The Great Northwoods

"I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay.
I sleep all night and I work all day."
-Monty Python

"So", I can hear y'all asking, "What is Susan doing way up there in the Great Northwoods?"

(Hey! You try spending 3 days alone in a cabin in the woods; you'll start hearing things too!)

Hunting moose with Sarah Palin?

Communing with the bears?

Clear cutting a new trans Canadian bike trail?

Standing in a frigid stream in plastic panties, looking for trout?

Nope.

I'm knitting, silly!

Look what arrived in yesterday's mail drop (yes, we have mail in the Great Northwoods, provided the dog team holds up)

kidding...

Two full skeins of Christmas cheer.


Poinsettia goodness.

Now, if only I had remembered my skein winder. Guess this'll have to do for now.



We live simply here in the Great Northwoods.

Now excuse me while I go churn the butter, chop down a tree, build a fire, and gather berries for a pie.

On second thought, maybe I'll just stop at the Leland Mercantile (affectionately known to locals as "the Merc".)

Surely, the dogsleds deliver pies too.

Of course, I could always "put on women's clothing and hang around in bars."

later...

Patience

"Who ever is out of patience is out of possession of their soul."
-Francis Bacon

"If I'm not back in five minutes... just wait longer!"
-Jim Carrey

Well, life is never dull on the sunflower farm, especially when I pack it up and move it to Michigan.

Every time I visit the Northwoods, my email/internet goes wonky. In April I could receive email at the local coffee house, but not send. Now THAT was frustrating.

(Of course, last October, nobody missed me. I had just published my first pattern and the demand was...

null and void.)

Knowing that was no longer the case, I took steps before returning in July. I changed internet providers and glommed onto the next door neighbor's wireless feed (with their permission. Thanks Jerry & Jeannie! Only cost me a plate of chocolate chip cookies.) I had connectivity from the cottage (ooh! revelation by typo - cootage - what you get when the individual inhabiting said dwelling is no long in the , ahem, shall we say, FULL bloom of youth) I was in sunflower heaven.

And now, I have a brand new laptop with built in wifi and everything. I was good to go.

Until I got here last night and discovered no feed from the neighbors. Either they have changed their provider and password, or I am back to checking messages and filling orders once a day from the homely confines of the local watering hole coffee house.

So, patience my friends. I WILL get back with you. I WILL fill orders on a daily basis.

I will NOT, however, live 24/7 at Stone House Bread.

They aren't open 24/7 for one thing...

I'm just glad I don't have to travel to Traverse City to pick up my mail.

Nanook Susan of the North, signing off...

On the Road Again

"On the road again
Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again."

- Willie Nelson

I'm en route between Indiana and Michigan today...

Visiting the parental units...

Spreading sunflower goodness across state lines...

Gee, I hope that isn't illegal...

Catch you on the flip side (now THERE is a dated reference; CDs have no flip sides)

Why did the designer cross the road state line?

To get to the other side, of course!

Give me nine hours or so, and I'll be back in business from the great North woods. I'll send out pattern orders then.

Arrivederci...

Northern Lights

In the light of the golden moon
In the light of the silvery eyes of the night
I wandered through fire through ice...
To the valley of the shadow of death
...Northern lights...
...Northern lights...
While you were asleep I was awake to be part of the dark
While you were asleep I was awake to find the truth I had sought for
...through all my life...
Aurora Borealis -
A part of me still in the sky

-Songwriter unknown

The Aurora Borealis has intrigued people from ancient times, and still does today. The Eskimos and Indians of North America have many stories to explain these northern lights.

One story is reported by the explorer Ernest W. Hawkes in his book, The Labrador Eskimo:

The ends of the land and sea are bounded by an immense abyss, over which a narrow and dangerous pathway leads to the heavenly regions. The sky is a great dome of hard material arched over the Earth.

There is a hole in it through which the spirits pass to the true heavens. Only the spirits of those who have died a voluntary or violent death, and the Raven, have been over this pathway.

The spirits who live there light torches to guide the feet of new arrivals. This is the light of the aurora. They can be seen there feasting and playing football with a walrus skull.

