'Tis The Season For Start-Itis

Maybe it's the weather we've been having. Misty, drizzly, the sun only showing its face every third day, and then for the bare few minutes to remind us it's still around before it disappears again.









When Sophy Wackles and I went down to Gougane Barra for a stroll the other day, even the enchanted little island seemed to be floating above the lake, insubstantial as a dream.












The holly berries were already ripening, though, and giving a welcome flash of scarlet against the grey hills where the druids walk -










- and the woods were as magical as ever. The luxuriantly thick moss covers everything, and you have to look hard to see the vague outlines of what were once sturdy little stone walls around hard-won fields, before the trees took the land back.










Here's a closeup of that tree, so you can enjoy the rich variation of greens and browns as much as I did (can't give you the wonderful scent of fresh earth and moss and damp, unfortunately). Wouldn't you love to create something like that in fibre? Don't think we could ever match Mother Nature, though.







Here's some of her superfine lacework -







- and her dreamy stained glass.



Maybe it is the weather then, creating that urge to snuggle up by the woodstove with a nice knitting or crochet project. It's that time of year after all, and within a few weeks everybody will be panicking wildly about holiday gifts, so getting a head start makes sense really - doesn't it?


Which is one way of confessing that start-itis has broken out with rampant ferocity chez Celtic Memory during this last while. Now there were more than enough projects OTN already without any further bright ideas springing to mind, but somehow all control seemed to go. Brilliant thoughts proliferated, exciting possibilities even invaded dreamtime. Just one teensy new project then. Oh but how about that one? And this? Oh look, isn't that just divine? And wouldn't this make an ideal gift?


Shameful it is. But I can wear the sackcloth and ashes with the best of you. Behold me then, crestfallen and repentant (well, maybe...), trailing the following behind me:

Exhibit A:

The Charcoal St. Enda. Impeccable lineage from the Starmore stable, which must be why I laid the cashmere/silk version in palest cream to one side and started it again in darkest Shetland yarn. You can never have enough Starmore can you (says she cravenly, hoping to break that Stornoway Curse for once and for all).

Exhibit B:

The Somoko Socks, in (I think) Oblique Spiral Rib. Or maybe not. It's in Sensational Knitted Socks anyway. This is the yarn I got in a rather good trade-off with Alynxia and of course it's Fleece Artist - what else could it be with those vibrant colours? - in a luxurious blend of merino, mohair and silk. How could you not cast on for these, once the idea had occurred?

Exhibit C:

A Noro raglan cardigan, worked from the top down. This is from that eminently sensible and easy to follow book, Button Up Your Top Down by Deb Gemmell, and since I had just frogged the Noro from a project that was one of those 'what on earth was I thinking when I started this?' disasters, it felt delightful to cast on for something completely different. Looking at it now, one does wonder if Noro Kureyon was the best choice for a top down - there are so many stitches at the widest point that you only get tiny stripes instead of waves and bands of colour. Not frogging it at this stage though. Not when I've just got to the exquisite relief of taking the sleeve stitches off on to lengths of yarn to await their own moment later.

Exhibit D.

The Schoolmarm Vest from Interweave Crochet. Wanted to make this for ages, and when I saw Loremor's beautiful rendering of it on Ravelry, I couldn't put it off any longer. I'm using some dreamily variegated boucle mohair from the Little Secret Stash Shed in the Woods and yes it is crochet, it IS CROCHET, and I'm glad I tell you, I'm glad, I'm GLAD, hahahahaha! Celtic Memory plays with everything, be it knitting needle, crochet hook, spool with nails stuck in, hairpin lace, broomstick lace, bobbins, spindles, the LOT!

Exhibit E.

The gorgeous Jabot Scarf from Knitspot. Well it seemed such a tiny, indulgent project, surely it couldn't take very much time to make, and I had this sinfully beautiful skein of cashmere/silk (also Fleece Artist, how that woman does seduce our souls...) product of another happy trading exchange, this time with Raspberry - what nice friends one finds in the blogging world!

