searched for "antique wooden spools" on e-bay, in case you would like to do the same.  So other than an unscheduled break to redecorate my daughter's room (yeah, I know - how is there an unscheduled redecoration?), I've just been sitting around,playing with string. 

The room redecoration began with an innocent attempt to change the sheets on Lindsay's bed, which caused the bed to actually fall apart.  In Pieces.  So it became obvious that she was ready to have the more sturdy (and larger) antique iron bed moved up from the garage.  And while we were between beds and the whole place was in chaos anyway, I thought I might as well paint her room, which I'd been blowing off meaning to attend to for the entire four years we've lived here.  Which led to a whole new set of bed linens, and well, you know how it goes.  All I wanted to do was change the damn sheets and the next thing you know I'm hanging off a ladder replacing a light fixture.  Go Figure. 

Remember when I used to knit things?  Me either.

Once upon a time, I bought a bunch of my favorite yarn on sale.  This was not an unusual occurrence, except that the yarn in question was not only my favorite kind, it was also an extremely unfortunate color:



And by "unfortunate", I mean so ugly as to cause Scottish Terriers to fall instantly asleep to avoid looking at it.  Don't get me wrong: I'm no pink-hater.  I like a good pink better than the next guy, and I will go to some fairly respectable lengths of denial to include pink in my stash, especially when it's on sale.  But I just couldn't find a permanent place in my heart for seven skeins of Pepto Bubble Gum.

I shut my eyes and held on to the seven skeins of Pepto, knowing that one day a pattern would come along which called for my favorite yarn, and probably on a day when I lacked the wherewithal to dash out and buy anything new. 

Sure enough, I revisited a pattern-in-waiting this morning by happenstance, and was consumed by the urge to cast on for it immediately.  Being a confirmed cheapass responsible guardian of fiscal resources, I remembered the poor little skeins of Pepto, waiting patiently in the stash.  The color was even worse than I recalled, but it only encouraged me to press on with my Cunning Plan.



Real knitters know that acid-based dyes are the best way to go for changing the color of woolen string.  I even have plans to get me summa that one day, when I grow up.  But today is not that day (tomorrow is not looking good, either), so I headed straight to the Kool-Aid aisle in the discount store across the street from the dentist where my kids were in adjoining recliners this morning.  For reasons defying all explanation, K Mart was all out of Kool-Aid today, except for Lemonade, which would not have been much help to my Pepto Gum yarn.  Unphased, I grabbed some Rit, reasoning that a complete disaster with it would still not be worse than the color I was starting with.

Since the whole pursuit had "Knitting Gods, Smite Here" written all over it, I decided to go for broke and try kettle dyeing for the first time, while I was at it.

The result?  Even knitters have to catch a break now and then, even if it's only a game of odds: 



The unfortunate Pepto Bubble is magically transformed to a Bed of Roses.  And how smug am I that I held on to that poor pink yarn?  Little bit. 

Lesson?  Ugly Yarn + Cheap Dye + Pressing Need to Cast On = Acts of desperation where three wrongs can make a right.

Cover me: I'm going in...

True, I am exposed to more yarn fumes than most people (thank you, Universe), but lately I've been thinking that I need to spend more time spinning.  Or it could be the change of seasons inching toward this hemisphere - I made the same proclamation this time last year.  Getting to spend the whole day in class with Kathryn Alexander probably had more to do with it than anything. 

I realized when I sat down to spin that I have been working exclusively on Caora Dubh for so long that I have nearly forgotten how to do anything except spin from the lock.  Roving totally flummoxed me.  I did eventually remember what to do, but not before I thought to myself:  "Gee, you really need more practice".   So, in the interest of becoming a better spinner (and by extension, a better knitter), I did a little fiber diving in the stash basket (can you believe that my fiber stash is still only one basket?  Okay, it might be overflowing a little).  I came up with a gorgeous bit of fluff I was given in class at Black Sheep Gathering last year.  It's double-coated shetland which was hand-painted and then combed into top by Judith McKenzie McCuin.  I liked the two plies I came up with so much that I took it into my head to try for my first "Art" yarn.  I think it turned out more like "Frank" yarn.  As my mother says, Not everything you do can be a great success.  Meet Frank:




I plied it with crochet cotton, and a strand of mylar embroidery thread.  And what have we learned, Dorothy? 

