Etherknitter

007-January

Eastern alpine skiing is an icy challenge. 

Downhill = West
Cross-country = East

I hate flying.  Do you know how much I HATE flying?  Anesthesia is often compared to flying.  Lots of machine and procedure check-out before you start.  The doc has to be well-trained, and well-rested.  The machines, increasingly computerized, need to be continually maintained.  The start of anesthesia can be difficult.  That is the take-off.  The emergence is sometimes rockier.  That is the landing.  So how about those airlines, and cutting costs on maintenance, and having no spare equipment, and not knowing how well your pilot thinks in a clinch?

Western skiing = flying.  This picture was taken from the plane, returning home from Utah.  I love looking out the window at the landscape.  The topography reminds me of the diversity of our geology, and of the amazing place we live.  The views almost take my mind off where I am and and how I got up there.

The resemblance to the surface of the brain was not lost on this tired skier.

Picot or bust

Margene called it correctly.  Have more than two pairs of socks in progress, and something happens.  Sock knitting takes over your entire fiberlife.  Or picot edges fall into a time-space warp blindspot. 

Yesterday, Mr. Etherknitter laid down the challenge.  "Picot or bust," he taunted.  There was nothing to hide behind.  I had time.  I had enough sleep. 

Husbands who know this much about knitting are a mixed blessing.  The Etherknitter narrowed her eyes,  looked at him sideways, and queried,  "Since when did you become a knitflogger?"

The second sock was easier.  I had tried to cast on less tightly, but clearly not loose enough.  But it is done, and I'll set up the rest of the pattern today.

The sky's the limit

I'm working on a baby blanket for one of the residents.  The fireside at Blueberry Hill Inn is prime real estate.

If you aren't interested in pictures of someone else's nirvana, then here's a better shot of the blanket.

It's Evelyn Clark's Estonian Lullaby Lace, in Shelridge Farms machine wash worsted wool, colorway Mango.  It's going to be a pretty thing. 

The rest of the WIPS list,  for the sake of knitting honesty, in no particular order:

1.  Ellen's Halfpint Farm merino/tencel sock
2.  Penny Straker vest in Dzined wool/hemp/mohair
3.  Swatch for Elsebeth Lavold sweater for Mr. Etherknitter. 
4.  Leaf Lace shawl in Judy (Smatterings) yarn
5.  Whisper Rib sock, in Lorna's Lace's turquoise, soon to be let out from SSS hell
6.  Hat for Mr. Etherknitter in handspun

I think that's it. 

Mid-Vermont has had the same lack of snow as the rest of New England.  That means there is room for the locals at the dinner table, at the Inn.  Local gossip is illuminating. 

Will and Lynn:  "Oh, no!  Don't come here in November.  The hunters are out shooting whatever moves. Dogs, cows, moose, deer.  Even wearing orange doesn't guarantee protection."
Mr. Etherknitter:  "So, what's it like, shooting a moose?"
Will: "Like shooting a parked car."

It's a whole different way of life up here.  We took a field trip to Brandon.  I found the first of several signs that turned out to be false advertising.

There is nothing special related to spinning here.  Will and Lynn thought it might be related to the Happy Hoofers, a mohair goat farm. We saw the signage all the way across Vermont, and into New Hampshire.  It's criminal, the way they raise your hopes, and then dash your expectations beneath muddy snowtires. There was no roving, no fleeces.  The alpaca farm wasn't open when we were in town.  The yarn store that carried local products wasn't open either.  We were left with seasonal views, and brilliant skies. 

Two weeks ago, in Utah, we encountered intriguing heavenly phenomena. The morning started out with low clouds spitting out snow.  Light was flat.  The winds cleared the skies, and blew the feathers of powder from the trees.  We had sundogs. 

We had Brocken Spectres.  Beautiful.

Knitting socks in public

Manise (sadly blogless) caught this picture of me at St*rbucks.  Although my face is unintentionally shadowed, I liked the Charlton Heston-style light shining on the important part of the picture.  The rays show what Lucia wants to see - public exposure of sock knitting.

There and Back Again

I have been to the kingdom of the Zeneedle Queen. 

There were multiple reasons to edit skiing out of my life.  (I counted three tibial reasons, two fibular reasons, and multiple fragments.  Those were the pieces that were left after last March.)

I spent the week skiing behind Mr. Etherknitter, my poles  extended at my sides in crowded areas to broaden my profile.   Picture a balding porcupine with her quills sticking up.  It worked.