Kind of keen at the moment on neckwarmers and little scarves and cowls and things like that. Of course it's the cooler weather, but also they don't take up too much yarn (you should see the way the Noro top-down is gulping in entire balls of yarn - seem to be splicing ends every second row at the moment), are a quick knit (well, a quick knit if you aren't doing seventeen others at the same time), and make ideal gifts. So there are plans to make quite a few more - perhaps a gansey-style neckwarmer? That would be fun. Maybe taking an idea or two from Starmore's Eriskay?

(Ducks and runs for cover as another thunderbolt hurtles from Stornoway towards West Cork.)

Whew, that one was close!

Exhibit F.

The Jane Thornley Sunset Vest (only mine is going to be The Mermaid Vest, obviously). I'd gathered together this stash ages ago, and it had been languishing underneath a table, but one fleetingly sunny morning I caught sight of it and decided to get started.

Nearly finished before it got underway, though. I kept the door of the upstairs sitting room rigorously closed, or so I thought... when I got home that evening, DH called, 'Er, Jo - did you leave the door up here open...?' Took the stairs two at a time -

Fortunately Muffy the Yarnslayer hadn't really got into her stride. She'd attacked some nice silky green eyelash, and was just starting on a rather good glitter when we spoiled her fun. She may have been kept away from yarn or even the sniff of yarn for several months, but you can't change basic instinct, can you? No, I will not make her a Mermaid Vest. Can you imagine what she'd do with it? Be sensible now.

Somehow also found time to dye up some more yarns.

Here are a few of them, grabbing the ten minutes of sunshine allocated to West Cork last Monday. From left to right, Chocolate Fudge, Autumn Leaves (both merino/bamboo), Secret Woodland, and Spring Hyacinth (alpaca/silk). The last one on the extreme right is a new experiment, a blend of organic cotton and tencel, and I want to see how it knits up into socks before I force it on any unsuspecting customers.

What do you think of this one? It's a superfine kid mohair boucle and I wound up a nice big 500m skein so that whoever got it would have plenty for an airy shawl or stole. Now that I look at it critically, the colours aren't too far off those of Fleece Artist's Somoko, so maybe I'm getting there.

And now, the real reason I haven't been posting. The result of days of exhausting struggle down in the depths of the stash room, of woe and misery and fury and frustration and all the other concomitants of yarn creation.

This is Samhain 2008, and, because so many people asked me to make a big one, it's a huge skein this time, around 264m or almost 300 yds. That mightn't seem like a lot, but believe me, when you consider that there are over twenty different yarn combinations in there, and each combination can contain anything up to four separate yarns, you might realise that getting it together was a major task. I made up just two before I collapsed from exhaustion and they're both up on eBay now, along with all the others. I just hope nobody asks for half a dozen more! Its ID number is 170271677183 if you can't find it. Sometimes eBay lets me link to US and Canadian sites, sometimes it doesn't, and I can't work out why.

I was looking at Bionic Laura's blog today, and enjoying her picture of lots of nice people making tiny hats for juice bottles al fresco in Co. Dublin (look it up, you'll enjoy it as well). She tells me that she too gets adverse reaction to her knitting in public, and even anger, as if she shouldn't be disgracing women's rights by doing something so demeaning. It was good to find someone else putting words to this experience - I wondered if I'd been mistaken in the hostility I sometimes encounter, but apparently not. Is this just an Irish problem or do any of you in other countries come across disapproval or opposition to your public crafting?

OK, it's open season on holiday knitting now. Yes, I realise we haven't passed Hallow-E'en yet, but this year - THIS YEAR - Celtic Memory is going to be ahead of the game. Honestly...

UPDATE. Following morning. Gosh, that Samhain designer yarn went quickly! Didn't expect that. Well done, D, for snaffling both of them - they're on their way to you right now.

Of Celtic And Viking Interlacement

We've been out and about a lot lately, gathering new pictures of West Cork for a forthcoming project. Yesterday was one of those gifts from the autumnal gods after weeks of wretched weather - fine, clear, sunny, with just enough of an October crispness in the air to give it all a touch of zest. Work was unceremoniously dumped, deadlines ignored, as we grabbed cameras, binoculars, hiking boots, and headed out.




We wandered along gloriously empty beaches where the waves were edged with delicate foamy lace,





and Sophy Wackles was almost hysterical with delight after weeks spent indoors watching a rainy garden through the window. Look at her positively bouncing off the sand with ecstasy.