1.  Crochet cotton is kinda cool to ply with because it is plied in the same direction (Z) that my singles were spun.  Plying them all the other direction (S), worked out just fine.

2.  Crochet cotton comes in a limited color range, particularly if you only have time and inclination to hit one national chain fabric store to get it.  But if you get lucky, the sort of flat color can have an interesting and unifying effect on hand-painted roving.

3.  Mylar thread, however tantalizing and sparkly it may seem, is a pain in the ass. 
    3a.    One strand will all but completely disappear between two plies of wool and one of crochet cotton.
    3b.    Plying another strand of mylar thread on top of the other four strands will have four outcomes:
            3b.1    The previous four strands will be over-plied.  DUH.
            3b.2    The second strand of mylar thread will in no way attach itself cohesively to the now over-plied previous four strands, resulting ghastly loops of loose mylar thread.
            3b.3    Too much mylar in your yarn will cross the line between Delicately Glittery and Vegas Showgirl, without ever looking back.  And it feels like sandpaper cat litter.
            3b.4    The Knitter-Wanna-Be-Spinner will resolve to stop spinning and start looking for beer.

Once I had removed myself from the situation (good thing we keep the beer in a whole different room), I was able to calmly determine my course of action (and here is where the yarn fumes are obviously at work):

Plan A:    UN-Ply the second strand of mylar thread from 300 yards of finished yarn.

Plan B:    Throw away the whole wretched mess and resolve that "Art" yarn is for pretentious show-off spinners anyway.

I know what you are going to say:  Better to waste yarn than time and sanity.  Better to drink beer than, well, a whole bunch of things.  Better to learn your lessons and move on.  And you will be right. 

So where the hell were you, Gentle Readers, when I resolved that Plan A would be the way to go?  You people know by now that I require constant supervision.  Or Intervention.

Plan A was an absolute nightmare, whose net results were a headache, 300 yards of mediocre "Frank" yarn, and a resolution never to Un-Ply.  Anything.  Again.  Ever.

Class Dismissed. 

Spinning Gods = 1, Wanna Be Spinner = -1.

This year, the Madrona winter retreat held many firsts for me.  It was my first year to attend as a teacher, in addition to being a student.  It was the first time I taught the "Eeek! Steeks!" class to 24 students.  And it was the first time I ever had my photo taken with a life-size plastic horse (please don't ask).

Another truly unbelieverable first:  My "Eeek! Steeks!" students bought me a present.  As a token of their gratitude for my having made all the sample swatches for them, they brought forth nothing less than this gorgeous skein of cashmere.  Not kidding - these students just blew my mind.  It's Spirit Trail Fiberworks "Sunna" in violet.  And the big kicker?  They hadn't even been to the class yet!  Hope I didn't let them down.




The official Mary Scott Huff New Product Worth Seeing award, which I totally just made up, is herewith presented to Jeanne Humphrey, whose innovation will surely rock the world of stranded colorwork knitting.  Get a load of this Genius:



Truly, if there is anyone in the world who needs this killer apron more than I do, I challenge you to come forth and identify yourself.  It's specially made to hold all your balls of yarn at the same time, so they don't tangle, get dirty, or ensnare your legs when the doorbell rings.  No Lie - this is a product whose time has come.  You can even get extra snap-on pocket sets, so you can gear up with the project du jour and knit like the wind, UPS man or no.  Stay tuned for more on this one - I'm gonna give it the full workout as soon as I'm able, because I think Jeanne's sort of behavior should be encouraged.

