So, as most of you know by now, I’m attending this nifty, small little soiree called Sock Summit, which is actually quite nifty, but far from small.  I’ll be in booth #315, and I will have on a raspberry colored T-shirt.  You can’t miss me, I’m the one with the yarn.

Dublin Bay Knitting Company, booth 827, will also have a large selection of our things.

I’m entering a competition specifically for people whose yarn is being sold at the Summit, called Dye for Glory. It’s a bit like a State Fair competition, you enter your item in a category, and then it’s judged against others in that category. Except instead of Mabel winning a blue ribbon for her boysenberry pie, Yarnista is attempting to win for her Sea Anemone yarn. If you win, you win exactly what the contest title suggests: Glory.

Never one to shy away from a little friendly competition, except for all sports, mathlete events, invention conventions and anything related to physics, I decided to enter.

There is one thing you can rest assured of when you see something I’ve made: I never just throw some sugar and milk in a bowl and call it creme brulee. I don’t know how to type accent marks, but I’m sure creme brulee needs some.  I never just buy some brandy, splash it on some cookies, and call it tiramisu. Does tiramisu need accent marks? No matter, I can’t type them anyway.

Perhaps this is my overly perfectionistic nature in things that are not related to inventions, math, physics, or athletics, but colorways take me a long time to perfect. Have I mentioned this before? I feel like I have. A colorway has to strike the right note for me in order to be offered for sale in any way, whether it be a club colorway, something for a spring fall collection, or for a competition.

Many people have asked about what happens to all of my rejected yarn, or if they can buy or have my rejects.  Let me just be clear: THE REJECTS ARE REJECTS FOR A REASON. You don’t want them, just trust me.

Veering abruptly back on course: here are my long-labored over submissions to the Dye for Glory contest. These are all in different categories, so they’re not competing against each other, they’re competing against other entries in the same categories. Mabel’s boysenberry pie doesn’t compete against Edith’s pickles, it competes against Millie’s strawberry-rhubarb pie.

Starry Starry Night. Inspired by the synonymous painting. This is dyed in a new technique that will result in a highly varied finished product. The skeins are all one of a kind and very labor intensive to make — they probably take ten times as long to make as a regular skein of yarn.

I stumbled upon this technique and finished product after making yet another blue and purple colorway that was completely uninspired and just picking up my tools and adding things to the yarn in a random way. That led to further ideas and prototypes, which led to the yarn you see now.

Several of you have already asked where you can get this colorway. I’ve decided to offer it here in an extremely limited edition of 20 skeins. This yarn will also only be available on superwash yarns, because that’s going to give you the best result with the most dynamic color variation.

I’ve added a button for purchasing below. Please get this colorway while you can, it’s very special, I promise. You may notice that the price is higher than our usual prices — this is due to the extremely labor-intensive method of dyeing these skeins.

This is a pre-order. The skeins will be available to ship in September.

 

This is but one hand of a very tired Yarnista. Notice the little cuts. Notice the blue-tinged fingertips, courtesy of a spilled bottle of turquoise dye. You can’t see the burn on the inside of my wrist, but it’s there. (PSA: steam burns can be as bad as burns from direct heat.)

Try not to notice the bad stuff about this hand. Think nice things, if you can manage.

Notice the ring: vintage. I can’t wear my regular wedding/engagement ring most of the time, because it rips holes in my gloves, and I wear gloves for hours every day. I wanted something smoother that I could wear all the time.

But back the yarnista part. Here is one half of a pair of hard working hands. These hands may be a little funny looking, but they can type 80+ words a minute and hold a chunky baby girl and dye many many thousands of skeins of yarn. Tomorrow, I’ll show you more of what these hands can do, if you’re not sick of me yet.

I have decided not to panic. While one part of my brain wants to lie in bed eating miniature Snickers bars and swabbing my eyes with a tissue, I’ve given some careful thought to the issue, and have decided that that may not be the most productive course of action.