She even agreed to pose within the crumbling wall of an old castle (we're not short of ruined castles in West Cork, you'll find them everywhere, echoes of our turbulent past.)




We went along by Dirk Bay, silky smooth in the sunlight with hardly a ripple disturbing its calm;








by ruined cottages where you could just distinguish the outline of once well-tended little gardens, now overgrown with bracken and bramble -


- and by Galley Head, where a 12th century Norman keep and fortifications still sturdily protect the more modern lighthouse. When the Normans came to Ireland, a little later than they did to England, they fortified many of the promontories around the south west coastline, presumably keeping an eye out for smugglers and raiders as well as the odd French or Spanish galleon wondering about dropping in to lend the subjugated Irish a friendly hand. They built well, these Normans.


It may be October, but the leaves are still green on the trees down here in this mild climate, warmed as it is by the Gulf Stream.






The fuchsia was bright in the hedgerows - this shrub simply loves West Cork and thrives on not just one but two flowerings a year, one in late spring, the other in early autumn -




- and perhaps my favourite flower of all, the lovely honeysuckle (known more familiarly here as woodbine) released its elusive but exquisitely unforgettable scent in the warming sunshine.



There was a splendid evening sky, perhaps just hinting that the morrow might not be quite as good as that day had been.

Which it wasn't. We woke this morning to rain and gusts of wind, and the scarlet leaves were flying from the Virginia creeper which climbs up the side of the house and taps at my study window. But we were not daunted. We were on our way to Bantry, to meet some very special and eagerly-looked-for friends.






Know who we have here? Well come on, how many husbands in the entire world are going to be wearing a sweater like that?

Yes, designer supreme, creator of so many amazing patterns, author of Viking Knits - none other than Elsebeth Lavold was in West Cork along with husband Anders Rydell. We'd been emailing about this proposed visit for so long, and it was absolutely wonderful to meet in person at last. (You'll note of course that I had donned my Ravelympics Estrid to honour both the occasion and the visitors. Not visible, but also present, were my favourite Aran Sandal Socks, worked in Silky Wool, and therefore eager to meet their yarn creator.)








Nowhere else but the stately surroundings of Bantry House would do for refreshments of course -



- and while Richard and Anders talked about cameras and lenses, and GPS programmes and all those techie topics beloved of Men, Elsebeth and I discussed patterns and cables and lifted increases and how and why she got into designing, and how she made those cute little wristwarmers (you can't see them in very much detail, but her sweater and cabled cardigan are in brown tweedy yarn, while the wristies, with the same motif that you get on the Cul de Sac vest, are in a lovely burnt orange, giving the whole thing a touch of zing) and everything else under the sun. She had brought me two divine skeins of Silky Wool (why is it that whenever I see or touch - especially touch - Silky Wool, I am immediately possessed of the burning desire to get more, more, MORE, right now, right this instant, can't wait?) I in turn had some of that nice organic fingering weight in different natural shades for her to try out.

We could have talked all day; but Elsebeth and Anders had come over to see some of the treasures we cherish here in West Cork and we were determined to take them to a couple they might not otherwise have found.



We set off in drizzling rain, drove up a side road, parked, climbed over a five-barred gate (helpfully signed with 'Please Close The Gate' but also immovably padlocked), and trudged up a grassy field, until we came to -



- a huge and rather incongruous plywood shed/box thing, surrounded by a barbed wire fence. With a little ladder to help you get inside the enclosure.






Elsebeth of course had the honour of opening the door to this extended packing case, and revealing -





The Kilnaurane Pillar Stone. This ornately carved stone is very ancient indeed. It is thought that it may once have formed part of a high cross but now only the upright remains. You might just be able to make out the carving of a boat on the side facing the camera - try tilting your head to the left and looking at it sideways. This is the earliest known depiction of a boat in Ireland and of considerable interest for that reason alone.






Here we are trying to follow the lines of the interlaced pattern onthe other side of the stone.

No, I actually have no idea why or how the Kilnaurane Stone came to be living in a packing case on top of a windy hill. I suspect that the farmer, cherishing this priceless monument on his land, wanted to protect it a little from the wind and weather, so that its carvings didn't deteriorate any further. It was rather nice that he had thought to put a clear perspex roof over the top, so that the stone could still look up at the stars at night. Anyway, it may have looked very odd and out of place, but it was all very endearing nevertheless.


