A Bluestocking Knits

Thoughts on the Two-End-Knitted Mittens

These have been sitting around for a while, ready to post about, but one thing and another -- you know.  To recap, these are Nancy Bush's pattern for two-ended or tvåändstickning mittens, based on the traditional style of mittens from Mora parish in the Dalarna area of Sweden -- these are in Bush's "house yarn," a Z-ply that comes in natural and grey shades (and by the way has a lovely sheepy smell!).  For the contrast color, I dyed a short length with one packet of black cherry Kool-Aid.

The learning curve was a bit steep for me, taking what seemed like ages to knit the first mitten, but the second was done in about a week, even after a long hiatus due to the summer heat and my not even wanting to think about wool, much less knit!

I was very pleased to find that the pattern fits my hands without any adjustment whatsoever, as usually "one size" is too small for me.  These mittens might even have a bit of extra room for shrinkage with wear -- which I fully expect them to do, with this kind of wool.

I had a 24g ball of wool left at the end!

I have to say, I really enjoy this technique, and of course its historical connections, but that twisting is a pain.  I do not understand why, when this Z-ply wool is touted as being the best for two-end knitting (it "allows for the threads to twist and not 'corkscrew' around each other"), it was worming and corkscrewing constantly for me.  I suppose I can't really complain that it took me less than one week to knit a mitten in a complex technique from start to finish, but goodness, I have a great respect now for those Dalarna knitters who made sleeves and whole garments in two-end knitting, especially at a much finer gauge!

Previously, I had found the Knit Buddies tutorial most helpful for the three-color cast-on, but for some reason when it came to cast on for the first of these mittens, I just couldn't seem to make it work, and so I used Anna H's video instead, in which you stand the single needle vertically (wedged between your knees, perhaps) and use both hands to wrap the wools around, I mean without using the needle tip to pick up strands as in most cast-on methods -- but this appeared to produce the same result.  After knitting a bit, though, it was clear that something was different as it didn't lie as flat as my sampler and wristwarmers had done.  I suspect now that my tension was much looser with the upright-needle method, so that although the wool strands are lying in the same manner as the horizontal-needle method, because there is simply more wool involved in the first one, it flares.  Unfortunately, this didn't occur to me until after I was well into the second mitten and wondering why the second one was lying flatter!  Oh well.

The thumb is a new-to-me construction, and very comfortable --

I puzzled for a long time over the cord at the wrist -- there is no mention of a cord in Nancy Bush's pattern, and indeed the ends are all woven in on her pair, although the photo on Ravelry shows a member-submitted pair with the ends in a simple braid.  But the historical examples at DigitaltMuseum, for example, almost all have the cord, so of course I wanted to do it that way -- and it just looks cool!  But the two colors clearly spiral, like a twisted cord, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out how to twist the ends into a cord that looked like those historical mittens.  I finally just decided to give up and do a four-strand braid and, Googling this to jog my memory about which way to arrange the strands, a number of the hits that came up with a search for "four strand braid" were for "four strand round braid" -- and yes, I now suspect that this might be what the historical mittens used, as my results, after only a few minutes' investigation and experimentation, produced a spiral-effect round cord.

I ended up using the instructions from T.J. Potter, though I must say the video from Tying It All Together was intriguing -- I just couldn't get my brain to quite follow that one when I was holding the colors in a different order.  (Amusingly, since the ends on the second mitten were hanging differently, I started the second one with the left-to-right movement first, instead of the other way round, and the result spirals in a different direction from the right-to-left-first braid!).  The trickiest part was remembering to twist the strands under, as I'm so used to the usual three-strand braid (on my hair, for example) and putting the strands over.

All in all, I'm delighted with the process and the results, and can hardly wait for some cold weather!

(The newspaper is a recent issue of Nordstjernan, "The Swedish Newspaper in America".)

Year or Period: 19th century
Materials: 1 skein Mora Z-ply wool by Wooly West in natural white, with a short length dyed red with Kool-Aid by me; 2.5mm needles
Hours to complete: I misplaced my notes, so I don't know now how long the first mitten took, but the second was about a week of not-particularly-obsessive knitting
How historically accurate is it? Being a Nancy Bush pattern, I assume that that is quite accurate! the Kool-Aid not so much ...
Sources/Documentation: This particular pattern is available in the January/February 2007 issue of "Piecework" and again in the Winter 2010 "Knitting Traditions" magazine.  (Note that the pattern in "Piecework" and on Ravelry is called "Northland Mittens", but in "Knitting Traditions" it is simply titled "Mittens with the Two-End Knitting Technique".)

