“We will always be blessed by the ties
that bind and that yarn that began it all.”
—Rainbow Socks cofounder
Babbie Cameron, June 2009
Rainbow socks. More like slippers. My blue, gold, red, cream, and deep turquoise ones are in great condition, never worn. Finely knit, eight stitches to an inch, they look small, almost child-sized. I hadn’t imagined they might fit me, but just yesterday, after all these years, I discovered that they do. I’ll keep them on until this story’s written. After all, along with the yarn and the knitters who made them, they are characters in this tale. And besides, my feet are always cold, even on this summer day.
I was searching for signs of goodness in the universe when I stumbled on the Knitting Project. It was 1994. Winter. The war in the former Yugoslavia had created thousands of refugees, mostly women and children. Many of them were knitters, who had left yarn and tools behind along with their former lives. Hands idle, they were spending their days in cold, uncomfortable limbos. Some had even started to pull apart their own sweaters, aching for wool and using whatever they could find to knit—a bicycle spoke as a knitting needle, for instance. Aid workers and mental health therapists helping them with post-traumatic stress disorder sent out a call: Would it be possible to get these women needles and yarn?
From that heartrending request, from that cry from across the Atlantic, the Knitting Project began. In a span of almost seven years, it sent more than thirty-two tons of yarn and needles. Donations came from knitters in every state of the Union, and from several American mills where workers volunteered their Saturdays to make the yarn.
“A mountain of yarn,” is how Babbie Cameron, the Knitting Project cofounder, once described the contribution they received. A mountain of yarn that put knitting back into anxious, troubled hands. Visiting the refugee knitters after an early yarn shipment, Babbie and her husband, Stu, were presented with a pair of sarene carape, traditional Balkan slippers. Knit with the donated yarn, they were the first Rainbow Socks. Taking a duffel bag of them back to the States, the Camerons promised to sell as many as they could. And for the next six years, they did. Filling her house, devoting herself to the women who needed her, Babbie launched her nonprofit, Rainbow Socks. The socks, and later, mittens and kilim rugs, were sold through church groups, humanitarian organizations, knitting guilds, and ads in knitting magazines. Maybe you even own a pair. I bought dozens.
“When you look inside your rainbows, you will find the signature of a refugee knitter, and you will be holding in your hand a connection that links you to her future,” stated the Rainbow Socks order form. Indeed, the sock money that hundreds of women earned was used for firewood, eyeglasses, shoes, blood pressure medication, and fresh fruit for their children.
After sending my first yarn shipment in 1994, I designed cards for the Knitting Project and many of its offspring efforts. The cards were used for thank-yous and sold in packs as fund-raisers. For my tiny contribution to this monumental work helping refugee women and their children, I was rewarded a hundredfold with a knit baby sweater, other small pieces of handwork, touching notes from the women translated by volunteers, newsletters with updates on the women whose names I was learning as time went on, and stories of their trials and progress, concerns and worries. Later, when I met Babbie and Stu, I received a large mounted photo of a Rainbow Sock knitter that has a permanent place in my studio. The Knitting Project—Rainbow Socks, along with its later related ventures—continued until the winter of 2000, but all that it created by giving, by helping other knitters to survive through terrible, trying times, has willed me a lifetime supply of the goodness I had been searching for back then.
Our Rainbow Socks were well worn and loved by me and my children. The ones on my feet now are the very last ones I have. I was saving them. But this pair fits me so perfectly, I think it’s time to use them. After all, they were meant for wear. And their story is almost told. To end it, I’ll honor their legacy with this bit of unsolicited advice: Make room in your knitting life for others. Share the warmth.
“We knitters work a powerful magic when we knit for others.
By doing so, as you will see in the pages that follow, we can build bridges
between warring nations, help to heal deep wounds, offer a
primal sort of comfort, and create peace—however small, and in
whatever way may be—for others and ourselves.”
—Betty Christiansen, Knitting for Peace
Betty Christiansen knows and understands the legacy of charitable knitting. And in her beautifully designed book, Knitting for Peace, she shares her passion for the subject. Taking us around the globe, Christiansen introduces us to wartime knitters, political knitters, refugee knitters, prison knitters, and spiritual knitters, young and old, all stitching for the needy. There are inspirational interviews with folks like Evie Rosen, who started Warm Up America! to provide blankets to the homeless, and Peter Haggerty, whose fears of another war led him to found a most hopeful business, Peace Fleece, as well as with many lesser-known individuals and groups involved in meaningful initiatives. Along with their inspiring stories and guidelines for getting involved in their efforts, there are fifteen patterns suitable for charitable giving: hats, shawls, mittens, socks, vests, sweaters, and more.
Knitting for Peace is an historical reference, a spiritual guide, a charitable knitting handbook, and a great read. Once it is on your bookshelf, you will find yourself reaching for it again and again.
Potatoes, grated, baked, fried, boiled, even raw, have sustained hearts, souls, and bodies through the most difficult of times. Potato pancakes, or latkes, are common in Central and Eastern European cuisines, and are traditionally served at Hanukkah throughout the world. If desired, you can fry and bake the latkes up to an hour in advance.
2 large eggs
2 medium-sized yellow onions
8 medium russet potatoes, washed, peeled, and dried (see Note)
¼ cup matzo meal or crushed saltines
Salt, to taste
¼–½ cup vegetable oil, for frying
Sour cream, jam, applesauce, or salsa, for topping
Place a large cast-iron or heavy frying pan over medium-high heat,
Place a cookie sheet in oven and preheat to 325°F.
In a small bowl, beat the eggs.
Peel the onions and cut them into pieces large enough to grate or small enough for the food processor grater. Grate the potatoes and onions either by hand or in the food processor, as follows: potato, onion, potato, onion. If there is a lot of liquid when you are done, transfer mixture to a strainer and press it out.
Transfer potato mixture to a large bowl. Add beaten egg and enough matzo meal to make the batter stick together lightly.
Put oil in a measuring cup and, using a silicone or pastry brush, coat the hot pan. Make sure you generously cover the entire surface. Plop a tablespoon of the batter into the pan. If it sizzles, oil is ready. Lower burner temperature at any point if oil begins smoking.
Drop the potato mixture in ¼-cup clumps into the oil. Very lightly brown latkes for about 1 or 2 minutes on each side. Move them to a plate and gently blot with a paper towel. Transfer blotted latkes to the cookie sheet in oven. Latkes in oven will continue to cook and brown while you fry the rest. Reapply oil to pan and continue frying latkes until batter is used up. Latkes in oven are ready when brown and crisp.
Serve hot with an assortment of toppings.
Makes twenty-four 3″ to 4″ latkes; serves about 6.
NOTE: Once you have peeled the potatoes, you need to make the latkes quickly; peeled potatoes turn an ugly green if they are left out too long.
“People will never remember me for what I have in life.
They’ll remember me for what I’ve given others.”
—Marge Snyder, Mitten Lady of Janesville, Wisconsin
As told to Marv Wopat, The Janesville Gazette,
December 21, 2008, on why she kept knitting mittens even
after her hand was paralyzed by a stroke.