After that we set off again, down the hill, over the gate, back to the road, and off down another side boreen, winding away into the hills in the general direction of Durrus (probably from the Irish doras or door). Stopped by a farm gateway, picked our way up a muddy lane, and through a gap in a hedge.












I love these magnificent gallauns or menhirs. They were probably once part of a longer row of tall stones striding across the misty landscape, visible from miles around. With the rain clouds drifting overhead, and the wind whipping the grass, it was easy to imagine shadowy druids pacing between them.


The most marvellous thing about these stones though is their purpose - they are pointing the way to somewhere else, somewhere of great significance to whoever erected them long long ago in the mists of prehistory. When you stand at these sole survivors of an ancient way, and look directly ahead of them to the west, you see a small hill ahead of you, perhaps about a quarter of a mile distant. You won't find any signposts telling you so, but if you know the way, you cross the lane, climb a gate, wriggle under a wire fence, climb the hill, struggle over a barbed wire barricade, and at last, somewhat rumpled and considerably out of breath, you find -








- the splendidly remote Dunbeacon Stone Circle, alone on its grassy hilltop save for the occasional stray sheep or wandering fox. This is the proper - the only - way to discover one of these magnificent ancient monuments - by fighting your way through gorse bushes and bracken, stumbling over ruts and unexpected holes, getting your shoes soaked and your sweater caught on a dozen brambles, until at last, out of breath, you arrive on the flat grassy sward where quietly and in silent dignity they stand waiting.



And, when you've looked your fill, listened to the whispers within the circle, paced its circumference, you go a few steps further to the very top of the hill and look westward.








This view has probably not changed very much since our forefathers stood here and looked out over Bantry Bay and the western seas before turning back to the circle and the rituals to be performed there.


We have a great many stone circles in West Cork - there are more recorded here than anywhere else in Ireland - so it's probably safe to assume that there won't be a concrete pathway, signs, ticket booths, public conveniences at this particular site in the foreseeable future. That's as it should be. Dunbeacon should remain aloof and secluded, invisible to all but those who are willing to make the rough pilgrimage.




We parted at the foot of the hill - Anders and Elsebeth to go south to Mizen Head and the winding coastline, we for home and neglected work. But we'll meet up again before they leave Ireland.






It feels like a good pattern, this Viking-Celtic interlacement.

Meeting A Woman With A Mission!

You know, it really was a very good feeling meeting Steph face to face at last, and being able to make genuine contact in real time. We knitters and fibre artists all get to know each other so well over the Net, share ideas and worries, even the occasional pattern, send packages, source difficult items, and generally become closer friends than is the case with our physical neighbours. But it's always nicest to have a warm hug. Nothing else compares. Rachel H, I hope she gave you yours, and that it hadn't been pulled around too much by airport security.

I'd better upfront here and confess that to my extreme embarrassment, I can't show you my pictures of Steph giving her all on the stand at I-Knit. I'm currently galloping around some remoter corners of Ireland with only my trusty laptop, and although I thought I'd tucked the pics of Herself into a folder here, along with others, she seems to have run off somewhere and can't - or won't - be found. Maybe she found a sheep to talk to. Anyways, you'll have to wait. But you know what she looks like anyway, right? Last seen wearing a very nifty burnt-orange cardi with some lovely shaping and patterning - although that got doffed pretty quickly once she got into her talk.

And that was the best bit. Hearing Stephanie Pearl McPhee talk about knitting and general public attitudes thereto, is funny yes, but a heck of a lot more than that. She starts with witty asides, throws in a few hysterical observations (haven't we all endured the pitying, 'Oh I wish I had time to do something like that...'?) but then gently and firmly leads you to questioning not only the attitude of others but your own take on working with yarn. Why, you start wondering, do I sell myself and my craft short? Why am I not boasting from the hilltops of my ability? Why am I not contributing to international help programmes (ok, ok, programs, you want me to write this in two versions, do you, one for the Old World, one for the New?), creating research projects aimed at alleviating stress, boredom, trauma? Why, indeed, am I not revered internationally as one of the great artists of my time?

