How could you do this to me? Just when I thought I was out, you pull me back in.
Seriously, I was doing so well. I was making one triangle-shaped item after another, pounding out the finished objects at a regular pace, glad to have found a way to knit lots of different yarns with no need to aim, or think, or count. (See my Kieran Foley Kerchief for proof of that.)
Then you dragged out your 1985-era Kaffe Fassett Big Flower Jacket kit, and it was all over. Like a zombie, I stood up from my desk, headed straight for the bathroom where I have kept a 2004-era Starmore sweater kit in a corner like a shrine to incompletion, and I opened the box.
This gift from my beloved in-law sibs has waited patiently for many moons. The perfection of the unstarted project has made this batch of yarns an odd comfort for a long time. This project was not on any list of mine to make. It just was.
But you hit me in a weak moment, and the idea of diving in on a giant project was irresistible.
The project is Glenesk, a stranded pullover by Jade Starmore, the daughter of Alice Starmore. If you don’t know who these people are, please dig in. They are geniuses. A visit to their site Virtual Yarns will send you into a fugue state of wonderment at the yarns, the mind-boggling patterns, the existential question of whether life can be complete without trying one of these patterns.
This Hebridean Two Ply yarn has a complexity that defies the camera. I don’t know how she does it, but Alice Starmore makes yarn unlike any other heathered yarn.
It feels like Christmas to be starting this project. I just got my Barbie Dream House.
There are rituals to cranking up an enterprise like this.
The traditional making of the shade card.
The traditional mystification at the color names.
The traditional shuddering at the discovery that Mountain Hare, Crotal, Tormentil, and Red Deer are basically the same color. Yet not.
The traditional curiosity at how these nine shades will play together.
The traditional photocopying of the pattern so as to create the crucial, central tool to making this sweater: the chart. I learned on my first Starmore sweater that you can’t just keep a piece of paper floating around for this sort of knitting. You need to suck it up and buy a chart holder of some kind. Magnets? Sure. Stand-up? Definitely. Lamination? I have been known to do that. A part-time assistant to move the magnet up to the next row? If you’ve got the budget, yes.
The traditional freakout at realizing that the stitch pattern has a 30-stitch by 44-row repeat.
As I wound the nine shades of yarn, I had a lot of thoughts:
I wonder when I will finish this. The last one took five years.
I bet Kay’s project will go faster than this. She’s using size 10 needles; I’m using size 3.
I bet Batman and Superman were actually friends.
Maybe I need to visit the Isle of Lewis in Scotland to figure out what all these yarn names mean.
The bottom edge is a garter-stitch stranded pattern. In the round, this requires you to purl two colors in one row. The adrenaline rush was so steep that I didn’t even mind this misery.
The exhilaration of starting something too big cannot be overstated. I’d love company with anybody else out there feeling the mighty springtime urge to take on a big and cumbersome knitting challenge. The goal here is not necessarily to finish; it’s to start. C’mon! The journey of a thousand miles begins with . . . winding some yarn.