On benches at high school football games, on the hard plastic seating of hospital waiting rooms, on plump living-room sofas, on straight-backed wooden chairs by kitchen tables with coffee and companions, wherever they can set up shop, the ladies are at work. Hard times and economic woes don’t affect their labor for others. They only deepen it.
Some are known for what they do. Others wish to remain unrecognized and unheralded, revealing themselves only to family and friends. They arrange to have their efforts picked up at their front door, quickly drop off plastic bags bulging with goods, or leave their neat bundles for others to use to decorate a giving tree.
Who are these women?
Why, they’re the Mitten Ladies. Volunteers in the service of protecting vulnerable hands, they stock our communities and world with their knitted and crocheted mittens. I’ll bet there’s one in your town. Maybe even two or three.
The year I decided to change my karma by knitting one hundred mittens, I almost became one myself. But when my last pair of mittens was finished, I moved on to other projects, something true Mitten Ladies never do. A story idea, one about an old lady who knits mittens, led me to play with the moniker. For fun, I Googled it. What popped up amazed me. Obituaries and feature articles about Mitten Ladies from newspapers all over the country: Helen Solka, Audrey Thompson, Marjorie Schulz, Elsie E. Howe, Dorothy Louise (Scott) Grant Tanguay, Anna Duell, Anne Buly, Patricia “Pat” Bangs, Ruth Haley, Lela Mills, Marge Snyder, Terri Crossman, Helen Bunce.
Helen Bunce’s New York Times obituary was written by the celebrated obit writer Robert McG. Thomas Jr. Widely read, often reproduced and included in anthologies, it’s appropriately titled “The Mitten Lady.” Helen was an anonymous contributor to local and worldwide efforts, and her identity was disclosed only days before her death, after forty-seven years and more than four thousand mittens.
Let’s pause here a moment for some mitten talk, for the clarification needed to understand the magnitude of these stitching efforts. “One hundred mittens” really means one hundred pairs—two hundred mittens. It’s the sheer numbers that make these knitters Mitten Ladies, and many of them do keep count: fifty mittens in 1955, one hundred mittens in 1978, four thousand mittens in a lifetime.
There’s usually a story behind their devotion, one that gets better with each pair of mittens, because after a while, knitting the mittens becomes the story. Helen Bunce’s tale began with a sermon she had heard. In the ruins of post–World War II Europe, there stood a cold little boy. Waiting in a relief line for some warm mittens, he left without getting any. When his turn had come, there were none left. “Need is unending” was the message. That’s why Helen and other Mitten Ladies knit on and on: so there might be enough for all the children. Even the ones at the very end of a very long line.
Mitten Ladies raise families, work jobs, take care of ailing relatives, suffer their own losses and hardships, battle their own demons. And through it all, they faithfully knit volumes of warmth for those in need. They deserve a place in women’s history. It’s not just mittens that they give, it’s what their dedication teaches us about living, about being a citizen of the world, about accepting that even modest means are a privilege, and then, about using that privilege to work for the greater good.
Mittens are easily mastered. Knit on two, four, or five needles, they can be plain Janes: one color, stockinette stitch. Stripes are simple to add. If you want to be a Mitten Lady, you will need a good pattern and a sturdy knitting bag with a pocket for notions. Oh, and you might just want to slip in a small notebook to jot down changes or innovations to what will become your mitten pattern. A section in the back can be devoted exclusively to keeping track: ten pairs in 2009, twenty in 2010, and so on.
If you do decide to be a Mitten Lady, you may want to take your knitting everywhere you go, knit every chance you have. You’ll soon figure out the best thumbs. You’ll learn that markers can be replaced by a purl stitch and that left and right mittens can be made interchangeable. Knitting a dozen pairs could make you an expert.
Snow is falling as I write this. It’s perfect weather for sledding or building a snowman. But not without mittens. Somewhere, right now, there’s a lady at work, ribbing a cuff, increasing for a thumb gusset, knitting a child some winter warmth. It could be you.
The Mitten Ladies create warmth for the cold hands of those unable to knit for themselves. What happens when the knitter is the one in need? In The Endless Steppe, Esther Hautzig’s autobiographical novel about her childhood in Siberia, we are afforded a rare and touching account of a heroic and spunky twelve-year-old girl who uses her knitting to earn food for her destitute, starving family. Her uncrushable spirit is tested along the way. Facing challenges that would have broken most knitters’ resolve, Esther Hautzig knits on with courage, confidence, and bravery, and so, like the Mitten Ladies, she inspires us to do the same. Read The Endless Steppe, and you’ll be grateful for the power vested in our needles.
While this thick soup cooks in a slow cooker, you can stitch a pair of easy mittens.
1 medium onion, diced
2 cups mushrooms, sliced
3 large garlic cloves, minced
2 stalks celery with leaves, thinly sliced
3 medium carrots, cut into ½″ chunks
3 medium potatoes, cut into eighths 2 dried bay leaves
2 cups yellow split peas, rinsed
8 cups chicken broth
1 (20-ounce) package lean turkey bratwurst
Turn a 6- to 8-quart slow cooker to high. Add all ingredients in order listed. Cover and put a weight on top of lid to keep heat and steam from escaping. Cook 5 to 5½ hours, until yellow peas are soft or dissolved; if soup is too thick, thin with a little extra chicken broth. Remove sausages. Cut them into ½″ pieces and put back into soup. Stir well and serve.
Serves 8.
In honor of mitten ladies, past, present, and future, I introduce these Quick and Easy Mittens, perfect for your own family’s needs and charitable donations. I’ve nicknamed this pattern Pearl because there is a purl stitch serving as a stitch marker on either side of the thumb gusset. Pearl is a sister pattern to the Quick and Easy Socks on page 73 because, until you put the thumb stitches on a holder, you can still change your mind and make socks instead.
SIZE
X-Small (Small, Medium, Large, X-Large)
To fit 3–6 years, (6–8 years, Adult Small/Medium, Adult Large, Adult X-Large)
NOTE: For denser, super-warm Mittens, work the pattern 1 size larger than needed and felt the Mittens lightly in the washing machine, checking every 2 or 3 minutes until the Mittens are the size you want. Make sure not to leave them in too long, since there’s no going back once they’re felted. If you prefer your Mittens to be machine washable, you may substitute Lion Brand Yarn Wool-Ease Chunky (153 yards / 140 grams), but remember that machine-washable yarn cannot be felted.
FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
5½ (6½, 7½, 8½, 9½)″ circumference
7 (7¾, 10, 10¾, 11½)″ long
YARN
Lion Brand Alpine Wool (100% wool; 93 yards / 85 grams): 1 (1, 1, 2, 2) skein(s) #123 Bay Leaf
One set of five double pointed needles (dpn) size US 6 (4 mm)
One set of five double pointed needles size US 8 (5 mm)
Change needle size if necessary to obtain correct gauge.