Yes, you do get this from Steph's talks. Along with lots of laughter and incredulous delight. This is a woman with a mission, and she's got me on board, like everyone else who has had the good fortune to hear her. In fact I think she's like a general, rounding up captains everywhere she goes. We've all been fighting our own small battles in our own regions ('so why do you need more yarn?' 'Oh you're not busy - you're just crocheting/knitting/spinning'; 'Ah isn't that quaint. I suppose you weren't bright enough to do anything else, like going on to college?' Oh it's just Mom, she doesn't do anything exciting, just makes socks and sweaters for us and things'; 'Hey, didn't you know you could buy that far cheaper round the corner?' 'When you've finished those, you can make a pair for me, ha ha ha!') Oh haven't we all heard them? Once you've heard The Yarn Harlot talking quietly, compellingly, revealing academic findings, scientific opinion, you start to think that it is high time we did something about all this. We already knew we were a power to be reckoned with - perhaps we should start wielding it.

I mean - look at this.

That hall was absolutely jammed with people - mostly women, but quite a few men too - and virtually all knitting, crocheting, or working in some way with fibre while they listened. That's pretty impressive for London on a Saturday afternoon.

(Oh do we ever need you in Ireland, Steph! At this stage, I don't think we would get a full hall. The anti-craft feeling is still too high here. We're decades behind the UK on that front, and about fifty years behind the US. But maybe some Revivalist meetings out in the boglands and on the mountain tops, rallying the old believers to the Cause? They could steal from their thatched cottages, rescuing the hidden knitting needles from the rafters and the balls of yarn from behind the churn, and hasten to the hillside at midnight, bearing burning torches. Yes, I can see it now! Knitters awake!)

Of course it all has to do with male definitions of power and its icons, hasn't it? As Steph (forgive me for shortening your name, Madam Yarn Harlot, I know it's a bit informal, but it's shorter when you're balancing a laptop on your knee in a B&B just before checkout time, when the wifi signal is wavering and you're not at all sure you're going to be able to finish the post) - well anyway, as Steph so rightly reminded everyone, knitting was a male occupation until the Industrial Revolution when they all went into factories to play with big noisy iron toys and left the women with the now unimportant hand skills. Old bad, new good. It was ever thus.

The whole male/female definition of what's important and what rates as admirable deserves a closer look too, and not just by me but by every one of you too. Who says it's a Good Thing to have just one idea in mind, one project, and stick to that one until it's done? The male mind, of course. Who made it a given that women gravitate naturally towards doing a dozen things at once, changing their minds often, varying in their moods, and - AND - this is the important bit - REGARDING THOSE CHARACTERISTICS AS BAD? Yep, you got it. The male.

OK, got off on a rant there. But don't just laugh and pass onwards. Laugh by all means, but have a think too. Steph has done her thinking, I'm doing mine. Go you and do yours. It's about time we got balance back into world opinion of what is important. We've seen some pretty unpleasant examples of what happens with an unbalanced world view.

Back to I-Knit. I did manage to find the pictures of friends met in London -

Here is my trusty fellow-soldier from Sock Madness 2, Lily Marlene. I'm so glad you came up and introduced yourself, LilyM - it was great to meet, after all those agonies and struggles during the insanity of Sock Madness.

And here's my good friend UK Jo with Luke the jetsetting mouse, complete with his own passport. Luke is apparently doing the rounds from country to country, collecting stamps on that little passport, and gaining a lot of friends along the way.

(I realise I'm not giving proper links to people's blogs. I'm sorry. This wifi connection is so shaky, I daren't even attempt to open another window. I'll make up for everything when I get home, promise.)

Also met up with Natalie of The Yarn Yard (where on earth has her picture gone? Out with Steph chasing sheep, are you? Never mind, I'll find you later), and Jeni of Fyberspates who was sporting one long stocking knitted on a sock machine like mine! We shrieked and exclaimed and vowed to exchange dozens more emails about the little blighters. It was comforting to hear that she'd struggled for a year with hers before succeeding in making an actual sock. You can see a lovely picture of her and the famed stocking on the Yarn Harlot's blog.

Anybody who saw me in the distance and didn't come up to say hallo, DO IT NEXT TIME, WILL YOU? I love meeting friends that I've hitherto only known over the Net. Proseknitic, where WERE you? Waited so long for you at Victoria the staff were beginning to wonder if I had another profession than that of knitter...