The whistling crackling noise which sometimes accompanies the aurora is the voices of these spirits trying to communicate with the people of the Earth. They should always be answered in a whispering voice. Youths dance to the aurora. The heavenly spirits are called selamiut, "sky-dwellers," those who live in the sky.

*****

When we were in Alaska some years ago, we were not lucky enough to see the northern lights. It was summertime, and the price we paid for the long days of sunshine and temperate weather was the relative brevity of the nighttime and lack of true darkness. All we got was dim twilight from about 1:00 - 4:00 a.m.

Needless to say, this was NOT optimum viewing conditions.

We have, however, seen the northern lights on several occasions, up at the lake: along with the Milky Way and Perseid meteor showers. The lack of big city lights on the peninsula makes for prime viewing of all things celestial.

All we must do to be reminded of "how great Thou art" and how small we art...

Is look up.

The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
-Psalm 19

*****

It is with these memories in mind, that I have designed Northern Lights, the next full size stole pattern coming down the pipeline after Drizzle, direct from the sunflower farm to you.

The stole begins with the pine forests so common to the northern reaches of our world and segues into a strong diagonal zig zag pattern.

This section will feature bright turquoise beading to highlight the stitch pattern, which is remarkably evocative of the swirling patterns of the Aurora Borealis.

After a number of repeats, (to be determined as I go along) the lights give way to a clear starry sky - the firmament of heaven.

The yarn is Fleece Artist Suri Blue in Aurora, a lighter weight than the sea silk, and thus easier to bead (yay!) The yarn more closely approximates Woolen Rabbit's laceweight, which I used for MD/AN and Magic Carpet Ride.

I wanted something a little more wintry for this one, and the depth of color in the yarn is amazing. So vibrant it leaps out at you. The pictures don't do it justice.

Ah, but I saved the best for last (don't I always?)

The ends of the stole (up front, where they will set off your front view, as opposed to over your rear view, which, if you're built anything like me, is definitely NOT the body part you want to highlight) will have these lovely little stars and moons dangling from the points of its scalloped border.

Ooooh...shiny...









Now I would be remiss to tease you with something that is many months away without giving you a little immediate gratification.



Zinnia is halfway bound off and bound for the blocking boards later today. Just in time for me to wear her to Stitches Midweston Friday. Nothing like a little wearable advertising, eh mates?

Release date: August 30th.

And the Hydrangea stole (otherwise known as the wedding veil) comes out tomorrow.

I was hoping to have a picture of the bride to share, but I understand from speaking with Michael that electronic rights to the pictures are prohibitively expensive, so we shall see...

Thanks to everyone who volunteered to quick-knit Zinnia. It is wonderful to have so many friendly (to say nothing of helpful) knitters out there!

Look to This Day

"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.
Any fool can do it.
There ain't nothing to it.
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill.
But since we're on our way down,
We might as well enjoy the ride."
-James Taylor

No matter how much time I think I have, no matter how long I stay at the lake, no matter how much I wish it weren't true...

This day always comes.

The last day. The cleaning out the fridge day. The washing all the towels day. The tying up all the loose ends day. The heading back to civilization day.

The day that can be delayed, but never denied.

The day I have to say goodbye.

When I was little, summers at the lake seemed a stately procession of endless days. My brother and I, cheeks bright with the flush of summer days in the sun, eyes a-sparkle with adventure, knew that school days lay far into our September futures. We lazed away our vacation under the watchful eyes and indulgent smiles of our grandparents and parents. And time stood still.

Now, I visit cemetery point to gaze upon my grandparents' final resting place. Their plots look out over the lake, between two birch trees, marked with bright geraniums, lovingly tended by my father, their son.

I remember the first summer we brought our son to the lake. We plopped him into the stroller one bright morning and wheeled our way down to the point, where he sucked his thumb pensively as I related the story of how my grandparents built the lake house. It was important to me that he know where he was, where he came from.

I lie in the hammock and remember a long ago drive up from Indiana with my then new husband. The rolled up hammock took the entire length of his hatchback from back window to front windshield, lying between us over the tops of the seats like a bundling board. It was our small contribution to family life at the lake house.

I am no longer innocent. I have drunk from the fruit of the tree of knowledge. I know that time moves on. That the day you say goodbye is always out there, lurking, whether we like it or not. Whether we are ready for it.

Or not.