NOTIONS
Stitch holder
GAUGE
15 sts and 20 rnds = 4″ (10 cm) in Stockinette stitch (St st; knit every rnd),
using larger needles
STITCH PATTERN
1x1 Rib
(multiple of 2 sts; 1-rnd repeat)
MITTENS (both alike)
CUFF
Using smaller needles and Long-Tail CO (see Special Techniques, page 158), CO 20 (24, 28, 32, 36) sts. Divide sts among 4 needles [5-5-5-5 (6-6-6-6, 7-7-7-7, 8-8-8-8, 9-9-9-9)]. Begin 1x1 Rib; work even for 12 (13, 15, 16, 18) rnds.
HAND
Next Rnd: Change to St st (knit every rnd); work even for 3 rnds.
SHAPE THUMB
NOTE: The purl sts on Needles 1 and 2 mark where you will work the increases on each Increase Rnd. You will work the increase on Needle 1 after the purl st, and the increase on Needle 2 before the purl st. If you prefer, you may omit placing the markers and use the purl sts as your markers.
Increase Rnd 1: Needle 1: K4 (5, 6, 7, 8), pm (optional), p1, LLI; Needle 2: RLI, pm (optional), p1, k4 (5, 6, 7, 8); Needles 3 and 4: Knit—22 (26, 30, 34, 38) sts [6-6-5-5 (7-7-6-6, 8-8-7-7, 9-9-8-8, 10-10-9-9)]. Work even for 2 rnds.
Increase Rnd 2: Increase 2 sts this rnd, then every 3 rnds 2 (3, 3, 4, 4)times, as follows: Needle 1: Knit to marker (or to purl st if you didn’t place a marker), slip marker (sm), p1, RLI, knit to end of needle; Needle 2: Knit to marker (or to purl st), LLI, sm, p1, knit to end of needle; Needles 3 and 4: Knit—28 (34, 38, 44, 48) sts [9-9-5-5 (11-11-6-6, 12-12-7-7, 14-14-8-8, 15-15-9-9)].
Next Rnd: K5 (6, 7, 8, 9), place next 8 (10, 10, 12, 12) sts on holder for Thumb, removing markers if you placed them, knit to end—20 (24, 28, 32, 36) sts remain [5-5-5-5 (6-6-6-6, 7-7-7-7, 8-8-8-8, 9-9-9-9)]. Work even until piece measures 6 (6¼, 8¼, 8½, 9)″ from the beginning, or to 1 (1½, 1¾, 2¼, 2½)″ less than desired length.
NOTE: For the correct Mitten length, Mitten should reach the top of the little finger before beginning shaping.
MITTEN TOP
Decrease Rnd: Decrease 4 sts this rnd, then every other rnd 2 (3, 4, 5, 6) times, as follows: Needles 1–4: *Knit to last 2 sts on needle, k2tog—8 sts remain (2-2-2-2). Cut yarn, leaving 5″ tail. Thread tail through remaining sts, pull tight, and fasten off.
THUMB
Transfer sts from waste yarn to 3 larger needles, being careful not to twist sts—8 (10, 10, 12, 12) sts. Rejoin yarn. Join for working in the rnd; pm for beginning of rnd. Begin St st; work even until Thumb measures 1 (1¼, 1½, 2, 2)″ from end of shaping.
Decrease Rnd: *K2tog; repeat from * to end–4 (5, 5, 6, 6) sts remain. Cut yarn, leaving 5″ tail. Thread tail through remaining sts, pull tight, and fasten off.
FINISHING
Sew gaps at Thumb.
“And what is a stitch for? To hold.
It binds past to present, old century to
new, generation to generation.”
—Veronica Patterson, PieceWork magazine,
November/December 1993
When I was growing up in the 1960s, every Memorial Day carfuls of Epsteins gathered for a family reunion. The hosts, my father’s first cousins, had a hobby farm in New Jersey—a rural paradise complete with a pond for swimming, or, if you were so inclined, for paddling about in their wooden rowboat. Throughout the day, across the open spaces of the farm, I would stumble into gatherings of relatives engaged in lively, intelligent conversations, arguments, and discussions, both personal and political. The farm is where I first tasted lasagna, first saw a room-sized loom, and first came to understand that large chunks of my personality, both good and bad, were directly linked to this assembly of loud and opinionated people.
The Epstein family reunions are history. My father died in 1975, and since then, death and old age has claimed most of his generation. This is a story about an afghan that gave me one piece of my family back.
My father believed his sister, my aunt Florence, had the Epsteins’ “golden hands,” like our cousins on the farm who wove, made their own winter coats, and once explained to a much younger, much less knowledgeable me, the concept of steeks. My father thought his sister could make anything. He loved telling about Aunt Florence and her friend Leah, whom we all called Aunt Leah, and the business they created, sewing gowns and other fancy clothes. Two sets of golden hands working side by side.
“Mom did the hems,” my cousin Gerri told me recently. “And the beading, too. She hand-beaded wedding gowns like mine.”
I remember those gowns. They were beautiful.
“It was Aunt Leah who sewed and cut. She was the talent,” Gerri continued.
But not in my father’s stories. Even during their frequent and bitter arguments, he spoke proudly of his sister’s extraordinary talents. Their difficult and stormy relationship is one of the many reasons I never really knew my aunt outside of the tales my father told. But that’s another story. My cousins and I have elected to leave our parents’ battles behind, and become friends.
“You know, my mother loved to crochet and knit, too,” my cousin Gerri told me after reading one of my early knitting essays. “It gave her great pleasure.”
Remembering only the beaded wedding gowns, I had almost forgotten that my aunt with the golden hands had also knit and crocheted. I had almost forgotten the awe-inspiring white beret with loops and sequins she made me when I was about twelve. And it had never before occurred to me that Aunt Florence might have known the same joys that I experience when knitting.
“Would you like one of Mom’s afghans?” Gerri asked a few months later when I was visiting her.
Would I? For years, I have been buying hand-knit samplers, mittens, booties, socks, and shawls abandoned by other people’s families from vintage and resale shops. Even though they weren’t made for me, these orphaned knits give me a sense of the family history and tradition I long for and miss. Now my cousin was offering me something I never dreamed I would receive at this point in my life, one of my own family’s treasures.
“Brights, darks, or rainbow colors?” she asked.
Packed away, deep in her attic, she explained, were boxes of her mother’s afghans, organized by color. Taking my order for brights, she promised that after my visit, she’d unearth one and send it to me.
A few weeks later, it arrived. Lifting it out of the cardboard mailing box, I could feel the weight of what must have been a couple pounds of yarn. Crocheted in a ripple pattern, with a wide shell stitch border, it was generous in size and color, worked in a palette only possible with synthetic dyes and fiber. A vintage piece in perfect condition, made by my very own aunt with her golden hands.
For several years, Aunt Florence’s afghan has made the rounds of our rooms, its presence always homey and comforting. On the small sofa by the TV in the room outside my studio, my middle daughter, Flory, and I huddled with it while we waited out a devastating tornado that hit our town a few years ago. Lately it’s been in the living room, where I read, knit, and think. Draped over the couch across from my chair, it seems to be inviting me to relax a bit, to put my knitting down, to stop doing chores, and to snuggle under its colors and warmth. To rest awhile.