And just because I know my Gentle Readers, and your lust for all things you haven't seen/felt/tasted before, here is something Truly New:



The gifted souls at Rain Shadow Farm have made Candy.  It looks like yarn, but trust me:  It's Candy.  Gorgeous, dreamy, fine, delicious Candy.  In all the colors of the first primroses.  And I bought some to celebrate the return of Spring.  "Orca" is an indescribably gorgeous blend of 65% Coopworth Lambswool and 35% Silk that literally melts in your hands.  This is the kind of precious yarn that has been made by hand, with the love and care you might save for an heirloom christening gown.  The pain-in-the-ass rolls that Thanksgiving is incomplete without.  The apple butter you make every year by calibrating Greenwich Mean Time with the Dark of the Moon and the harvest of the fruit...

Gush much?  You will too.  And if all that weren't enough, the names are to die for:  "Venus on the Half Shell"; "Bernadette".  This is the yarn you have been waiting for.  Call 360-297-4485 and give the person who answers all your money.  You will not be wrong.

Knit On, my Friends. 

Last weekend I had the great good fortune to attend the Madrona Winter Retreat, in Tacoma, WA.  I taught classes, attended classes, spun, knit, shopped and generally played until I dropped.  Among the many knitterati and fiberistas in attendance, I managed to attain photo evidence of these:


Carson Demers and Anne Berk


Jane Slicer-Smith



Willy.  The Chinchilla.  Who is in the running for most interesting thing brought to one of my classes.


You never know what you will find when you wander the streets of a new city:  It's like the Mother Ship was calling me home.

I'm still recuperating, but there's lots more to tell! 

I left Phillip and the Smallies to their own devices in order to attend Madrona, so there were a number of chores waiting for me upon my return home.  I'll tell you the rest after I get the gravy off the ceiling. 

My preparations for the Madrona Winter Retreat have included finishing the Catkins Cardigan for its big debut:











I can't believe the enthusiasm you've shown for this design, Gentle Readers, as I've been working on the pattern and traveling around meeting knitters.  Knowing you were looking forward to seeing it really inspired me; Thank you so very, very much dear friends. 

It's not often that I still love my designs right when I'm done with them.  I usually require a time out before I can play nicely with them again.  Catkins is a notable exception.  It's going on tour with Toots LeBlanc & Co.; coming soon to a town near you!  I'll miss it.  Give it my love if you happen to see it.  Or better still, make your own...Imagine a knitterly Catkin Explosion to herald the spring!  Pattern in four sizes, to fit 36-46 inch busts.  Get it here on my pattern page, on Ravelry, or a real live printed copy at the Toots LeBlanc booth, wherever they appear.

PS:  A little bird told me that the artist who makes the Fine Silver Catkins Buttons will be at Madrona, with a few sets on hand to sell.  Interested parties (did I mention each button is signed, like jewelry?) should e-mail me for her contact info.

The trip to Lindsay's skating competition went just great.  Right up to the point where I realized that the athlete I was rooting for was in the throes of the Stomach Flu.  How, you may ask, did I know?  Well, I didn't really, until I came down with it myself.  But more about that later.  What I want to tell you is that my kid is Tough.  She tossed her cookies, straightened her hairdo, and then skated a first place program.  Then she changed outfits as fast as possible (not all that fast when you are trying not to toss more cookies) and skated a second place program.  Then she collected some medals, smiled for some photos, and tossed her cookies again.  Is there any more helpless feeling in the world than holding some barfy kid in your arms and trying to make them feel better?  On the floor of the skating rink bathroom? 

So I put her in the car, after an agonizing afternoon, during which Lindsay had to decide which was worse:  A.  Forefitting her third event, thereby removing herself from the running for a special artistry award she might have won, or  B.  Sticking it out and tempting the Skating Gods, who are known to punish skaters with stomach flu by inflicting public displays of, well, symptoms.  She ultimately chose A, which turned out to be for the best.  Turns out that a plastic shopping bag from the pro shop will hold way more symptoms than you would think (at least until the nearest rest stop), and my wee heroine survived the two-hour car ride home.  We consoled ourselves with the knowledge that we both learned something:  Lindsay learned what her absolute physical limits are, and I learned that when your kid has a virulent bug and you tell yourself that the dread of catching it is worse than actually catching it, that's a load of crap. 