I get a similar feeling when knitting a lace shawl or stole. It feels endless (especially if it is a circular - new definition of forever - beats "a turkey and two people" hands down!) You spend days, weeks, months, doing the same thing, knitting the same pattern, progressing inch by agonizing (or rewarding, depending upon your point of view) inch. And then one day you turn around, bind off the last stitch, and realize you're done.

This day always comes (well, most of the time, if you like the project, if you don't get bogged down, or distracted.)

Time runs in a circular fashion here at the lake. Some things never change, which is a comfort to me in the all-too-fast world we call home. And yet, the signs of change are ever present, as one generation gives way to the next, as new faces join the parade of family that passes through these doors.

The doors are flanked by the sign my stepmother Molly had made the year my father was trying to decide if the property needed a name. You know something poetic, like:

• Journey's End
• Heart's Rest
• Blue Water Bay

Rough translation: Funny Farm (I think that tells you everything you need to know about my family.)



The rocks lining the driveway were brought here by my grandfather, picked up (and lugged home) in his travels around the world. If you turn them over, and look hard, you can still read their provenance. You can imagine the deep love of travel and our earth that prompted the man who collected them.

And the pained expression of whoever carried the luggage.

Atop the mantel, sits a wooden replica of a Great Lakes ore boat, crafted in my grandfather's workshop when my brother was just a boy, and loved to play with boats. Come to think of it, my brother still loves to play with boats, enjoying both sailing and other forms of boating. His most recent contribution to the lake house? A canoe.


The upper reaches of the cottage feature flags won and signs hung from the family's past entries into the annual boat parade, (the infamous Bar-b-cruise) which we have won twice and placed in several times.



The sampler over the kitchen counter was completed by me in 1982. It is older than my eldest son.









The woods thin out from year to year, as trees planted in the 1930s when the area was logged over reach the end of their natural life span and give way to young saplings. I wonder how tall these oaks will be, when my grandchildren bring their children to the lake.

My brother and I both sat in this same pint sized lawn chair when we were smallm as did our children. Soon, it will belong to another generation, as my first grandchild takes his or her place among the family.

Time once again comes full circle, as the next generation write their own history, make this place their own, and learn to cherish all that it represents.

This day always comes.

Everything's Coming Up...

You'll be swell! You'll be great!
Gonna have the whole world on the plate!
Starting here, starting now...
Honey, everything's coming up roses hydrangeas!
- Gypsy

Just because it's vacation time, doesn;t mean I'm not working. After all, when you love your work as much as I do, work and play get all mixed up together.

And don't you worry your little head about whether I am getting the rest and relaxation I need to recharge. I have slept in till 10:00; I have played numerous games of Aggravation, Oh Hell, and shuffleboard with my family(and I have even won some!) I have gorged myself on whitefish fresh from lake Michigan; I have spent lazy afternoons reading on the porch, listening to the rain beat down upon the roof.

But I have also been a busy little bee, pollinating knitting the hydrangeas, both bridal white:


And pink & blue:



But enough about me. You want to see pictures, right?


Had enough?

Me neither.

Hey! It beats chasing a little white ball around a big green grassy area. At least in my book.

The only question is: Which hydrangea commands my attention today?

Hmm...

Erasers

I remember buying erasers, back when I was in grade school. I had the pink ones that fit on the end of my pencil. I had the bi-color trapezoids that claimed to work on ink, but never did. I had variously shaped novelty erasers that had come to me in school gift exchanges, back when Christmas parties were Christmas parties, and not winter holiday parties. I had a Santa Claus eraser, and a Rudolph.

Nowadays, I suppose they would have microchips in them and spout "Ho Ho Ho!" or sport a blinking red nose, as you turned them upside down and scrubbed at your mistakes. But back then, erasers were low tech. They just erased, and not very well at that. You could always see ghostly shadows of 5+3=7. Even when you knew it equaled eight.

These days, I rarely take the time to erase, preferring instead to cross out, black out, scribble over, or wad up the page like an overused hankie and launch a 3 pointer in the general direction of the wastebasket. Somehow, paper seems more expendable these days.

Or neatness, optional.

Not sure which...

