Chapter 2
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The deep bowl Mrs. Holmgren had loaned Ebbie was generously sized and perfect for soaking her knitted square. The sweet B&B owner had made the glazed pottery herself and was happy to take it off a shelf in her kitchen to put it to good use.
"I never took up knitting, though so many of the girls in my day did. I worked a needle well enough to help patch my dad's socks, but my hands wanted to be dirty, so gardening alongside my mother became my calling." She smiled as she passed the bowl over to Ebbie, happy moments gently drawing her back to a different sunfilled place, not the warm kitchen where she stood now, leaning with her hip against the counter.
As Ebbie took it, she looked at Mrs. Holmgren's hands. Long, dark fingers were elegant, muscular. Confident hands, unafraid of work.
A small chuckle, almost to herself, "I remember whispering to the blades of grass how sorry I was that I had to pull them. It didn't feel right uprooting them when they hadn't done anything more than show up at the wrong place at the wrong time. I would dig and plant with her in the morning. Afternoons my father would put a stick in one of my hands and a pocketknife in the other. I'd whittle with him as we swung beneath our shady pecan trees in a swing he built." Her eyes glanced at the bowl with a different look, one not seeing the here and now, but cherished moments past. "The two of them always talked of making pots or dishes; thought that pottery was an interesting thing to take up. They passed away, having never tried it. Years later, I took the class. I didn't go because I wanted to learn, I went because I missed them." Her eyes met Ebbie's. "It's a special feeling when you make things that give more than just the satisfaction of the finished work."
Ebbie nodded. She knew that feeling, too.
"Are you sure this isn't too special for me to use just to soak something in?" she held the large bowl to her chest, feeling protective.
Shaking her head of soft curls, Mrs. Holmgren answered, "Letting you use it gives me the chance to have a bit of fun remembering. It will be big enough for that thing you are holding," a nod to the dangling swatch also in Ebbie's hand, "but still fit on the sitting-room table in your rooms."
"Well, thank you, Mrs. Holmgren. I'm going to let 'this thing' have a little bath so I can figure out if I am ready to start my sweater," and back up the stairs to her suite Ebbie went, bowl, and swatch in hand.
That little block of yarn divided most knitters into two camps: always knit a gauge swatch or never knit those things. But Ebbie relied on it. She found she enjoyed and benefitted from the preparation. It had corrected her course a few times, directing needle choice, but also served as a testing ground for practicing a new stitch. With quite a few patterns, her swatch had been handy later when she thought something looked too small. Trust the swatch, she reminded herself.
"And here's one thing I'm a success with on this trip," she pronounced as the numbers from the swatch stitches and rows matched up perfectly with what the pattern called for. The alternating knits and purls and purls and knits created a nubby texture; her hand brushed over them lightly, her mind somewhere else.
The brass plate on the door had been polished by many a creative soul entering in before Ebbie and was now shiny and smooth. A series of gentle bells sounded, tiny and soft, like welcome rain you pray for while lying in bed when the dry heat of summer is just too much. She smiled, remembering those childhood summer nights. You could never be still enough to hide from the heat. She and her sister wouldn't speak, but they shared the same thought, the same plea, the same prayer, "Send the rain, please send the rain." And when the sound of it on the roof finally came, they dared not speak or move for fear of scaring it away. That sound meant hope.
It was indeed the perfect sound for entering this yarn shop. Bamboo stalks, dry and golden, stretched down from the ceiling to meet black shelves, the sides of which looked as if they once stood guard as ornate fences protecting a well-loved garden. Ebbie imagined blue and purple hydrangea teasing their way between these iron-scroll spaces so many years ago. Now the curving swirls and decorative twists had bursts of colored yarn peeking through.
Standing just inside the wood and glass double doors, Ebbie looked at the long room. So many textures, unexpected furniture, and knick-knacks; she began to wonder if it was an antique thrift store with yarn accents. It wasn't messy or cluttered. Somehow the menagerie of furnishings artistically worked and drew Ebbie slowly forward. Her eyes focused, and the fiber was everywhere! She stepped past a… wheelbarrow? Yes, it was! Red-painted metal now faded and smooth was heaped full of tweedy yarns: brown, black and golden. She continued moving, an old washstand beside her, where a gleaming white porcelain pitcher wasn't filled with water but an assortment of wooden knitting needles.
"I'll be right with you!" a cheerful, but muffled greeting came from behind a massive wooden desk that Ebbie was sure her fourth-grade teacher had once used. On top of it were jars, tall, short, wide, thin, holding varying sized bits of yarn, buttons, and— was that sea glass? She moved a bit closer to see.
"Welcome!" Up stood a woman, dusting off green-linen overalls. She appeared so suddenly from behind the desk it surprised Ebbie just a bit.
The woman wore a cardigan, cropped and grey and knit from the gentlest, fuzzy mohair Ebbie had ever seen. Hopeful brown eyes blinked above the most sincere smile. The smile was real and warm and kind. Ebbie found it hard not to try smiling back, despite the tightness growing in her throat.
The woman asked, "So, are you here for a certain yarn or in need of a distraction?"
Ebbie started to cry.
Walking towards the front door, the woman uncapped the dry erase marker hanging by a colorful strand of yarn. She wrote: "Back at 1:15!" on the board and turned it so passers-by could see. "A distraction it is!" she said and twisted the lock before turning back to Ebbie.
From Ebbie’s Journal: Hem
I went back and forth, trying to commit to a cast-on style. The pattern calls for tubular cast on, so off I went to find the youtube tutorial that's been so helpful in the past. I seem to need a reminder each time I try this method! You'd think since I have done that cast on over and over for hats and sweaters, I would have it down.
But I don't.
Truth be told, the tubular cast-on is quite lovely, but I did the swatch using a long-tail cast on, and it works fine.
I suppose I will have to see how easy casting on 87 stitches using the tubular will be…
Update! -I made it through the tubular cast on without too many issues. I just had to go slow and steady, especially working the first row -but I stand firm by my earlier assessment that long-tail is a fine alternative!
Worked the hem as follows:
Row 1 (right side): K1, [p1,k1] to end
Row 2 : P1, [k1,p1] to end
Repeated rows 1 and 2, 6 total times (12 rows)
I love the way Osprey feels as I work. The thick yarn has a gentle strength to it that gives softly between my fingers and needles. Even in a simple 1x1 rib it looks amazing. I am really looking forward to wearing this sweater.
Go needles, go…