Thoughts on the Parley Cardigan, and Some Catching Up

My Parley was finished and worn exactly a month ago, to be honest, but it has been quite summery lately, really too warm to want a sweater, and I've been rather busy with other things as well, so haven't had the wherewithal to photograph it.  But the weather dropped about twenty degrees quite suddenly this past weekend -- I kid you not, twenty degrees -- and I wanted wool, so I am wearing the cardigan again today.  It is of course the Parley by Mary Lou Egan of Yarnerinas, from her book with Gale Zucker and Kirsten Kapur, Drop-Dead Easy Knits.  The book is full of good-looking knits that are fairly low on the concentration scale, which is great for those of us who tend to have -- cough -- numerous projects going at once.  This particular one comes in pullover and cardigan versions, with simple shaping and lots of stockinette, with a bit of twizzle at the edges to keep it interesting.

This is just four skeins of Briggs & Little Sport in mulberry, which I got from Penelope Fibre Arts in British Columbia, as it's apparently a rather small line produced in Canada, and not many US shops carry it, even online -- it's worth perusing the B&L website to see the "tour" section and how the wool is processed, from grading to shipping.  Mine is a lovely purply color, with hints of blue and red and black giving it a lively depth which is very difficult to capture with the camera!  The yardage on the Sport wool is quite impressive, as I still had a good-sized ball and another full skein left over -- I bought five.  The wool is a single-ply, so tends to worm a little while winding and knitting, but not frustratingly so, although it doesn't feel particularly pleasant to knit with since it is rather rough in itself and perhaps it is that combined with the single-ness that makes it feel a little like wire when wrapped around my fingers.  Much of the roughness does wash out, though, and so now it has a sturdy wooliness to it and a light sheepy smell which is not atal unpleasant.  I am a little concerned about the alarmingly frequent thin places as I went along, two or three of which were such a hair's-breadth, literally, that I broke and spliced them on the spot.  I was tempted to weave in a bit of extra wool as a reinforcement in the less-alarming places, and had at least a dozen safety pins marking them as I went along, but in the end I didn't -- although I do have so much wool left that at least there is enough for repairs if that does become necessary later on!

The buttons are La Mode no.214 (eleven, not ten, since the buttonhole band came out with that many, as it happened).

The purple is generally a bit darker than I could get in these photos --

The sizing is quite generous, and I probably could have made the next size down instead of the 42 for my US12 figure, but there it is -- it's a great no-fuss cardigan, and in this yarn is good for nicely-cool days, not too light, not too heavy.  It probably does look its best with a scoop neck underneath, not a collared shirt, to play up the slightly-rolled neck, which has a gracefully curving line to it that I really like.

We had a good bit of rain this past winter, much to everyone's relief.  The down-side is that all of the weed seeds that have been lying dormant for the past three or four years of drought have apparently all decided to sprout and grow now.  Our backyard, which has a gigantic pine tree in it and therefore little else, has been since February or so a veritable sea of stinging nettles and crabgrass, which I have been digging up -- with a shovel, mind, not one of those mild-mannered forks -- an hour or so every morning, filling usually two trash cans a week. 

Unfortunately for the butterflies, some of whose caterpillars subsist pretty much exclusively on stinging nettles, this is not good.  I fully expect the nettles to come back again next year (she said, weeping quietly into her tea), but this year for the bees and other insects in our little patch of wilderness in the middle of suburbia, I scattered around a packet of California wildflower seeds in the few spots that get any sun, and a packet of shade flowers for the more woodsy corners.  The photo above is the very first bloom, which is a baby blue eyes (Nemophila maculata).  It looks like a little bit of everything in the sunny packet has come up so far -- I am quite looking forward to the mountain garlands and the lupines!

This is something else that has been keeping me busy, albeit indoors -- a pair of Elizabethan venetians (which are sort of ur-trousers) for David's Renaissance Faire garb.  These have been a real pain in the neck, to be honest, but I am on the home stretch at last, and only need to do buttonholes and lacing eyelets now, which will mean that -- huzzah! -- David will for the first time have a complete period outfit, bar the shoes of course.  More photos to come.