But my very favorite eraser was a translucent hot fuschia number that looked like raspberry jello and smelled like I imagined a tropical isle would. It didn't erase worth a damn, but it was pretty and flirty and, to my second grade soul...

exotic beyond belief.

What has me thinking on erasers, you may ask?

(Then again, you may not give a damn, and that's OK too. Go outside, feel the grass between your toes, enjoy your fourth of July week freedom.)

Still with me?

The first couple days I was here at the lake, I overlapped my brother David and his family. They were enjoying the last weekend of their time in the guest cottage, so I stayed in the "big" house, with my father, until their departure on Sunday morning.

As I was making up the bed in the guest room, packing up my bags, and checking the lavatory for any stray toiletries that might have escaped my notice, I felt a little sad at the realization that the standard for a good guest is to "erase" all evidence that you were ever there.

And while I was erasing my presence down the hill, the same process was taking place in the cottage, as all vestiges of identity were packed away, cleaned up, or thrown out. As my sister-in-law Donna proclaimed, "All yours."

All mine. Not my brother's. Not my sister's. Not my father's. Mine.

And only mine.

It got me to thinking about the marks we leave behind. Getting your house ready to sell (yes, we still are moving - eventually) means erasing as many of those as possible.

The pillowcase I hug to my chest after my DH is long gone to work. that still smells of him. The gouges in the wall from wrestling the couch around the corner when we moved in. The scuff marks on the kitchen linoleum from little sneakered feet and drippy ice cream cones. The watermark on the ceiling from when baby boy o'erflowed the bathtub. The cat hair that drifts in the corners, no matter how many times I vacuum.

Even the dust is made from our skin particles. It is evidence of our passage through time.

All of these are things to be cleaned up and erased, so that someone else may start anew and make their own marks. And somehow that makes me sad.

So I walk up the hill and open the door to the cottage.

I see wildflowers in a milk bottle on the porch table, no doubt gathered on a walk to the bluff. I remember my SIL Tory telling me she broke the tempered glass cutting board by the sink during a "discussion" with a family member. Sure enough, it is gone from its accustomed spot by the drainboard. I hear the dryer cycling, tossing their beach towels free of sand and lake water. I open the fridge and see beer, and pop, and coffee, and ham...

And all the other things they left behind.

And I smile, knowing that none of us is ever truly erased. All of us leave our marks.

And in so doing, bless the lives of others.

My Ride Is Here...

"I've been doin' things worthwhile, and You’ve been bookin' time
Try, Try, Try, to let it ride
Runnin’ with the crazy crowd, ooh, ain’t no friends o’ mine
Try, Try, Try, to let it ride"
- Bachman Turner Overdrive

I don't know if knitters qualify as a "crazy crowd," but I am definitely running these days, I hope you find my work worthwhile, and I KNOW many of you are booking time with my various designs.

And that is the true miracle. I know how cherished our precious knitting time is. I know how hard it is to carve out those hours or minutes. I know how important it is that our knitting brings us peace of place and joy of creation.

And I am deeply honored when you choose Sunflower Designs.

I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and find this all a dream...

Meanwhile, I'll just let it ride...

Today, it has been 3 months since Magic Carpet Ride debuted as a kit on the Woolen Rabbit's website.

Time flies...

While the pattern is still available as a kit with Kim's luscious laceweight, I am pleased to welcome her back home, and announce that she is also now available as a stand alone pattern here on my sidebar.

I know some of you have been patiently waiting...

Well, you will have to wait just a teeny bit more.

Because my ride is leaving...

I'm comin' home...

On my way up to the lake for three wonderful weeks of R & R, and family time.

But fear not; I have...

FULL INTERNET ACCESS

24/7

wOOt!

So, any orders placed today will be emailed to you later this evening. (Seven hours drive time, don't ya know.)

And any other orders will be on their way out to you the same day, usually within hours, sometimes within minutes.

Isn't technology a wonderful thing?

See you in seven...

Gone Walkabout

I'm heading up to Michigan for a long weekend with the folks. Will check email and Ravelry daily, but I have to go in to town to the local coffee house for wifi access.

Since living at the coffee house is not an option (the parents would feel left out and the wait staff at said coffee coffee house would expect a R-E-A-L-L-Y BIG tip)

Anyone ordering a pattern the rest of this week will probably have to wait up to 24 hours for its delivery. (patience is a virtue.)