The Dutch Knitters were a wonderful bunch.

Look at these delectable socks - made in Wollmeise yarn I suspect, from the glowing colours.

And I loved this poster on their display - look at the tiny knitted fungi on the cannon!

Here is HUGE knitting on enormous needles, with strips of fabric. That was great fun.

Oh for heaven's sake, now my pictures of the yarn I bought have disappeared! What is going ON here? Well, you will have to use your imagination - got some divine Italian Silk from Fleece Artist, dyed in shades of mysterious forest green. So gorgeous I was stroking it all the way home. And treated myself to a ball winder, yay! Love my antique nostepinnes, but they do take rather a long time when there is a lot of yarn.

It was lovely to get to London, hug Stephanie Pearl McPhee, meet friends, and see yarny things.

But it was nice to get home again too, away from crowds and city streets and high buildings, and find traffic jams of a more rural kind -

- and discover Peadar, who keeps our lawns tidy, bringing round some of the freshly-dug vegetables from his garden as a present.

Put the new ball winder to work right away, on some nice double-plied linen yarn that I'd bleached to an acceptable whiteness.

Here are two wound balls, the one on the right done on the nostepinne, in the old way, the one of the left on the ball winder. OK, even allowing for the fact that the nostepinne version has been used for swatching and early attempts several times over, the ball winder does definitely give a sharper, crisper effect, doesn't it. That's my dear little hooked mug rug in front, souvenir of Nova Scotia.

(Maybe that's the way to do rug hooking. Start small, rather than with a gigantic project designed to fit the entire dining room?)

The next challenge on the horizon will be for the Elsebeth Lavold KAL on Ravelry. Dicksie (sorry I daren't try opening another internet window to find your URL, Dicksie, I'll do it when I get home, promise), declared her intention of trying Brage, and I could do no other than take up her challenge and follow suit.

That's Brage on the left there. Don't bother going looking for the pattern, there isn't one. It was created by a gifted knitter especially for Elsebeth's Viking exhibition. That small picture is all Dicksie and I have to go on. What fun!

OK, now I'm going to try to post this. Hope it works.

A House of Dreams And A Little Forgotten Treasure

No sooner are the Ravelympics out of the way than lo and behold, an Elsebeth Lavold KAL is starting. Tomorrow, September 1, to be precise, and me with not a dog in the house washed! I have had my suspicions for some time, but now it is become blindingly apparent that Ravelry expands effortlessly to fill every available moment and quite a few moments you don't have. It is fun though. And I can give it up any time I like... really.


(Yesterday I met the receptionist who I had introduced to the joys of surfing on the Net while sitting primly at her counter, so nobody would be any the wiser, bosses can be such killjoys, and she asked if I knew of any nice patterns for bazaar or gift items. Whoo hoo, another novitiate for Ravelry! Gave her a quick glance at the possibilities, and she signed up for the waiting list on the spot, saying amazedly, 'you mean I can just type in the sort of thing I want to make and it shows me everything that's been made already? I can't believe this!...' Neither can the rest of us really, can we? I mean - look back at your hobby habits five years ago and look at them now.)


But the Lavold KAL. I had started Ragna absolutely ages ago then left it to one side because it was looking a bit big and bulky (not to mention warm) for my lifestyle here in Ireland where it doesn't usually get very cold. I still loved the idea of those medieval tabs, though, so I'm thinking about making an open-fronted jacket or cardigan with a high neck. Will post pictures when there is something to see. Still in the brain at the moment.


The Rivendell socks are progressing again, having been unceremoniously dumped for Estrid during the Ravelympics.






This is a really lovely design, and I'm enjoying it so much I might just continue the little diamonds down the instep. The stitches are so tiny, though, that a cable needle (well, a very fine darning needle really) is necessary to avoid catastrophes.


In the small window of opportunity 'twixt the ending of the Ravelympics and the intrusion of real life, managed to dye up a whole new lot of sock yarns.





These are up on eBay now - about half and half merino/tencel and merino/bamboo, to suit all tastes. Must start making up special packs soon too, with a mix of all kinds of different textures and colours and fibres, for those who are thinking of making any of Jane Thornley's gorgeous designs either for themselves or as seasonal gifts.