We took the afternoon Saturday to go and see the "Dressing Downton" exhibit at Muzeo in Anaheim.  I have rather mixed feelings about "Downton Abbey", not as keen in the later seasons as I was at the beginning -- but from start to finish, the clothes are pretty wonderful.  This suit of Lady Sybil's, from season 1, is probably what I would choose if they were to say, "Yes, you may have one!" although Mary's red suit from the same season would run a close second.  Cora's court dress from season 4 would be my favorite of the fancier ones, I think, but, goodness, how often would I get to wear it?!  More photos later of this, as well ...

The weather has been cool enough too, this past weekend, for me to enjoy again the feeling of wool running through my fingers, so last night when I had three hours in front of the television (new episodes of "Call the Midwife" and "Home Fires", and a repeat of "Wolf Hall"), I managed to get the rhythm going and finished the thumb gusset and worked over half of the medallion of the first two-end mitten.  It puzzles me why this cast-on doesn't lie as smoothly as the first one, but I tried a different technique, so I guess it just does.  V. glad that these fit well, to be sure!

And, yes, there is a new petit-point carpet!  It's spring, how could I resist?  This one is the Flower Trellis by Sue Bakker from Venus Dodge's Dolls' House Needlecrafts.  I haven't yet worked a Bakker chart that was free of significant errors and this one is no exception, I'm sorry to say, and in fact has some real doozies.  The chart gives symbols for "red, light red, green, gold" etc. with the materials list specifying which colors of DMC floss are used, either by themselves or in combination with similar shades -- but although there are symbols for "blue" and "yellow" there are no indications in the materials list that you need any blue or yellow at all.  I had to just choose shades I thought went well with the other colors.  The chart has the full border and the "trellis" in the main field, but only one each of the flowers inside each medallion, so the stitcher must decide where to put what -- this is perhaps not a serious drawback for a more experienced stitcher, but a beginner may not appreciate this, nor the fact that one long edge of the "vine" is clearly marked with the symbol for yellow, not green. 

But, yes, it's a very pretty carpet now that it's finished, I must say!  I worked out before I started the flowers which one I wanted where, and whether or not I would reverse it (just to make each medallion a little different).  I also reversed the light and medium pink blends here and there, for the same reason.  I used a partial chart for the half-medallions, leaving a one-stitch edge between them and the gold border, to match the trellis-work -- some have worked it differently, I find from poking around the internet.  Mine is kind of busy as a result, but in an ordered sort of way -- quite garden-like.

I used the following shades of DMC floss (3 strands, on 22-count mono canvas) --

• dark gold = 680 and 420 (1 + 2 strands)
• yellow = 745 and 3078
• blue = 931 and 932
• pale pink = 223 and 224 (2 + 1)
• medium pink = 223 and 3372 (1 + 2)
• red = 356
• pale green = 3347
• medium green = 3347 and 3052 (2 + 1)
• grey = 646
• background = 3033 (instead of ecru)

Note that I needed 3 skeins of the background color, not 2 as on the materials list, and that the number of red stitches (the "tulip" stamens) is a mere six per medallion, so if you have a bit of a pretty red already, you really needn't buy a new skein!

"Mora Vantar"

The description of this lovely pair of twined-knitted mittens says that they were given to the museum by a Dr. Hazelius in 1873, who "got them many years ago from a Mora girl" -- a Morakulla, which is the same word used to describe many of the young women in Anders Zorn's paintings, as well as this one by Emelie von Walterstorff --

Ever since my first steps in two-end knitting, I've been dreaming about the Mora wool from Nancy Bush at The Wooly West, and so with my Christmas money I splurged on two skeins. This is Swedish Z-ply wool -- apparently especially suited to two-end knitting because of the way the twist lies -- so I'm looking forward to making Nancy's pattern from the Winter 2010 issue of "Knitting Traditions", with enough left over for the Ormsta wristwarmers!

Plain mittens in sheep's wool (fårull), from the village of Vinäs in Mora parish.  This well-used pair was acquired by the museum in 1891.  (I wonder what the hook-and-eye are for ...?)

The museum gives surprisingly little information about this pair in beautiful condition, except that they were acquired in 1879 as part of an ethnographic collection.  These are halvvantar, half-mittens.

This elegant pair of Mora vantar were given to the museum in 1877 by the committee for Sweden's participation in the World Exposition -- it doesn't specify which one, but I'm assuming the one in Philadelphia the year before.