I’ve had plenty of opportunity to study Aunt Florence’s afghan. Evident in this large, vibrant canvas is the enjoyment my aunt had in playing with the colors, the risks she took adding a row of orange after rows of light purple and pale pink, or a bright red after a sky blue, and the delight she must have felt watching how those unlikely couplings could create such a beautiful color scene. There have been times when I have carried back her adventurousness to my own knitting. Connecting across stitches and patterns, I now understand something about my aunt through what we both share.
“She made lots and lots of baby sweaters and hats and afghans. Always without instructions, always for others,” Gerri told me. “She never even used a blanket herself. She just enjoyed making them and giving them away. She made them for us and the kids, and her afghans were raffled off at charitable events and fund-raisers, and donated to those who were in need.”
Without instructions, my cousin also repeated several times. Unlike my mother, or my aunt Charlotte, or many other knitters I have met, Aunt Florence never needed to look down at her work or pay close attention to what her fingers were doing. She was able to do this because she chose simple patterns, like the ripple one, easily memorized and full of repetition. Her established hand-mind connection freed her to move quickly through skein after skein. I can and often do work that way.
“Always for others” is how my cousin described her mother’s making and giving. Embedded in that is the satisfying sense of contributing in a tiny way to helping those in need. It’s what has driven me to knit piles of preemie hats, bundles of washcloths, and bags of Warm Up America! squares. When I knitted and donated a hundred pairs of mittens, my children rolled their eyes and nicknamed me the mitten factory. They don’t understand why I do this. Yet. But I now know my aunt Florence would. I am following a family tradition—hers.
Here’s how an afghan is more than an afghan. Receiving Aunt Florence’s afghan was a reunion, like the reunions on the farm when all the Epsteins congregated and my roots were on display. And attending this reunion by looking for the clues led me to find my own Aunt Florence story. This one. Not magical like my father’s golden hands stories, but just as special.
This is an updated, knitted version of the classic ripple stitch afghan pattern my aunt Florence loved. Knit one for your family. And if you get into the ripple knitting groove, like Aunt Florence did, keep on going. Send your rippled warmth out into the world to folks at nursing homes, hospitals, hospice centers, homeless shelters, schools, and daycare centers.
FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
45″ wide x 54″ long
YARN
Lion Brand Vanna’s Choice (100% premium acrylic; 170 yards / 100 grams): 3 skeins each #110 Navy (A), #099 Linen (C), and #170 Pea Green (E); 2 balls #149 Silver Grey (D); 1 ball #173 Dusty Green (B)
NEEDLES
One 29″ long or longer circular (circ) needle size US 10 (6 mm) needles
Change needle size if necessary to obtain correct gauge.
GAUGE
14 sts and 28 rows = 4″ (10 cm) in Garter stitch (knit every row)
GARTER ZIGZAG
(multiple of 30 sts + 3; 2-row repeat)
NOTE: Work CO sts within the pattern using Backward Loop CO (see Special Techniques, page 158).
Row 1 (RS): K1, skp, *k13, CO 1 st, k1, CO 1 st, k13, s2kp2; repeat from * to last 30 sts, k13, CO 1 st, k1, CO 1 st, k13, k2tog, k1.
Row 2: K1, p1, *k14, p1; repeat from * to last st, k1.
Repeat Rows 1 and 2 for Garter Zigzag.
STRIPE SEQUENCE
*Working in Garter Zigzag, work 20 rows (10 Garter ridges) in A, 4 rows (2 ridges) in B, 16 rows (8 ridges) in C, 8 rows (4 ridges) in D, then 20 rows (10 ridges) in E; repeat from * for Stripe Sequence.
AFGHAN
Using A, CO 213 sts. Begin Garter Zigzag; work even until piece measures approximately 54″ from the beginning, ending with next-to-last row of Stripe Sequence. Continuing with E, BO all sts knitwise.
FINISHING
Block as desired.
“Do not start another pair of gloves with
leftover yarn. Please return all unused yarn to Chapter.”
—The American Red Cross,
Gloves (for Servicemen) pattern, January 1942
Cooped up in our cool house one hot and very humid summer day, my kids decided we should brave the heat and break up our boredom by going to Artifacts, a vintage resale store worthy of its name. So we piled into the car and cranked up the air conditioning. When we got there, the kids rushed straight to the clothing department in the back. I lingered in the front, browsing through shelves cluttered with what could have been the artifacts of my childhood—toys, jewelry, fabric, and dishes from the sixties.
I hadn’t been there long when I noticed the socks over by the humming air conditioner. Big and red with gray and tan toes, they looked like the socks the woodsman in “Little Red Riding Hood” would wear. Who really wore them? I wondered. And who knit them? They were sturdy socks knit from the toe up, something like a Balkan slipper sock. A foreign way of making socks, I thought. They were knit confidently from scrap yarn, perhaps what remained from hats and mittens the knitter had made for her woodsman husband and elf children. There was a shawl, too: lavender, light and lofty, knit from Shetland wool with an even and steady gauge. The moth holes seemed to dance on the perfect knit and purl stitches.
I brought both items to the counter and asked Todd, the owner, where they had come from.
“I got them at an estate sale,” he told me.
Did he know the socks were knit toe up? Did he know this was a clue to where the knitter came from? My children, my best social critics, were too busy trying on clothes to stop me from chattering on about my fascination.
Todd listened patiently and then said, “There were needles, too. Bone, I think. Would you be interested?”
“Yes, always,” I told Todd. And I thought about how lucky I was. I would soon have some piece of local knitting history. I’m not sure why wool and needles, shawls and socks, and a knitter I never knew meant so much to me on that sweltering summer day, but I was touched by the connection all the same, and I speculated loftily whether there might be a message for me in this knitter’s legacy.
Todd told me the needles were buried within boxes of other treasures he had purchased that day. He promised me that as soon as he had unpacked them, he would let me know. Meantime, I had the socks and shawl to appreciate during the long, hot summer ahead of me with three kids home from school.
Months later, when summer was over, Todd ran into my husband, Rody, at our food co-op. “Tell Michelle I have the knitting stuff she wanted,” he said. “Have her drop by anytime.”
The very next day, I made it to the store. Behind the counter a thin, narrow box decorated with delicate flowers was waiting for me. Inside were hand-carved bone knitting needles and crocket hooks, a cardboard package of six size-1 nickel-plated knitting needles, and, folded crisply and tucked under the cardboard package, a World War II Red Cross pattern leaflet, with instructions for knitting gloves for our servicemen.
The pattern discovery helped me place this Iowa knitter in time and gave me a clue to her intent. But did it reveal anything else? The pattern looked barely used. Was that because she had memorized it? Or did bad news—a loved one killed in the war—cause her to put away her needles and the pattern? Could she have dutifully stored them for the next knitter, for the next war, because her war was finally over and her beloveds would soon return?
It was a cold autumn day, the maple leaves bright and fluttering and the prairie wind fierce. Perfect knitting weather. I took my rectangular box of treasures home. I laid all the contents out on the table near my own knitting. I went upstairs and found those huge woodsman socks. They were not so huge when I tried them on. I went back downstairs and wrapped myself in the lavender shawl.