And In case things weren't gnarly enough, we got home to find that Phillip had the stomach flu, too.  So I told myself that it was only the power of suggestion, and the abnormally high gross-out factor that were making me feel icky as I lay motionless on the bathroom floor that night.  Have I mentioned that my powers of denial are epic?  This is after every CC of liquid in my body has left it with a velocity that is nearly ballistic, and in every direction.  That's right, Gentle Readers:  I'm here to tell you that it's actually possible to vomit out of your eyes.

So Lindsay, Phillip and I are all on our lips in the floor, leaving no one but poor Campbell to tend to the dead and dying.  Campbell, in case you are wondering (and still reading this), had the bug a week ago, and so has been declared immune.  Maybe the worst thing about the stomach flu is that when you have it, you are a complete pariah.  No one in their right mind will come near you, and if there are three sufferers, you might as well just lock all the doors and wait for the undertaker.  Even if your only caregiver is an eight-year-old.  Don't bother calling in the cavalry, because they ain't-a-comin.  Just suffer there on the floor and pray for morning.

But morning, of course, does eventually come.  And when it did, I began to realize that my family and I were not going to be the first casualties of Cholera in the USA in decades.  I'm definitely better than I was, and so are the other two.  Nobody is ready to eat anything more complicated than paste, you understand, but I think we'll pull through.  And Cam seems not to have been marked for life.  By this episode.

Naturally, the first thing I wanted to do when I could sit up was knit.  Here is the knee sock I told you about.  And while I'm on the subject of barf (really? can't just move on?) this poor thing is really suffering.  Check out the bizarre calf "shaping".  Probably okay if your calf has a tumor.  And my groovy hand painted yarn is totally pooling, there at the ankle.  Why, you may ask, do I continue to beat such an obviously dead horse?  Because I clearly don't know any better.  This is my first knee sock, and I keep thinking that something will change if I just press on.  I used what seemed to be a very cool pattern.  But it is only a program of numbers generators, which does exactly as it is supposed to do, not a knitting shaman, for heaven's sake.  I probably entered the wrong guage into the formula or something.  It seems to need negative ease.  And by that I mean it's just way too freakin huge around, though the length seems oddly accurate.  I would have held out to the very end, in order to measure and re-calculate all the areas where things have gone so obviously wrong.  But I'm going to run out of yarn (not surprising, having knitted a grain silo-cozy), which can only mean one thing.  Frog City. 



I am going to measure the bulging calf thing, though, before I hook it up to the ball winder and let 'er rip.  Seems like the least I could do for the poor thing.

If you know the magic formula for the amount of negative ease required for a knee sock at 9 stitches to the inch, kindly weigh in?  I guarantee contact with this blog post to be non-infectious.

Gentle Readers, you may recall that a few posts back, I had taken it upon myself to make the sample swatches for my class at Madrona.  I stand by the decision, as having these done for my students sets them up for success, and it's just a nice way to go about it.  However, I will admit that it took much longer to get them then I expected.  Partly that's because of my Math Issue, and partly it's because I think I'm superhuman, which I'm not.  Don't tell my kids.

Here they are, completed, in all their swatchy glory.  They remind me of my own private clone army, marching off to sacrifice themselves to the cause of The Steek.



It's an apt comparison, really.  I always say we knitters will one day take over the world; so it's about time we had our own army, no?

I'm off to an ice skating competition with Lindsay for the weekend.  I know I should take knitting or I will be very sad indeed, but after spending this morning marshaling the army, I may actually be temporarily knitted out.  Impossible.  Someone take my temperature and arrange for emergency cashmere therapy.  STAT!