So much in the week conspired to soothe my fear and worry.  Fiber and skiing seemed to meld seamlessly:

The vignettes and views took away what little breath was left at 9500 feet of altitude.  A snowstorm left the trees transformed:

As the winds hurried the clouds on their way east, the sun picked out beauty in the remnants of the storm:

My birthday saw me lounging on the Beach at Deer Valley.

Then, the Bacchus Wine Bar hosted our hilarity (after the lifts closed, of course).

My email DID explode with your fine wishes that day.  Thank you!

There were no pictures to capture the gracious hospitality of Margene and Smith.  They were lively,  intelligent dinner companions, with hearts bigger than the mountains.  I miss them.

While there has been little blogatory evidence of knitting recently, long airplane trips and post-skiing condo time were spent doing nothing but.  When the 200yd skein of baby blanket yarn ran out, it became apparent that I had underpacked.  I was stunned.  The vest (yes, yes, there will be pictures in another post) was on metal needles, and unsuitable for TSA inspection.  So I cast on my back-up st st sock, in Ellen's Halfpint Farm merino 50%/tencel 50%, colourway 'Stormy Skies'  for the return trip.  And it was good.

Nina Skye

It happened so fast. 

Marcy sent me a link.  We made the pilgrimmage to where the wheel lived.  This oak vixen charmed me with her quiet beauty, and her smooth, sweet action.  Mr. Etherknitter wasn't even jealous.

I dithered all weekend.  Should I?  Shouldn't I?  What if?  Yes!  No!  Yes!  Maybe!

My finger descended with speed to send the email that said, "Yes, I will buy her."  It had to be executed quickly to quell the backandforth monkey mind.

She is mine.  Meet Nina Skye.

1993  Reeves Norwegian wheel:

I have christened her with Claudia Romney.  It seemed consonant to use fiber from the initial source of my spinning karma.  (It also meant I didn't have to run upstairs.)

I think I'm shell-shocked. 

Clearly, it was meant to be.

New Year Blogiversary

I will pretend that I am wrapping up my knitting and spinning year by starting this post with a FO.  (Ubiquitous but mind-cleansing list will follow later.)  The Chasing Rainbows socks that threatened to run out of yarn, didn't.  I modified the Knitting Pure and Simple basic sock pattern to 48 stitches, instead of 40.  Simple heel flap (sl 1, k or p across), kitchener toe, #3 dpn:

The blues and greens make me happy.  I exchanged my cotton exercise socks for the photo shoot this morning.  No good reason has reared up to suggest that I should take them off, so I haven't.  My feet are warm.  There is a dusting of snow on the ground from yesterday, and the socks just make life seem right. 

Jenny Bakridges' class helped blast me from the complacency of spinning just because.  Purposeful spinning means planning grist, sampling, and swatching.  I picked out some merino/tencel from the fiberstash (Cloverleaf Farm, MS&W 2006).  Spinning it shows it to be a slippery little sucker, so I stopped after a few hundred feet.  I plyed up a 2-ply sample, a 3-ply sample, and swatched on three different needle sizes:

The winner for squoosh was the 3-ply sample (near left), but the fabric was too thick.  The 2-ply (far left) on a #2 needle was perfect for socks, but lacked thickness.  The next iteration will be thinner grist, so I can produce 3-ply that is not boot sock weight yarn.  This is FUN.  I have the sense of forward progress in my spinning life, which lends me purpose and focus.  It's like flowing aerated water over my gills.

The Coopworth fleece from Cummington is going through similar pre-sweater boot camp.   I Navajo-plyed a sample of just me spinning what I spin to see what came out.  It's 5 st/inch on a #6, and somewhat dense.  I'll go up a needle size, check out Ann Budd's book on generic sweater patterns, and find some ornamentation for the front and sleeves that will please Mr. Etherknitter.  His comment on the swatch?  "Hmmmmm.  This feels like a fabric I won't have to be careful with, like the alpaca."  I told him the sweater would probably outlive both of us.

I received a gift recently, a small thing that gives me a remarkable amount of pleasure for what it is.

It's a glow-in-the-dark sheep.  Who knew?

Today is my second blogiversary.  Our community has brought so much to my knitting and spinning  and fiber life.   There is no way to put into words how much you have given me through this difficult year.  Mr. E and I offer a heartfelt thanks, with our hope that you have a wonderful New Year's celebration, and a warm, safe, happy New Year.