The house was quiet, and the kids were at school. I should have been working on my new book. But I couldn’t head down to my studio, to my private little inner world, just yet. Right now, I was enveloped in this other world. The world of this box and these hand-carved needles and the official Red Cross pattern for war-weary hands.
I made some hot tea and poured it into a cup that had belonged to my mother. I sat down in my knitting chair, my tea resting on its arm, my new needles and hooks, from an unknown Iowa knitter, in my lap. The wind was howling outside. The sky was heavy and gray. Maybe it would snow that night. Or the next day. Soon, surely.
I tried out the carved bone crochet hook first. I had never seen or used bone before. I took some of my leftover sock yarn and crocheted some simple patches. A small tool, with an ornate top, it warmed as I worked with it. I tested the nickel-plated needles, too, knitting more squares. I could use all of them for an afghan. My oldest would be going away to college in a year, and it would be grand to make her something enduring like a fine-gauge patchwork cover, something that might last longer than my lifetime. Did the Iowa knitter, whose needles I was now using, make her lavender shawl and woodsman socks wishing them to be around for the generations to come?
I worked another patch and drank my tea. Branches scraped against the side of the house. The wind was picking up force. I was glad to be inside, knitting peacefully, thoughtfully. In another room, in our cedar chest, were hand-knit baby blankets, little sweaters, hats, and mittens I had made. When I’m no longer around, I wondered, would my children—or grandchildren—feel the burden of too many things, the clutter of their past, and unload them somewhere too?
One day, after my needles are put away for good, will a harried mother on a hot summer day, with a small flock of bored kids in tow, reach across a counter somewhere to touch the blanket I made for my firstborn? Will she delight, as I did, to find it along with a cache of knitter’s tools, and perhaps, a creased World War II Red Cross pattern for servicemen’s gloves? And will she, while tending to scraped knees and hurt feelings, while fixing dinners and reading bedtime stories, pause and try to imagine the knitter who left them behind? After we are gone, does our knitting outlive us by forging new bonds with kindred souls?
The Iowa knitter’s pattern and her box of tools now belong to me. Someday, with her needles, I might make a pair of those Red Cross gloves for servicemen. And knowing that these needles and hooks might someday find themselves in the hands of yet another knitter, I might even neatly write in the margins a few tips for that next knitter, adding to what was passed on to me. Then, using the decades-old crease as my guide, I’ll refold the pattern, put the needles back in their cardboard sleeve, and close the box.
This scarf and mitten set, knit in soft and beautiful Amazing yarn, is loaded with victory Vs. Knit it for friends and loved ones. Make extras to donate to those engaged in struggles and strife. May they be worn in peace and good health.
FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
Scarf: 6¾″ wide x 54″ long, slightly
stretched
Wristers: Approximately 6″ hand
circumference
NOTE: Wristers will stretch to fit nearly any size hand.
YARN
Lion Brand Yarn Amazing (53% wool / 47% acrylic: 147 yards / 50 grams): 3 skeins #202 Rainforest
NOTE: Three skeins will make both the Scarf and Wristers.
NEEDLES
Scarf: One pair straight needles size US 6 (4 mm)
Wristers: One set of five double-pointed needles (dpn) size US 4 (3.5 mm)
Change needle size if necessary to obtain correct gauge.
NOTIONS
Wristers: Stitch marker, stitch holder
GAUGE
Scarf: 16 sts and 22 rows = 4″ (10 cm) in Stockinette stitch (St st)
Wristers:18 sts and 26 rows = 4″ (10 cm) in Stockinette stitch
4x1 Rib
(multiple of 5 sts + 7; 1-row repeat)
Row 1 (WS): K1, p2, *k1, p4; repeat from * to last 3 sts, k1, p2, k1.
Row 2: Knit the knit sts and purl the purl sts as they face you.
Repeat Row 2 for 4x1 Rib.
SCARF V PATTERN
(multiple of 5 sts + 7; 4-row repeat)
Set-Up Rows 1 (RS) and 3: Knit.
Set-Up Rows 2 and 4: K1, purl to last st, k1.
Row 5: K3, *p1, k4; repeat from * to last 4 sts, p1, k3.
Row 6: K1, p1, *k1, p1, k1, p2; repeat from * to last 5 sts, [k1, p1] twice, k1.
Row 7: Repeat Row 1.
Row 8: Repeat Row 2.
Repeat Rows 5-8 for Scarf V Pattern.
WRISTERS V PATTERN
(multiple of 5 sts + 5; 4-rnd repeat)
Rnds 1 and 2: Knit.
Row 3: K2, *p1, k4; repeat from * to last 3 sts, p1, k2.
Row 4: [K1, p1] twice, *k2, p1, k1, p1; repeat from * to last st, k1.
Repeat Rnds 1-4 for Wristers V Pattern.
SCARF
Using Long-Tail CO (see Special Techniques, page 158), CO 27 sts. Begin 4x1 Rib; work even for 9 rows. Change to Scarf V Pattern; work even until piece measures approximately 52″, or to 2″ less than desired length from the beginning, ending with Row 8 of pattern. Work Rows 3–5 of V Pattern once. Change to 4x1 Rib; work even for 8 rows. BO all sts in pattern.
WRISTERS (both alike)
CUFF
Using Long-Tail CO (see Special Techniques, page 158), CO 25 sts. Divide sts among 3 needles [10-7-8]. Join for working in the rnd, being careful not to twist sts; place marker (pm) for beginning of rnd. Begin Wristers V Pattern; work even for 18 rnds.
Shape Thumb
NOTE: The purl sts on Needles 1 and 2 mark where you will work the increases on each Increase Rnd. You will work the increase on Needle 1 after the purl st, and the increase on Needle 2 before the purl st. If you prefer, you may omit placing the markers and use the purl sts as your markers.
Increase Rnd 1: Needle 1: K9, pm (optional), p1, LLI; Needle 2: RLI, pm (optional), p1, k6; Needle 3: Knit—27 sts [11-8-8]. Work even for 3 rnds.
Increase Rnd 2: Increase 2 sts this rnd, then every 4 rnds 3 times, as follows: Needle 1: Knit to marker (or to purl st if you didn’t place a marker), slip marker (sm), p1, RLI, knit to end of needle; Needle 2: Knit to marker (or to purl st), LLI, sm, p1, knit to end of needle; Needle 3:
Knit—35 sts [15-12-8]. Work even for 3 rnds.
Next Rnd: K10, place next 10 sts on holder for Thumb, removing markers if you placed them, knit to end—25 sts remain [10-7-8]. Work even for 3 rnds.
Next Rnd: Change to Wristers V Pattern, beginning with Rnd 2; work Rnds 2–4 three times (do not work Rnd 1). Knit 2 rnds. BO all sts very loosely knitwise.
THUMB
Transfer sts from waste yarn to 3 dpns, being careful not to twist sts. Rejoin yarn, using Backward Loop CO (see Special Techniques, page 158), CO 1 st—11 sts. Join for working in the rnd; pm for beginning of rnd.
Rnds 1–3: Knit.
Rnd 4: [K3, p1] twice, k3.
Rnd 5: K2, [p1, k1] 4 times, k1.
Rnds 6 and 7: Knit.
BO all sts very loosely knitwise.
