Even to someone who lives in a self-imposed news blackout it hasn’t escaped notice that serious concerns have been raised about the wisdom of holding the 2014 winter olympic in a town in Russia, and no wonder, with Russia’s record on LBGT rights as appalling as it is.
I wasn’t thinking about this, or indeed anything much beyond the beauty of her hand-dyed knitting yarns when I landed on the Old Maiden Aunt Yarns (OMA) site this morning. Where, I wondered, had all these yarns been all my life? Why, I asked myself, had I never taken note of them before?
Not only are the yarns just awesome (and the website is very impressive too, to this newbie) but the lovely personality of the dyer-in-chief, Lilith, comes across clearly in her blog. It was there that I read her post to russia, with love which deals with her dilemma over participating in Olympic knitting-related activities (the “Ravellenic Games”) on the knitting site Ravelry. She says:
as a member of the LGBT community, i’ve experienced discrimination and hatred firsthand, and try my best to actively work for equality. and as a queer business owner, i feel like my business & associated activities should also reflect my personal and political beliefs. i thought long & hard about even bringing this up, as i definitely don’t want to discourage anyone from participating in the Ravellenics, or ruin the experience for you. it’s always so much fun, and i’m really happy that my customers want to participate and compete for Team OMA!! but i also felt that by not saying anything, i was rather letting myself down.
so, here’s what i’d like to propose for Team OMA – for every team member who successfully completes their Team OMA Ravellenic Games project, i’ll personally donate a minimum of £5 to Stonewall UK, an organisation who works towards LGBT equality both within the UK and internationally. i may end up being able to donate even more per person, depending on how many/few of you complete your projects!!
i’ve also created “nothing to hide” (kermit the frog fans should recognise the reference!), a rainbow-hued sock yarn that i’ll be dyeing from now until the official start of the Games in february.
What a superb way of tackling the dilemma. A skein of the wool, nothing to hide, is winging its way here already (I hope).
Whether I get into the whole “knit a complete object during the course of the Olympics” again remains to be seen. In 2012 I joined in for the first time and made a cardigan which I enjoyed very much and wear frequently. It also, tangentially, meant I saw the opening ceremony which I would otherwise have deliberately missed and found it to be rather inspiring.
The uncertainty hasn’t stopped me from looking at possible patterns, though. I’m inclining towards the aptly named Victor (from the recent book Op-Art Socks by Stephanie Van Der Linden) with the spirals (which, with a stretch of the imagination might resemble the Olympic rings) in a deep shiny black.
What is certain is this won’t be my last acquisition of Old Maiden Aunt Yarn.
Yes, I did it. With the help of Kate Davies’ brilliant steeking tutorial. Used a single ply (but very strong because of the nylon content) sock yarn and a 4.5mm hook to crochet the reinforcements. It was slightly difficult to locate the “leg” of the centre stitch because it was purled rather than knitted but once found it was easy to get into the rhythm of what to do.
Here is the double line of reinforcement from the back. Very neat!
OMG – cutting knitting. Palpitations. This flies in the face of nature and every rule of, well, everything.
Or maybe not! The colour in that picture is a bit weird but the steek is thoroughly awesome. A whole vista of cardigans without purling opens up before me.
Next up – button bands.
In fact I think he lies in wait until some careless child leaves the door open for more than a nanosecond and he slides past, silent and invisible. Thank goodness he didn't chew the needles. Those luscious (and expensive) wooden points used to be more desirable than catnip to him.
The knitting is now off the needles, apart from the front bands.
I currently have a delightful jumper which fits like a glove widthways but is slightly longer than I'd hoped.
The colour work is effectively invisible other than in a very strong light, but when examined under optimum conditions doesn't look too shabby.
There's only 40cm left of the last ball of green wool the pattern said is required. Luckily I bought an extra one so should have enough for the front bands.
The front bands, of course, have to be knitted on after the front of the jumper is cut up the middle to turn it into a cardigan.
I have never taken scissors to knitting in this way before.
I am apprehensive.
Moth. Clothes moth. Tineola bisselliella. Call it what you will, it’s a complete fu*k pig, and it ate through my yarn. I’m far too familiar with the signs – the slight stickiness around the chewed edges, the white deposit (moth shit?) – not to feel my heart hit my ankles with a huge thud.
Additional annoyance is provided by the fact that I didn’t notice the damage until half way through knitting the ball since the chomped area was under the ball band and I always pull from the centre. GRRRRRRRR.
In terms of the knitting, it means I’ve lost a few meters of wool. Not mission critical probably. Also I blithely knitted past a half-chewed section which, when I came to the next round, collapsed under the strain. So I had to perform running repairs on the row below, undoing several stitches either side of the yarn-fail and knitting in a short section of un-chewed yarn. More ends to darn in. Bah. Annoying, but also not mission critical.