Clearly two-end-knitted, but wildly different from the others.  According to a post by Lars ("Baritono") of Lappone, this kind of mitten was probably knitted to sell as souvenirs.  (I think that not only because the Dalarna region, having kept their traditional costumes as everyday wear longer than most Swedish regions, was especially picturesque, but also because of Carl Larsson, Dalarna was particularly popular with tourists.)

These images of Mora vantar -- mittens from Mora parish in Dalarna -- are all from DigitaltMuseum.se.

"Rain, Rain -- Please Come Back Tomorrow, Too!"

Just in time for a cold snap -- and some rain! -- the two-end knitting practice that turned into wrist-warmers (muddar in Swedish).

The "sampler" stitches are a three-strand cast-on, 1 round plain, 2 rounds P, 9 rounds with a crook-stitch diagonal (worked in the other direction on the second mitt because it amused me), 2 rounds P, 20 rounds plain, 2 rounds P, 1 round plain, a "chain path" (2 rounds crook sts), 1 round plain, 2 rounds P, 1 round plain, 1 round P, bind off purl-wise.  The only thing that didn't turn out well was that the chain path doesn't quite stand out enough, with the compression of the purl chains above and below it.

There is definitely a "jog" at the beginning of the rounds -- the spiral effect is quite clear on the purl rounds!

The Cashmore is wonderfully soft and warm, so wristwarmers were a happy accident.  I might make another pair with just the purl rounds, as the carried-across yarn makes it feel almost silky.

We've had a nice bit of rain this week-end -- I'm sure the garden is just as appreciative as I am --

Siberian iris.

Bladderpod, or California cleome (Peritoma arborea, formerly Isomeris arborea) -- part of my new California-natives bed.

Arrow-shaped echeveria (E. setosa).

Adventures in Tvåändsstickning

Of course one can't be interested in the history of knitting, especially of Scandinavian knitting, without coming across tvåändsstickning, and I have seen it in my own books and here and there on the internet throughout the years, but I've always given a sort of not-for-me shrug and moved on.  There is a short section about it in Priscilla Gibson-Roberts' Knitting in the Old Way, and a rather longer one in Sheila McGregor's Complete Book of Traditional Scandinavian Knitting, to name just two on my shelf.  I don't know why I kept passing it by -- perhaps because of the fact that both Roberts and McGregor imply, by saying that instead of working it the traditional way with the two yarns in one hand, they do with with one strand in each hand, that it's really difficult -- but the other day I came across a photo on the internet, and, to coin a phrase, it had me at "Ormsta".  Something about it just made me think, I have to make that.

(The painting above is "Stickande Kulle (Girl Knitting)" (1901) by Anders Zorn, Mora parish's favorite son.  This is one of the areas in Dalarna in central Sweden where many of David's Swedish ancestors are from, and so from that and having consequently spent quite a lot of time buried, as it were, in Mora church books, of course I feel a particular affinity with the place.  The young woman in the painting is wearing the distinctive Mora green jacket, with the traditional green or red apron with simple colored bands near the hem.  Apparently it is obvious to folk knitters that she is working two-end knitting by the way she is holding her right hand, especially the first two fingers.)

I have a stash of wool that has been stuffed in a drawer for, I don't know, twenty-five years at least, which I bought with prize money from a rather gratifying first-place win in the county fair some time ago, but --

it is in a parlous state, I'm sorry to say.  It is Trendsetter Yarns' Micro Cashmore [sic], a superfine merino and microfiber blend, baby-soft and in a lovely pale lavender with a hint of grey.  I loved it so much from the moment I saw it, that the project I would make with it had to be utterly perfect, and although I tried any number of times, it never was.  Of course the yarn was rather battered after being knitted and ripped out and knitted and ripped out, but when looked at in a hopeful light, it is still whisper-soft and a beautiful color, and would be very pleasing as a set of mitts which could be worn under coat sleeves so that no-one would know how badly I've treated it, but could still be fondled for its amazing softness.  And so, feeling so unsettled this past week that I just wanted to knit something and thinking of this long-buried stash of wool in the drawer, and seeing the Ormsta mitts, it all just came together like the tumblers of a lock quietly clicking into place.

I do not, though, know a single person who can do this technique, so I turned perforce to the internet with a set of 2.5mm needles and a ball of the Cashmore in my hands.