FINISHING
Sew gaps at Thumb.
I’m not the same Aunt Charlotte you remember,” she tells me over the phone each time I call.
“And I’m not twelve anymore,” I reply. We are both moving the way of all flesh. Aunt Charlotte is much closer to the finish line.
Married to my father’s older brother, Morty Epstein, Aunt Charlotte taught in the New York City public schools for thirty-four years. When I was six and my brother Miles was born, she bought gifts for me, too: my first Dr. Seuss book, a large square of needlepoint canvas, and a ball of yellow wool. While other friends and relatives fussed over the new baby, Aunt Charlotte, always the teacher, listened to me read. And after that, she taught me how to stitch. Enchanted with my presents and my favorite aunt’s attention, I couldn’t bother being jealous of the new arrival.
In my footloose twenties, on my way to and from Israel, or Iowa, or upstate New York, I liked to pop in and visit with my aunt Charlotte and uncle Morty whenever I could. They lived close to JFK airport and were always ready to meet me there and bring me back to their house for a few days before I headed off on my next adventure. They were interested in whatever I did, whatever I was studying, and wherever I was going; their support helped give me roots and wings.
At some point during these short stays, probably after Aunt Charlotte retired from teaching, she and I would find ourselves alone. Uncle Morty was finally getting to go to college. Their children, my cousins Michael and Janet, were busy raising their own children. With no one around to interrupt us, we discovered we both loved to knit, and that talking and knitting made an enjoyable afternoon.
My aunt is a dedicated pattern follower, and during those afternoons together she helped me understand why. She showed me that if you pay attention to what’s written, your sweater can resemble the one the model wears.
Years passed, and with them came many life changes for me. I finished school, married, had three children, and settled down in the Midwest. When Aunt Charlotte and I had our knitting conversations, they were mainly on the phone, long distance.
When we did see each other, we grabbed our knitting time any way we could. One time, for example, was after her granddaughter’s bat mitzvah, in the parking lot of a New Jersey synagogue with my kids arguing in the car and my husband discussing directions to the airport with my uncle.
That day, my aunt had a knitting question for me. There was a part of a baby sweater pattern she wasn’t sure about; could I explain it? So we stood there companionably, discussing the proper way to count rows and the confusing nature of certain knitting terminology.
In 1999, at the age of eighty-three, Aunt Charlotte collapsed outside Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. On life support, she underwent open-heart surgery. Despite being given a three-percent chance of survival, she bounced back with her knitting needles, ready to make yet another baby sweater. This one would be for her newest great-grandchild.
My cousin Janet says her mother is like the Energizer Bunny. She just keeps going. Still, her near-death episode that year was a wake-up call for me, and I realized I needed to visit her. With three school-age kids, it wasn’t easy getting away by myself. But we had to have some knitting time again.
Janet, a teacher like her mother, picked me up at the airport on a Friday after school. We drove straight to her parents’ new home in a retirement community near Princeton, New Jersey. The four of us ate dinner at a local restaurant and caught up with all the news that gets left out of phone conversations. My uncle Morty and I talked politics a bit. Over coffee, back at their house, my cousin, my aunt, and I planned our Saturday. The centerpiece of the day was a trip to a yarn store. Another great-grandchild was expected, and this time Aunt Charlotte wanted to make a baby blanket. Janet, who had begun to knit, had a scarf in mind for one of her daughters. I had brought some socks to knit on, but I was game to check out the yarn and start something new.
After an early breakfast and coffee, we left Uncle Morty with the dishes and the New York Times. Our first stop was at a hospital supply store. Unsteady and unsure on her feet, Aunt Charlotte had been resisting using a walker. But today she was a gal on a yarn-shopping mission, and she needed wheels. She chose a spiffy red one.
“Looks like a Schwinn walker,” Janet told her.
“Even has a basket in front for your knitting,” I pointed out.
“Take her for a spin,” said the salesman.
It was a warm, sunny October day. Aunt Charlotte moved into the walker. She took a few hesitant steps and then many confident ones. Radiantly, she strode along the sidewalk.
“Morty,” she spoke into the cell phone my cousin held out for her. “I feel ten years younger!”
Newly mobile, Aunt Charlotte led the way to lunch. Then we were off to the yarn store. Again, she led the way. The only customers in the small shop, we were free to ooh and aah loudly, to break into our “outdoor” voices and bellow, “You have to see this!” or, “I found the perfect yarn for you!” We all found wool and patterns and more. We drove home anxious to start knitting.
After dinner, Uncle Morty went to bed early. With our needles clacking, my aunt, cousin, and I became a circle of chatter and laughter.
“Charlotte, aren’t you coming to bed?” called Uncle Morty from their bedroom. It was close to one.
“No,” said Aunt Charlotte. “I’m still knitting.”
Years later, we are all still knitting, Aunt Charlotte, Cousin Janet, and me.
On the day before her ninety-fourth birthday, Aunt Charlotte doesn’t need to remind me that she’s not the same aunt I remember from my childhood. We are all forging into the uncharted territory of aging. We are all changing.
But some things do stay the same. Actually deepen. While working on a children’s story about knitting, I found a historical note describing how loved ones, soon to be boarding ships, leaving hearth and home, possibly forever, held onto one end of a ball of yarn. The other end stayed with the aching hearts on shore. Unwinding as the boat sailed away, the ball ends were dropped when the yarn could no longer cover the distance. The wool was left floating on the water between them.
So it is with the mighty Mississippi River and the states that separate my aunt, my cousin, and me. But we hold fast to our wool, knitting our ends tightly, and never letting them go.
It didn’t take my cousin Janet long to respond to my recipe request. “Mom’s jam,” she told me. “You won’t believe how easy it is to make.” Easy and delicious on the toast of your choice.
This is a third-generation recipe. It was given to Aunt Charlotte by her mother, Minnie, who got it from a friend.
3 cups dried, loosely packed apricots, diced
4 cups crushed canned pineapple with juice
½ cup water
3 cups granulated sugar
In a large bowl, combine all the ingredients. Cover and let stand overnight at room temperature.
Transfer apricot mixture to a 4-quart saucepan, preferably one with a heavy bottom. Bring to a boil over medium heat, then lower heat and simmer, stirring gently, for about 30 minutes, until thick and soft (no liquid should remain). Remove from heat and cool. Spoon into glass jars. Store in refrigerator.
Makes approximately 6 cups.
NOTE: Simple recipes invite innovation, so I couldn’t resist experimenting with this one. Substituting 1 cup diced candied ginger slices for 1 cup of the diced dried apricots and reducing the sugar to 2 cups resulted in a sweet, snappy spread. Janet suggests swirling some jam into whipped cream cheese, spreading on crackers, and seasoning with pepper.
SHOWN LEFT TO RIGHT: CELLULAR EYELET, EYELET CHECK, BUTTERFLY EYELET.
Many years ago I gave my Aunt Charlotte a hand knitted washcloth as a gift. She is still using it and often she tells me how much she loves it. I hope you will use this trio of patterns to create gifts for your favorite friends and family members.
FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
10″ x 10″
YARN
Lion Brand Recycled Cotton (72% recycled cotton / 24% acrylic / 2% other fiber; 185 yards / 100 grams): 1 skein #123 Sand makes 2 washcloths
NEEDLES
One pair straight needles size US 9 (5.5 mm); change needle size if necessary to obtain correct gauge.
GAUGE
16 sts and 27 rows = 4" (10 cm) in Eyelet Check; 17 sts and 28 rows = 4" (10 cm) in Cellular Eyelet; 16 sts and 26 rows = 4" (10 cm) in Butterfly Eyelet
STITCH PATTERN
EYELET CHECK
(multiple of 8 sts + 9; 12-row repeat)
Rows 1 and 5 (RS): K7, *p3, k5; repeat from * to last 2 sts, k2.
Rows 2 and 4: K2, *p5, k3; repeat from * to last 7 sts, p5, k2.
Row 3: K7, *p1, yo, p2tog, k5; repeat from * to last 2 sts, k2.
Row 6: K2, purl to last 2 sts, k2.
Rows 7 and 11: K3, *p3, k5; repeat from * to last 6 sts, p3, k3.
Rows 8 and 10: K2, p1, *k3, p5; repeat from * to last 6 sts, k3, p1, k2.
Row 9: K3, *p1, yo, p2tog, k5; repeat from * to last 6 sts, p1, yo, p2tog, k3.
Row 12: Repeat Row 6.
Repeat Rows 1–12 for Eyelet Check.
CELLULAR EYELET (multiple of 4 sts + 7; 8-row repeat)
Row 1 (RS): K2, p1, *k3, p1; repeat from * to last 4 sts, k4.
Row 2: K2, p2, *k1, p3; repeat from * to last 3 sts, k3.
Row 3: K2, p1, *k3, p1; repeat from * to last 4 sts, k4.
Row 4: K2, p2tog, *yo, k1, yo, p3tog; repeat from * to last 3 sts, yo, k3.
Row 5: K4, *p1, k3; repeat from * to last 3 sts, p1, k2.
Row 6: K3, *p3, k1; repeat from * to last 4 sts, p2, k2.
Row 7: K4, *p1, k3; repeat from * to last 3 sts, p1, k2.
Row 8: K3, yo, *p3tog, yo, k1, yo; repeat from * to last 4 sts, p2tog, k2.
Repeat Rows 1–8 for Cellular Eyelet.
BUTTERFLY EYELET (multiple of 10 + 4; 12-row repeat)
Rows 1 and 7 (RS): Knit.
Rows 2 and 8: K2, purl to last 2 sts, k2.
Rows 3 and 5: K2, *k2tog, yo, k1, yo, ssk, k5; repeat from * to last 2 sts, k2.
Rows 4 and 6: K2, p7, *slip 1 purlwise, p9; repeat from * to last 5 sts, slip 1 purlwise, p2, k2.
Rows 9 and 11: K7, *k2tog, yo, k1, yo, ssk, k5; repeat from * to last 7 sts, k2tog, yo, k1, yo, ssk, k2.
Rows 10 and 12: K2, p2, *slip 1 purlwise, p9; repeat from * to last 10 sts, slip 1 purlwise, p7, k2.
Repeat Rows 1–12 for Butterfly Eyelet.
WASHCLOTH
Eyelet Check Washcloth: CO 41 sts. Knit 2 rows. Begin Eyelet Check; work even until piece measures approximately 9¾″ from the beginning, ending with Row 5 of pattern. Knit 2 rows. BO all sts knitwise.
Cellular Eyelet Washcloth: CO 43 sts. Knit 2 rows. Begin Cellular Eyelet; work even until piece measures 9¾″ from the beginning, ending with Row 4 or 8 of pattern. Knit 3 rows. BO all sts knitwise.
Butterfly Eyelet Washcloth: CO 44 sts. Knit 2 rows. Begin Butterfly Eyelet; work even until piece measures approximately 9¾″ from the beginning, ending with Row 7 of pattern. Knit 2 rows. BO all sts knitwise.
FINISHING
Block as desired.
“Knitting is formed by a series of loops pulled through
loops to the end of time or to ‘desired length.’ …
Be grateful for this and don’t expect any more.”
—Elizabeth Zimmermann, Knitter’s Almanac
I have knit for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. I have knit while listening to the breathing of those just born and by the bedside of the dying. I have knit on bamboo, bone, wood, casein, plastic, aluminum, and several types of steel. Two needles. Four needles. Five needles. Circular needles. With wool, mohair, angora, cotton, bamboo, silk, acrylics, blends, and recently, cashmere.
I have knit fast. Slow. Mindlessly. Sometimes carelessly. I have let my stitches drop, my pattern wander. I have misread my gauge. And I have knit with care, intent, and concentration—complex lace and elaborate cables. I have knit mittens, hats, scarves, socks, shawls, washcloths, patches, and more—the utilitarian and the whimsical.
I have knit for the grateful and for the ungrateful. I have knit for friends, for family, for myself. And I have knit my bit for those in need. I have knit full of hope and in moments when hope has been harder to find.
I have knit and seen nothing. Not the dishes in the sink, the stars in the sky, or what’s on TV. And I have knit and seen everything. The piles of laundry, the gentle fluttering of the first snow, and how the mystery ends.
Many, many times, I have knit, as my good friend Esther likes to say, my mouth shut. I have knit just to see the colors change. Just to feel the movement of my needles.
I have knit while walking, talking, reading, stopping at train crossings, waiting in checkout lanes, traveling on planes, and riding in cars.
I have knit by candlelight. By flashlight. During snowstorms. Tornados. Floods. I have knit thinking about the big questions. And I have knit thinking about what to make for dinner. I have knit while writing stories and while illustrating books—even this book. I have knit listening to my husband read articles of interest and concern. I have knit while he reads to himself. I have knit while we have discussed grave matters. Movie choices. Teen curfews.
I have knit to the hiss of espresso machines, amid those ordering half-caf cappuccinos, double shots, double foam. I have knit by my kitchen table, on my porch, in my bed, on the bench out at Fae Ridge Farm, and on the red couch at Home Ec Workshop. I have knit alone. I have knit sociably with those whose names I’ve never learned. And I have knit in the company of those whose names I’ll never forget, those who are knit and purled forever into my heart. I have knit up conversations, correspondences with new knitters. Old knitters. Cranky knitters. Charitable knitters.
I have knit to replace the lost hat and to repair the worn-out heel. And I have knit to celebrate births, weddings, graduations, anniversaries—my anniversary. I have knit to celebrate kindness. And I have knit to express my regrets, my deepest sympathies, even when I know that what I knit is but a tiny gesture.
I have knit when nursing my babies and then while watching them sleep peacefully. I have knit at my children’s fencing bouts, Tae Kwon Do tournaments, soccer games, tennis matches, swim meets, dance recitals, concerts, and teachers’ conferences. Many, many times I have knit anxiously, worrying over them, my babies, young adults now, but forever my children.
Loops, wrote Elizabeth Zimmermann. Knitting is about loops. Loops to the end of time. Making them, I have knit myself a life.
“Now, let us all take a deep breath, and forge on
into the future; knitting at the ready.”