But where and when did the vile pest attack the ball? Because that’s really very important to know. It (the ball) arrived in this house on 23 July in an opened plastic bag with eight other balls from the supplier. None of the others appears to have been snacked on.
So is there/are there clothes moth larvae in my house? poised to chomp through my clothes and stash? or are they elsewhere and I’m just reaping the results rather than the pestiferous crop? Obviously I’m hoping the former.
So it turns out that knitting and sagas have been going together like, er, two things that go really well together, for a very long time. During the long winter of long nights one person would read (or recite from memory) while the rest of the family would get on with useful stuff – like knitting!
This illustration and the text below are from the Biographical Sketch of Jónas Halagrimsson:
During the long months of winter darkness, the time between lighting the lamps in the evening and going to bed was known as kvöldvaka (“evening waking”). During this time the members of the farm household would gather in the commons room (baðstofa) and devote themselves to various indoor tasks, many of them connected with the wool industry. Ebenezer Henderson, who probably observed scenes like this during his residence in Iceland over the winter of 1814-15, writes:
A winter evening in an Icelandic family presents a scene in the highest degree interesting and pleasing. Between three and four o’clock the lamp is hung up in the badstofa, or principal apartment, which answers the double purpose of a bed-chamber and sitting-room, and all the members of the family take their station, with their work in their hands, on their respective beds, all of which face each other. The master and mistress, together with the children, or other relations, occupy the beds at the inner end of the room; the rest are filled by the servants.
The work is no sooner begun, than one of the family, selected on purpose, advances to a seat near the lamp, and commences the evening lecture [i.e., reading], which generally consists of some old saga, or such other histories as are to be obtained on the island. . . . The reader is frequently interrupted, either by the head, or some of the more intelligent members of the family, who make remarks on various parts of the story, and propose questions, with a view to exercise the ingenuity of the children and servants. In some houses the sagas are repeated by such as have got them by heart; and instances are not uncommon of itinerating historians, who gain a livelihood during the winter, by staying at different farms till they have exhausted their stock of literary knowledge.
In the illustration reproduced above, a man who has just entered from outside chats with a woman who sits on her bed knitting. In the background (in the baðstofuhús, the private apartment panelled off at one end of the baðstofa), a woman dandles a baby. To her right an older man is engaged in fulling (i.e., squeezing, compressing, and thus thickening) the wool of a mitten or sock. To his right a boy reads out loud from a book in order to entertain the others.
It’s true. Who needs the television or radio or even, although this might have to be whispered, the internet, if you have a saga-reader, a bed, some knitting and a saga. Unless of course the saga is being read over the internet in which case that does become necessary.
I rather imagine that blogging will be pictorial progress (assuming there is any) for a time.
It would be overstating it to say that I’ve always wanted to go to Iceland, but the desire certainly dates from the time I knitted my first Icelandic jumper. This was back in about 1980 when I discovered a shop in Camden Town which sold Álafosslopi wool and patterns. Immediately smitten, the pattern and yarn for a blue version of jumper by Astrid Ellingson were acquired and soon knitted up.
I wore that jumper for nearly a decade (but I like to think with more style and panache than the models on the cover) and then, in about 1989, handed it on to a friend whose need – in an unheated house on the Yorkshire moors in winter – was greater than mine. I knitted another version more recently intended for a son but have ended up commandeering it for myself. This isn’t in the astonishingly light and lofty lopi but an English plied chunky yarn.
And now… a competition on Ravelry with the first prize of… a knitting tour in Iceland! The challenge – to complete a pattern by designer Hélène Magnússon starting at the beginning of the Olympics opening ceremony (9pm London time on Friday 27 July) and finishing by midnight on the last day of the games, a mere 17 days later.
Now it just so happens that I’ve long, and I mean loooong hankered after one of Hélène’s designs which I saw her wearing back in September 2010 at I Knit London. I was so smitten I asked to take a picture of it:
It was the as-yet-unpublished cardigan now known as Brynja, an updated take on traditional Icelandic patterns and style. I was still ummming (think of the heat, think of the amount of knitting to be done in such a short time) when quite by chance I came across the recommended yarn, létt-lopi, on offer at a UK outlet.
So the die is cast. Preparations are underway (an actual tension swatch! gathering of materials!) and the challenge has been taken up.
It had to be, really, given that it’s based on the hanging honeycombs of Apis dorsata laboriosa, the Himalayan honey bee. The pattern, Apis Dorsata shawl, beautifully charted for either a scarf size (as above) in 4ply or larger shawl in aran, is free from Knitty 37 (Deep Fall 2011).
The process as well as the finished product were both so pleasing I might have to make another. Or a shawl. Or both. Or maybe a large blanket version for the bed. Aaaaaah. Knitting and bees, how I do love you.