This is I think a fairly good introduction to the technique, starting with one of the simpler cast-ons, and no worries about not understanding Swedish because there isn't any audio at all.  (I sympathize, by the way, with the translation "twined knitting" because the two strands of yarn twine around each other as you work, like ivy vines, but I rather prefer the more literal translation of "two-end knitting".  The Swedish word is a bit of a tongue-twister for English speakers, but the pronunciation "tvoh-endts-stick-ning" isn't far off.)

After a couple of attempts at using two balls of wool, by the way, I realized that it is much easier to untwist the two strands -- which you will have to do regularly, there is no way around it -- if you are working with a center-pull ball, because you can just hold either the ball or your knitting in the air and let it unspin itself, which is harder with two balls plus knitting.

This method makes a nice, soft, center-pull ball, though after a while, when I wanted a second one and the first was still in use, I thought I might as well learn another Scandinavian technique while I'm at it, and try a nostepinne ("nohst-uh-pin-nuh").  I don't actually have one, but thought of a reasonable substitute borrowed from the girls --

I haven't got this technique at all yet, understanding it in principle -- which is brilliantly simple -- but not in practice.  My first ball is much more ovoid than anything I've seen come off a nostepinne in other people's hands, but I suspect it's really worth figuring out.

I decided to work a beginning section on my first sampler with the yarns held one in each hand, so that I could see the difference between the two techniques, and I'm glad I did because it is quite clear.  This is the outside --

and this the inside --

I expect the wobbliness of the stranded portion would smooth out a bit with blocking, but even without you can see how much more firm and dense the twisted portion is.  There is also a distinctive slight angle to the fronts of the knit stitches, so I'm a bit puzzled by Roberts' and McGregor's assertions that you can work it stranded and have it come out "the same" -- oh well.  McGregor says that she likes the fluffier (and thus theoretically warmer) texture of the two-handed version, which is fine and logical, of course, but I'm exploring the technique here, so wanted to try it the traditional way.

Rather surprisingly, I could find little information about how to work the various stitches, only lots of examples of them.  One of the helpful places was spinnity's "Larus and Ardea" set of fingerless mitts on Knitty, which describes (in words only) the basic variations.  I also found this post helpful, from Rebecca at The Fiber Bug.

When I decided that I wanted to try a three-strand cast-on, the only illustrated tutorial I found online was from Kitty at Knit Buddies, though I'm pretty sure I'm not doing it right, as mine looks quite different from hers --

I don't know if I've "unvented" something or if I've just put the back side at the front, but it looks quite tidy at least, so I carried on.  It's firm and yet quite stretchy and it doesn't curl, though obviously I should also figure out the "real" method!

So here is my sampler so far --

with the “easy” two-end knitting (two-handed) for 10 rounds at the bottom and then 10 rounds of properly-twisted two-end (one-handed), then a twined purl round which makes a distinct braid-like line, then isolated crook stitches, a "chain path" of two rounds of crook stitches, and then what I thought I was doing with the isolated crook stitches, the little O's like in the Ormsta mitts, which is actually a two-round process, making the crook stitch (which is a P, K, P combination with the two yarns held on their respective sides of the fabric) in the first round, then a sort of reverse-crook (K, P, K, again with the yarns held on their respective sides). Yeah, it's a little complicated, but I think I'm getting the hang of it! though I can certainly imagine a quiet "Nej, min vän, garnet går det så här" if I were to knit in Swedish company! I felt confident enough last night to start another sampler, which I hope will actually be a wearable wrist-warmer before too long.

Thoughts on Minty and Some More Norwegian Mitts

Here is Julia's hat-and-mitts set for her Washington DC 8th-grade trip, which is coming up quickly at the end of the month.  I made a set for Laura two years ago, and used the same yarns again -- Lorna's Laces Shepherd Worsted and Shepherd Sock -- in Julia's choice of blue.

The hat is Minty by Erica Jackofsky from Knitty a few years back, which works up very quickly and satisfyingly -- this is the striped version without the stripes (the solid version has a different crown shaping).  Julia wanted something that wasn't close-shaped, so I chose this one because the shaping gives it a little squareness at the top of the head.  The scrunch at the side is accomplished with a column of double eyelets with the i-cord laced through -- simple but effective.  The yarn is (of course!) very pleasant in itself, and suits this hat well, too.