New course of action:

“Don’t ask for a light load. Instead, ask for a strong back.” — Unknown

“Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.” — Thomas Edison

“Whether you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re right.” — Henry Ford

Off to make it happen!

Activate panic mode.  Activate panic and thumb sucking and hiding in the closet.

I have no time left. No time left at all before I leave for Sock Summit. And before I leave I have to… well, let’s just not go down that road. That will just activate more panic, and lord knows that is just not attractive on anyone, especially a grown Yarnista.

I will distract myself! I will distract myself with yarn pictures, that usually works.

Arboretum. I could really use a good Arboretum right about now.

Northwoods. Wouldn’t a nice lodge in the Northwoods be nice? No one would see the panic mode out there in the middle of nowhere.

Lagoon. You know what would really rock? A mermaid lagoon. They have those in Neverland. Cartoon Neverland, not Neverland Ranch.

I think it might be time for more coffee. That usually calms me. I will panic more later.

Yarn pictures here.

I am visiting my mama in my hometown. Eighteen months is too long to be away.

Things I have discovered while here:

1. Life is better when it’s 70 degrees (21 Celsius) with no humidity, calming breezes, and sunny skies.

2. Life is better when your parents watch your children for you so you can knit.

3. Life is better when your office overlooks a lushly planted garden under the shadow of a maple tree.

4. Life is better when it does not take 40 minutes to drive six miles. (9.6 kilometers) Instead, it takes about twelve minutes.

5. Life is better when your town is nestled on the side of a hill overlooking a massive body of water.

Now, I’m not saying my life in Washington, DC is lacking or anything like that. If there’s one thing DC is not, it’s lacking. If I were so inclined, I could purchase a live goat or a yuzu or a mountain dulcimer in DC quite readily.

My next door neighbor at home is a Fulbright scholar from Ghana.  Up the street is a diplomat from Ecuador and his Canadian lawyer wife, who specializes in international business issues. Next door to me at my studio is the owner of one of the largest organic tea companies in the world. If you’ve purchased organic tea anytime, probably ever, it likely came from one of his farms in Japan or China. And then, you know, we have the president and all of those government-y people that live around here too. Just a few interesting people. Scattered about. Here and there.

So no, DC is definitely not lacking.  Except in 70-degree-blue-sky-look-at-the-sun-sparkling-on-the-water-grandma-watch-the-kids-so-you-knit kind of things.

Read from the beginning here.

When a son was born that spring amidst a colossal thunderstorm, everyone — including the girl — was surprised to see just how hefty he was. Ten pounds, with rolls of chub and fuzzy blonde hair.

The days blurred past, as they do for all new mothers, and the healthy boy grew bigger still. Light blue eyes took the place of newborn grey. Nighttime feedings were tended to.  Laughs were induced, chairs were rocked.

Knitting became a daily ritual — she found she could sneak in a few stitches while her son waved his little arms and legs in the baby seat next to her.  She made many mistakes. The importance of not binding off a neckline too tightly cannot be overstated. She also discovered the importance of gauge, as a sweater knit for her niece grew to enormous proportions. (No, bulky yarn cannot be swapped straight out for a DK weight.) She knit for her own son, her relatives, her friend’s children.

As her knitting skill grew, so too did the demand for her work. Friends began requesting items: a red sweater for a baby whose gender was still unknown. A lightweight go-with-everything cardigan for a preschooler. A wrap dress for a family photo. She found knitting to be the perfect complement to nearly everything — portable, satisfying, and with the right pillows and a little practice, something she could do during the many hours a day spent nursing.

One of the recipients of her knitting benefaction was a friend, a talented graphic designer. The designer wrote to the girl many times, imploring her to start a business knitting for children. “The market is there,” she said. “I can help you build a website.” A seed was planted, and though the girl did her best to ignore the tiny, unfurling shoots, the seed took root and grew.