—Elizabeth Zimmermann, Woolgathering, Spring 1969
Over the years, Elizabeth Zimmermann’s books, all now knitting classics, have been a source of information, comfort, and inspiration to me. EZ, as she is known in the knitting universe, gave us timeless patterns, innovative techniques, and the courage to try them. She gave us descriptions, often very poetic, of a knitter’s life. My favorite EZ book is The Opinionated Knitter, published in 2005, six years after her death. An endearing abundance of knitterly richness, it includes reproductions of her typed newsletters with many of her signature patterns, her own and others’ advice on knitting them, full-color photos of her family modeling her creations, and highlights from her other books and journals. Also tucked into this bundling are some near-legendary recollections by family and friends of EZ, such as remembrances of her knitting on the backs of motorcycles and while engaged in a standoff in a one-way street. If you can own only one knitting book, let it be The Opinionated Knitter. Then, in pen, you can add your own words on the last pages of knitters’ tributes to Elizabeth Zimmermann, the matriarch of American knitting.
I have knit for husbands. And I have knit for their wives. A few years ago I made a thick, ear-warming hat for Ed McCliment, a dear friend and neighbor. When I found out his wife, Genie, was borrowing his hat, I knew it was time to make Genie a hat of her own—with a little something extra. Something a bit dapper and fun—just like Genie.
FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
Small (Medium, Large)
To fit Child (Adult Small/Medium, Adult Large)
NOTE: Child’s size fits most children ages 4 and up. For a denser, super-warm Hat, work the pattern (including the embellishments) 1 size larger and felt it lightly in the washing machine, checking it every 2 or 3 minutes until the Hat is the size you want. Make sure not to leave it in too long, since there’s no going back once it’s felted.
FINISHED MEASUREMENTS
13¾ (14¾, 16)″ circumference, unstretched
NOTE: Hat is meant to stretch to fit snugly. Work 1 size up for a looser fit.
YARN
Lion Brand Alpine Wool (77% wool / 15% acrylic / 8% rayon; 93 yards / 85 grams): 1 skein #224 Barley (MC)
Lion Brand Yarn Alpine Wool (100% wool; 93 yards / 85 grams): 1 skein each #123 Bay Leaf (A) and #115 Chili (B)
NOTE: Since the amount of B needed for the Berries is minimal, you may prefer to use yarn from your stash in a similar color.
One 16″ (40 cm) long circular (circ) needle size US 10 (6 mm)
One set of five double-pointed needles (dpn) size US 10 (6 mm)
Change needle size if necessary to obtain correct gauge.
NOTIONS
Stitch marker; piece of cardboard cut to fit inside unstretched, finished Hat; tapestry needle
GAUGE
14 sts and 20 rnds = 4″ (10 cm) in Stockinette stitch (St st; knit every rnd)
STITCH PATTERN
1x1 Rib
(multiple of 2 sts; 1-rnd repeat)
All Rnds: *K1, p1; repeat from * to end.
BRIM
Using circ needle and MC, CO 48 (52, 56) sts. Join for working in the rnd, being careful not to twist sts; place marker (pm) for beginning of rnd. Begin 1x1 Rib; work even for 4 (5, 6) rnds.
CROWN
Next Rnd: Change to St st (knit every rnd); work even until piece measures 6 (6¼, 6½)″ from the beginning. NOTE: You may determine the required length here by measuring the hand of the intended wearer. Traditionally, the distance from wrist to longest fingertip corresponds to the distance from the bottom of the Hat to the point where the decreases should begin. (I learned this neat trick from Stephanie Pearl-McPhee’s book Knitting Rules!)
SHAPE CROWN
NOTE: Change to dpns when necessary for number of sts on needles.
SIZES (MEDIUM, LARGE)
Next Rnd: *K(11, 5), k2tog; repeat from * to end—48 sts remain. Knit 1 rnd.
Next Rnd: *K6, k2tog; repeat from * to end—42 sts remain. Knit 1 rnd.
Next Rnd: *K5, k2tog; repeat from * to end—36 sts remain. Knit 1 rnd.
Continue as established, knitting 1 less st before each decrease, until 12 sts remain after finishing a knit rnd.
Next Rnd: *K2tog; repeat from * to end—6 sts remain.
Cut yarn, leaving a 5″ tail. Thread tail through remaining sts, pull tight, and fasten off.
EMBELLISHMENTS
Long Stem and Small Leaf
Using dpns and A, CO 2 sts. Work I-Cord (see Special Techniques, page 158) 14 (15, 15)″ long.
Row 1: Bring yarn to right-hand side of work, k1, yo, k1, turn—3 sts.
Row 2 and all WS Rows: Purl.
Row 3: K1, M1-r, k1, M1-l, k1—5 sts.
Row 5: Knit.
Row 7: Ssk, k1, k2tog—3 sts remain.
Row 9: Sk2p—1 st remains. Fasten off, leaving 12″ tail.
SHORT STEM AND LARGE LEAF
Beginning 2″ up from CO edge of Stem, pick up and knit 2 sts from side of Stem. Work I-Cord 1″ long.
Row 1: Bring yarn to right-hand side of work, k1, yo, k1, turn—3 sts.
Row 2 and all WS Rows: Purl.
Row 3: K1, M1-r, k1, M1-l, k1—5 sts.
Row 5: K2, M1-r, k1, M1-l, k2—7 sts.
Row 7: Knit.
Row 9: K1, ssk, k1, k2tog, k1—5 sts remain.
Row 11: Ssk, k1, k2tog—3 sts remain.
Row 13: Sk2p—1 st remains. Fasten off, leaving 12″ tail.
MEDIUM LEAF
Beginning where Short Stem branches from Long Stem, pick up and knit 1 st each from second and third sts of side of Short Stem I-Cord. Work 1 row of I-Cord.
Row 1: Bring yarn to right-hand side of work, k1, yo, k1, turn—3 sts.
Row 3: K1, M1-r, k1, M1-l, k1—5 sts.
Rows 5 and 7: Knit.
Row 9: Ssk, k1, k2tog—3 sts remain.
Row 11: Sk2p—1 st remains. Fasten off, leaving 12″ tail.
FINISHING
Lightly steam block Stems and Leaves.
Place piece of cardboard inside Hat to help piece remain flat and prevent pins from catching both layers of Hat. Pin Long Stem to Hat (see photo), beginning at CO edge and working to Small Leaf, making sure not to twist Stem and Leaf. Pin Short Stem and Large and Medium Leaves in place. Remove cardboard.
Using A, sew Stems, sewing through center of I-Cord Stem sts, and making sure not to sew through both layers of Hat. Using tails, sew Leaves to Hat, sewing through center of edge st at each side of each Leaf.
BERRIES
Using tapestry needle and B, work 2 Berries as follows: Bring needle from WS to RS in desired location for first Berry (see photo). Holding needle close to Hat, wrap yarn 2–3 times around needle, then insert needle back into Hat just next to where you brought yarn up (but not in exact spot). Keep your thumb on wraps of yarn around needle, to hold them in position. Pull needle through until knot becomes secure. Repeat for second Berry.