Speaking of whom, have you seen this latest amazing design from Jane?








The Roving Moss Cardigan.



What that woman can do with colour and texture is incredible. This I have to make. Hope you don't mind my showing your picture, Jane - it's so lovely I wanted everyone to fall for it as much as I did.

Gosh, it's almost September and that means I-Knit Day in London! Squeeeee! Who else is going to this next Saturday? I'll be there, with bells on. Let's meet up. It will be crowded, it will be exhausting, it will be hell on wheels, and none of us would miss it for the world. Yarn Harlot, see you on Saturday!


Now - I ran out of time last posting and promised to tell you about Prince Edward Island this time round.


I fell for that gentle lovely little island big time -





- from the moment I caught a glimpse of the little lighthouse and the characteristic red earth of the cliffs, as we came in on the ferry.


Of course it's famous for Lucy Maud Montgomery and her wonderful creation Anne of Green Gables. Must have read every single one of her books a hundred times over the years, and loved every one of them, but wasn't quite sure what to expect on PEI - total tourism perhaps, the sort of over-commercialisation that you get in other places. But the Island does it so very well, and with such an evident sense of caring and thoughtfulness, that you never feel you're being manipulated or fleeced - not ever. Even driving to Charlottetown the apartness of this place was palpable. Cottage gardens filled with old fashioned flowers, rolling fields of grain, traditional wooden barns beautifully maintained, a sense of earlier times - it was so restful. It's not so much that they play the part of the island described so lovingly in Montgomery's books, it's that PEI simply doesn't appear to have changed that much since the early 20th century.






Well of course we went to Green Gables! Did you think we wouldn't?


(Mind you, DH had to be given a very quick run-down on the books, the characters, the plots, the places, the best bits, the next best bits, the absolute favourite bits, while driving over to Cavendish, where Green Gables is located, but to give him credit, he took it all very well, only occasionally looking at me with puzzlement as if to ask, 'Does a children's book really matter all that much?' Actually they weren't written particularly for children - Montgomery just wrote them for anyone, and myself I still happily re-read them with no problem at all.)


The house has been really lovingly restored - I keep on using that term, but it honestly is the one which applies most appropriately to PEI - such care is taken with their tourist sights that other places really should go there for lessons on how to do it RIGHT.






I mean - just look at this. Anne's bedroom. Now you know and I know that Anne was just a character created by Lucy Maud, but to most of us she is as real as a sister, and they realise that at Green Gables. All her girlish things are here, all the memories of growing up, including even the cracked slate which she broke over Gilbert Blythe's head for calling her 'Carrots'. It really makes you feel choky inside when you look at the detail in that room - and at the narrow little staircase down which she went on her wedding morning to Gilbert waiting at the foot.


And yes, the orchard is there, and they have a wonderful vegetable plot with all the lettuces and tomatoes and carrots well tended. And roses and hollyhocks, and the path leading down to the little footbridge into the Haunted Wood, just as there should be. You feel you're walking through Anne's life when you're there, just as you read it in childhood.





Look at this little girl being photographed in the garden proudly wearing her Anne hat.

Apparently it's a very popular location for getting married too - some brides even dyeing their hair bright red for the occasion. Laugh if you like, but I must admit that I went into the bookshop later on and re-read that chapter, where Anne and Gilbert pledge their vows under the old apple trees.


We had a wonderful time just relaxing and wandering around the island for a few days, not rushing, going where the little winding roads took us, and DH patiently putting up with my, 'Oh there's the old Silverbush farm! Look, that's the Lake of Shining Waters! Gosh, that's the village hall where Ruby Gillis -' and so on.


One place I was determined to find was Anne's House of Dreams. This was always my favourite - the story where she comes as a young bride to an idyllic little cottage in a seaside hamlet, the dreams she weaves there, the sorrows and joys she encounters. Had some difficulty establishing which area had given Montgomery her basis for Four Winds Point and Glen River. Staff at Green Gables, though ready with every detail on their farm, the outbuildings, and anything connected with the tourist centre, were unsure; but eventually tireless persistence paid off, and we were directed to New London.