A simple site was commissioned and assembled, resulting in a circular aqua logo, lavender navigation buttons outlined in tiny white stitches, and a pale yellow-green background color. The girl busied herself knitting items for sale in her new store. Her market research told her that the greatest demand for handknit childrenswear was in wool pants and soakers, which were again enjoying a resurgence as more parents chose eco-friendly cloth diapers.

She devised and tested her own patterns, often employing detailed cable motifs in her designs. She sourced a variety of untreated wools, trying to find those most suitable for babies with delicate skin.

Then, the unrelenting fatigue of a second pregnancy.

The website languished, as the girl had no energy, no desire to do anything other than sleep, play with her baby, and eat. The heat of the Southern summer was oppressive, despite central air conditioning. The swollen ankles, the active two year old, the fatigue, the exhaustion, the sleepiness. The only relief was a friend’s swimming pool, where the girl felt weightless and cool for a few brief moments.

A break in the July humidity and smog brought with it a new baby girl. This one smaller than her predecessor — a peanut at only eight and half pounds.  She was delicious and lusty and angelic. Her big brother, now a walking, talking being, tried hard to make her laugh, only to be disappointed to find that new babies neither run about, nor laugh, nor do they enjoy tickling.

Knitting time abounded as the now-practiced mother deftly maneuvered both the baby and the needles for the many feedings newborns require each day. The little seed, once sprouted, began to grow again. She knit booties and hats and sweaters and jackets for her two darling children, and squeezed in some items for the store she intended to open.

Finally, in November of 2004, she believed herself to be ready.  She lacked photographic know-how, but tried her best to accurately depict the garments she carefully made. She sent out announcements to her friends, hoping they would tell some of their friends. She thought to herself, If I can sell one item in the first week, I’ll be happy.  When the site finally pushed live, she was stunned to see that most of her items sold out in one afternoon, and that her inbox was stuffed with emails from people looking for custom orders. Within the week, she had not only sold all of her items, but had accrued a custom order waiting list at least eighteen months long.

Custom orders were a joy and a trial. She loved consultations, loved helping parents pick out the components of a family heirloom. Would it be a dress? A sweater? What color will it be? What will it look like? Then, the hard part: knitting the garment hoping against hope that the client loved it.

A sampling of the girl’s early work in knitting. (Her lack of photographic skill will now be evident.)

Felted bunny slippers (Yes, those are hand-embroidered features):

A yellow soaker with seed stitch heart cables:

A felted soaker with embroidered hearts and a snap down rise to accommodate growth:

More cabled hearts:

A wrap sweater in pale gray-blue with salmon pink accents:

And modeled by the new owner:

Some simple booties:

Some cabled pants:

The girl loved these green booties:

A cream cotton sweater with handknit flowers:

A sailboat vest:

A soaker with a Celtic knot encircling the hips:

A closeup of a sea-life themed garment with a hand-crocheted and felted sea turtle:

Ruffle capris with a detachable flower pin:

Polka dot pants:

Cloche with detachable flower pin:

Pink Maryjane booties:

Red and orange wrap sweater with leaf and vine pattern:

And a matching hat with felted blossom:

Red sweater:

A cabled dress:

One custom knitting client wanted an autumnal-themed sweater for her daughter. She had a very clear picture of what she wanted in her mind, and the girl spent hours exhausting every yarn shop on the web looking for the perfect hand dyed yarn in the right shades. 

She finally presented her client with a final option. “I’m really sorry we haven’t been able to find the yarn you’re looking for,” she wrote.  “We can continue looking until the perfect thing pops up, I can return your deposit, we could try to find someone to custom dye the yarn, or I could try to dye the yarn you want. (Although I can’t guarantee my results.)”

Stunningly, the client chose the last option. “I have confidence in your artistic eye and ingenuity,” she wrote back to the girl.

“I really REALLY can’t make any promises,” the girl replied, “But I will do my best.”

To be continued…