The mitts are my own standard Norwegiany mitts, with a ribbed thumb.  As I mentioned previously, I tried something new with this pair, working them "inside out" so as to keep the floats from pulling too tightly.  It turns out that they are quite loose, not quite too loose, but nearly -- but I think this will be all right in the long run, as Laura's have pulled in a little bit with wear and washing, so I expect this pair will be no different.  The places where it is a little too loose are along the edges of the thumb gusset, where I think there would have been problems anyway, with the long floats across the gusset, so I'm still pleased with the method and will certainly avail myself of it in future.

The star is a sort of impromptu one, not from any pattern -- I simply graphed out the initials and date in a block about the right size, and filled in a star pattern.  These initials are a bit larger than Laura's, so I had less space to work with for the star, wh. ended up looking as much Navajo as Norwegian, but I don't think that's a problem per se!

I still haven't worked out to my satisfaction a method of securing the floats behind 2x2 ribbing, but the flashes of white underneath the china blue here are not unpleasing, as it happens --

I think that Julia is actually beginning to come round to the idea that not all wool is scratchy, but I'm not going to tell her I've noticed that she likes wearing these!  We had a cold snap yesterday -- with hail -- after a few weeks of mid-springlike weather, so hurriedly got out the sweaters and scarves we'd discarded, and Julia wore the mitts to school yesterday and today both!

Got Tension?

I had to move my Shirvan-in-progress from a mat frame to my big wooden one, as the opening in the mat was really too big -- I admitted to myself with great reluctance -- and the canvas was distorting dreadfully.  The frame is much heavier and rather awkward for working in my lap, wh. I really have to do because most of the time I work it without my glasses, so have to hold it two or three inches from my face in order to get the benefit of my Super Microscopic Up-Close Vision^TM.  I worked the smaller carpets on a smaller mat, which was perfect for holding up close, and fit into a regular 8 1/2x11 page protector or a zip bag when I wasn't working on it.  Oh, well.  The Shirvan is definitely happier in the frame, I could see at once, though it still has a bit of a list to port.

I am pretty sure that the wobbliness of the stitches is going to come out in the blocking, so I'm not alarmed at present.

You can see the built-in abrash, the color variations often found in Oriental carpets due to time and different dye lots, in the border greens, where there is a darker one along the bottom and a little bit up the side, then a mid-range green continuing.  I learned this word from Cooper, in fact, who remarked on it in the description of another of his charts, that he'd run out of wool and had to match it somewhat imperfectly.  This carpet actually has the color variation charted in a couple of places, so presumably the abrash is in the antique original.

But you can also see the differences in tension, either where I was working up-and-down or side-to-side, or where the wool varied in thickness.  The cream is especially prone to the thick/thin issue -- it's especially obvious to me in the little dashed lines along the bottom edge here, where the outer one is super-thick and the inner one is teeny-tiny.  I'm tempted to work over the teeny-tiny one with another thin strand.

I am really enjoying this carpet, though! the colors are lovely.

Here is another tension issue, though with a much happier initial outcome.  This is the first of Julia's mitts for her DC trip next month.  I got halfway up the stranded part, and wasn't very happy with my tension, so thought I'd try the inside-out trick.  You simply turn the piece inside out and knit it looking at the center -- down the inside of the "tube" -- and the floats are just a little more generous from traveling on the outside of the tube instead of the inside as usual.  I was really amazed at the difference between the two methods, which was obvious after just a few inches.

This still needs a bit of blocking, to be sure, but is noticeably smoother already than the right-side-out method, especially at the needle joins --

The spotted three-stitch stripe up the middle here would have been much wobblier than it is if I'd worked it right-side out.  The white is still a bit looser than it should be, but I'm hoping that a good blocking will fix that right up; I've noticed that Laura's pair, two years old now and much-worn, has tightened up noticeably (to me), so a little looseness at first shouldn't be a problem.  Bit of a mental adjustment, working inside-out, but worth a try!

"Sliten och Lappad Tröja"

This is sad and fascinating at the same time -- sad obviously because it's in such a decrepit state, but fascinating because it must have been quite charming in its day, and of course because its day was in the 1700s.  That's a long time for a piece of knitting to survive!  I find it very poignant that the museum titles it, "Worn and patched sweater" as though those adjectives are now more significant than any other -- and indeed, they give no information about colors, fibers, size, which on other pieces they can be very meticulous about.  The only other information is that it is from the Årstad district in Halland, which is one of the traditional provinces of Sweden, on the western coast in the southern part of the country.