Only it couldn't be New London. It didn't look right at all. 'It has to have a promontory, and a lighthouse for the old captain,' I exclaimed crossly, banging on the dashboard of the car and rattling the map yet again (it occurs to me that there may be some reading this who have never actually read the Anne stories. If so, you have my apologies. No you don't. You have my sympathy. Stop reading this right NOW, go find the first in the series, and don't come back until you've read them ALL. They are not SO just for children. They're for anyone who appreciates good writing).


We drove on, along ever-narrower roads, on some red earth dirt tracks even, until at last I knew we'd found it. This had to be it. French River.






There are trees behind the bay, there is a beach on which Anne could dance by moonlight, and there is a path winding up to the clifftop and the tiny old lighthouse. Yes, I'd found the right location. There was even a darling little house tucked way back into the trees which could well be the original inspiration, but it didn't have the stream that Anne's house did. Ah well, maybe every author is entitled to some license in making the perfect house of dreams. (I'd show you that little house, I would, really, but it's currently in the limbo of being put on CDs by DH along with thousands of others, so it will have to wait. Remind me if I forget.)


This wasn't all the joy that Prince Edward Island gave. It had a secret gift waiting for me. We were coming back from the House of Dreams hunt and stopped to look at a tempting roadside junkshop - you know the kind, with old armchairs out on the roadside and stuffed moose teetering by the door. Wandered up and down the dusty aisles, noting the surprising number of spinning wheels on offer here on PEI, including great or walking wheels as well as the smaller type (how come there are so many, and that they're not all snapped up, spinners among you, head for PEI NOW, they're quite reasonably priced). Niddy noddies too, both elegant and very evidently home-made, but rather too large to fit in a suitcase.



Just about to leave, decided to wander down the last aisle, checking if anything was hidden underneath the display tables (I'm always on the lookout for a teeny tiny folding table, the kind that looks like a footstool when folded, and can fit behind the armchair, but makes a nice little coffee table when opened up.)


Then, quite suddenly, I saw - this.






Only a handle, poking out of a box that was pushed right under a shelf, but it was enough. I tried to call DH but only a strangled croak came out. 'Twas enough for him to detect the emergency though, because he was at my side in an instant.

'Is - is it?'


'It can't be. I don't believe it.'


'Neither do I.'


But it was. And five minutes later we had loaded it into the car and were heading back to our hotel at full speed. At last we could unload the full contents on to a handy newspaper and examine our find.








Now what, would you say, are the chances, within a couple of months of being reunited with the most wonderful and precious family heirloom, of finding just another such? On Prince Edward Island? With a sock still in the cylinder? No, coincidence won't wash this time. That little machine was waiting for me and I was led to that dark aisle in that junkshop. No question.





All the bits were in the box which was the original packing case in which the machine arrived. I know that because of the envelope you can see on top in the picture there. We carefully, oh-so-carefully unfolded it, held it up to the light, and tried to read the address. Eventually DH photographed it at high resolution, and then enlarged it on screen.







You might not be able to read the address here, but you can probably see it comes from the Dundas Knitting Machine Co. in Dundas, Ontario. And can you see the lovely engraving of a knitting machine in the top left hand corner?



The little Dundas was bought, it appears, by a Mr. Arsene Gallant of Miscouche, Prince Edward Island. Thank heaven for in-room wi-fi! We searched for M. Gallant and found one in Miscouche who lived between 1860 and 1940. His wife (who died in 1948) was called Sophie. Of course she was! Now we had a name for our new treasure. And the makings of a perfectly lovely story in the future - the Tale of A Sock Machine.



Heavens above, Lucy Maud Montgomery might have known the Gallants. She might have seen Sophie working on it. The possibilities of her story are endless.



She is really tiny in sock terms this little Sophie - the cylinder has only 32 slots, which means a 32 stitch sock, while the ribber has just 16. Perhaps it was intended for children's wear, although you could perhaps get an adult size with thicker yarn. Time will tell.



So now my own beloved Maman machine has a little daughter machine, Sophie, to keep her company. Some day soon they will crank side by side. Sophie Gallant, wherever you sleep on the island of red earth and winding lanes, know that your treasured machine is safe in Ireland and being well cared for.



And thank you, Prince Edward Island. I truly did not expect such a gift, but I am so grateful you thought me worthy of it.