The "carnation" pattern will be familiar to those with a penchant for Scandinavian knitting -- a chart in Sheila McGregor's Complete Book of Traditional Scandinavian Knitting is I think almost exactly the same, and similar carnations appear in Britt-Marie Christoffersson's Swedish Sweaters.

This jacket is in the Nordiska Museet in Stockholm (inventory no. 134916, and apparently also NMA.0041484), by way of DigitaltMuseum.

The Endless Knit of Norwegianness

I finished the Garter Heel socks last night, and blocked them -- they are still too damp to model, so I picked up my Setesdal-style scarf this morning.  It was not at all difficult to figure out where I'd stopped, even so many years ago, so I'm off and running.  Well, not running, really -- I timed myself, and it took me about eight minutes for a two-color row, and about six for a plain one. As Bertie Wooster might say, I hardly know whether to laugh or weep.  These O circular needles have rather sharp points, hard on the fingertips, and a wonky join too, so that every time I adjust the stitches I have to tug to get them past it, and it sounds like ripping.

Oh well -- I still really like the way it's turning out.  Something about Scandinavian knitting really speaks to me, especially the Setesdal lusekofte.  I think it's the miles of quiet with the bit of razzmatazz at each end. 

I also love the neatness of the underside, the way that the strands weave themselves in and out so tidily.

I had decided upon Elizabeth Zimmermann's advice to use her "sock toe" scarf end, but I was still so wet behind the ears, knitting-wise, that I used a bit of dark green wool for the waste stitches, which of course left little green fibers in the white -- I think I've picked out most of them, but you can still see the shadow of a line there!

I got a big kick out of this wonderful photo from the Norwegian Wikipedia article on luskekofter --

The photo was donated to the Municipal Archives of Trondheim by the teacher, whose name was Kristian Flønes -- it's the boys of the Trondheim Framhaldsskole in 1959.  A framhaldsskole, from what I understand, was where those students went who hadn't qualified for gymnasium (what we might call prep school), and was the "more practical and less theoretical" track.  Although only one of these boys looks like trouble, yeah, you can see that they aren't really prep-school material -- but what a wonderful collection of faces and personalities and sweaters!  This would have been just on the brink of the teddy-boy haircut for schoolboys -- you can see one certainly, and some others just about there.  Only one of the sweaters is a really traditional luskekofte (though with a turtleneck), on the boy to Mr. Flønes's right; there are a couple more modern versions on two boys in the front row, and a typical Fana cardigan also in the front row.

Well, I must admit that I wasted a bit of time just now -- as one does, upon hearing that something is going to take you hours and hours of slogging -- on some of those silly internet quizzes --

The funny (scary?!) thing is that I guessed at probably 75% of the questions -- I knew the answers to the history questions (Hitler, the Stasi, etc.) but guessed at most of the others.  Would you pass the German citizenship test? Take this quiz and find out!

I also should live in Hobart of all Australian cities, I'm actually from the US (or France, depending on whether I answered "nachos" or "crème brûlée"), I am between 173cm and 178cm tall (which is about right), with my time machine I should go to either ancient Egypt or ancient Rome (depending, strangely, on whether I answered "dog" or "horse" respectively, as my favorite animal!), I "am" Ingrid Bergman ("The discreet beauty of this actress was perfectly complemented by her low-key character. With her unostentatious refinement she often needed a second chance to cause an impression, but once she did it was overwhelming"!), I'm very good at the plural forms of words, and in a past life I had an affair with -- wait for it! -- Leonardo da Vinci! ("But when you stood to model for him, he was so impressed with your education and your intelligence that he briefly forgot everything else around him. How fortunate that you were already married, otherwise the world would have missed out on many ideas and innovations"! no, that rates two exclamation points ... !!)

I did manage to find, without any trouble at all, a Super Yarn Mart ruler in my sewing drawer --

not so long ago as to be "before" metric, but old enough not to bother with area codes. 

Here is some of the yarn I squirreled away, lots of red, two greys, and black, with unfortunately only a few balls of white.  It is a sturdy, serviceable wool, not spectacular but surprisingly fine-gauge for a workhorse wool, which is why I was so amazed to find it among all of the acrylics and novelty yarns. Plus ça change.

And how long have I had this?

1988.  My goodness.

We Now Return To Our Regularly-Scheduled Knitting

Well, it's a new year, a clean slate and a fresh start and whatnot, and as I started to clear out drawers I haven't opened since Hector was a pup, I saw the corner of something under a bag of those little balls left over from socks through the years.  "Oh my goodness, it's that Setesdal scarf!"  Right, I thought, it's time to do something about those unfinished projects still sitting around.  Yes, they have come bubbling up to the surface of my conscience with uncomfortable regularity -- it's just that until now I haven't had the nerve to publicly out myself.  So, snagging the idea from Rose Red, I am instigating my own WIP-apalooza for this year.  With a button, of course.

Nine works-in-progress to finish in twelve months -- I can do this!  Here they are, I think in order of ancient-ness ...

Setesdal-style scarf, in fine black and white wools.  I bought this wool at Super Yarn Mart, which tells you how long I've had it.  The WIP isn't quite that old, but nearly.  In my own defense, I misplaced it for quite some time, but I had set it aside in the first place because although I like knitting at a fine gauge, I had got to the "dull" lice section, and the idea of another mile and a half of it was starting to get me down.  This -- I will get my confession out of the way up front -- is by far my oldest UFO, probably twenty years, maybe 25.  Shameful -- especially because I still like it.  I'll photograph the ball band next time, for those of you who remember Super Yarn Mart with affection.

Mother-in-law socks, the Blueberry Waffles, in Shepherd Sock's "Purple Club" colorway.  I chose this pattern partly because it was touted elsewhere as being good for avoiding the pool-and-flash problem, and partly -- I admit -- because Purple Club in this pattern looks just like mashed blueberries and cream.  I got distracted by something else, can't remember now what, and put these away out of trouble, and forgot where they were.

Cousin socks in Shepherd Sock's "Pink Blossom".  I had grand plans of cables and patterned legs to make a splendid pair of knee socks, and gradually realized that all of the already-written patterns wouldn't fit M.'s shapely legs, so gradually got plainer and plainer, and more and more disappointed with the results.  If they had been for me, I wouldn't have minded -- I like vanilla, after all -- but when you've got a reputation to uphold, well.  Of course, now my reputation is as a dawdler!  Part of the trouble is that I was also beginning to suspect that I do not have enough yarn....

Garter Heel Socks, from the Vogue sock book, started in May 2009.  This is Chameleon Colorworks Bambino superwash merino/bamboo/nylon blend, in Viridian.  These didn't quite speak to me at the time, so I felt little compunction in pulling out the needles when I wanted them for something else, and here they still are.  I don't know why I felt so indifferent about them, as I like the color, and the pattern goes well with the yarn.

Klaralund, for a friend, who has either shown enormous patience or has completely forgotten I ever offered to knit her one with this yarn, which is the fabulous Noro Silk Garden #39.  I had got pretty far along with a Rosedale cardigan and decided that I looked like a blimp wearing a Noro cardy, so I frogged it and the yarn sat in the drawer for a long time until I'd made a Klaralund for myself, and thought, "hey! that stash of #39! --"

Muriwai Bath Mat, by Mel Clark in her Knit 2 Together book.  Another rather dull project, miles of garter stitch in the round.  I set this aside for two reasons, actually, one because I was knitting it at a purposely tight gauge so that it would make a thick, absorbent bath mat, and it made my hands ache if I worked on it for very long, and also because it was getting so big that I needed yet another circular needle to hold all of the stitches, and I'd already incorporated all of both mine and my mom's.  (Sorry, mom, I still have your needles!)

Selbu mittens, also -- coincidentally -- in that same Super Yarn Mart wool.  I was working on these in January 2011, I see.  Love these, but because I loved everything about them so very much -- the colors, the feel, the Norwegianness -- wanted nothing less than perfection, which because I was making it up as I went along, kept eluding me.

This is number 6 of a set of felted place mats in Araucania Nature Wool, in a funky random stripe.  Mats 1-5 have been in use on the dining-room table for some months, and I like them a lot.  I've started to run out of colors, though, so I wasn't sure if I should just carry on in the narrow-stripes manner, make them considerably wider, or just go for broke and make a solid -- I have lots of green wool left.

Yoga socks, not strictly a UFO since it's only been about a month since I started them -- but technically, yes, they are still unfinished.  This is my former Invercargill scarf, which rolled mercilessly.  I don't like the yarn that much, as it has a weird squishy feel to it, and I don't especially want acrylic on my feet -- and then I had the brilliant idea of yoga-style socks, which I could wear over regular cotton ones.  I still haven't got to the halfway point of the ball yet, and it's nearing knee-height ...