Even Santa Claus gets a few days off!

Back next week to kick off the Garden Variety Collection with Crocus Pocus on May 1st.

See you round the garden path...

Knit Where You Know

There is a hoary maxim that has hung around for years: write what you know.

Now I find it hard to imagine writing what I don't know. After all, if I don't know it, how on earth can I write anything remotely resembling a cogent sentence about it, whatever "it" is?

Perhaps, the sentence would look something like this:

??????????????????????????????????

I think it all boils down to three things:

location
location
location

It's not so much a matter of what we know, but rather where we know.

Margene writes about life in the mountains of Utah. She posts beautiful pictures of the view out her back window. I write about life in the flatlands of Indiana. I see corn fields out my window. (I haven't taken any pictures of them yet, but give me time...)

Jared wakes up in the city that never sleeps. I go to bed in the safe suburbs of what used to be called, "NAP" town.

Amy writes about the joys and challenges of raising two young children. I write about the joys and challenges involved in letting them go.

But whatever we write,we know the territory...intimately.

I find many parallels between writing and knitting:

• Both are thoroughly engrossing enterprises
• Both are generative, i.e. bringing something into being that was not there before
• Both involve stringing together a series of small units, whether stitches or words, to shape a larger whole
• Both are gifts: something to be thankful for rather than prideful of
• Neither pays "real" money (unless you are Dan Brown and if you are...THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING READING THIS? GO WORK ON YOUR NEXT BLOCKBUSTER! PEOPLE ARE WAITING!)

And lastly,

• Both are the product of what and where you know.

My designs often have a sense of place to them: Morocco, Sedona (which is undergoing cosmetic surgery at the moment- needs more negative ease in the bodice and length in the torso) the cherry orchards of my beloved Leelanau. Even Drizzle reminds me of the particular quality of winter twilight found in my soon-to-be home state of Michigan.

Two projects came out of my territory this weekend and consumed all my time.

But they weren't the ones that were supposed to.

Once more Moroccan Days and Drizzle were consigned to the WIP basket (but only for the weekend. Fret not...)

I needed to figure out what I was going to make out of all that luscious "winter robin's egg" wool my dad gave me for Christmas. Not because it was urgent. My plate is rather full at the moment. The last thing I need is another distract...OOH! LOOK! SHINY!!!

But because it was expedient. Purl had three skeins left of the dye lot and I knew that the ten skeins I had might be cutting it close for the coat I planned to make. I needed to spend some serious design time, refining the project to get a better handle on my yarn requirements before they sold out.

It all started with these:

Six meltingly beautiful ceramic buttons from Briar Rose

I know. I know. Designing a sweater from the buttons out is sort of like buying a $500 dress to enhance your latest acquisition from Payless. On the other hand, I know someone who bought red satin pumps to die for at Nine West, and then purchased an outfit to match.

So maybe I'm on to something...

Anyway, swatching commenced on a hooded coat with aran cables in a robin's-egg-woodsy-garden-y theme.

But I kept seeing the fantastic shapes of the Lake Michigan beach in February, when ice castles snatch pride of place from the sand castles of July, and rise like abstract sculptures, heaved up by the tides and the pounding storms of winter.

I kept hearing the crackling and groaning noises the glaciers of Alaska make when they calve into Glacier Bay.

Gardens turned to ice inside my mind, and all that came before, went after.

I began looking at patterns with waves in them. Or sand. Or ice.

I even finalized a design.

A coat with an empire waist, diagonal cabling on top, opening up below the bust into a long stretch of stockinette, before ending in a bottom band of waves breaking upon the shore.

But something wasn't quite right. The gauge, the design, the yarn?

Something.

But what?

The yarn has a slightly rustic cotton-y feel to it, as well as the occasional slub. And it's on the heavy side of worsted. Hard to find a pattern that doesn't get lost.

Finally I realized I kept envisioning myself walking on the shore wrapped not in a calf length coat, but rather in a cozy, chunky, oversized...

shawl.

But not lace. Lace couldn't stand up to Michigan winters. Something far more substantial is called for.

Worked most of yesterday (when I wasn't watching my Indianapolis Colts get pasted - don't even start - I am NOT a happy camper!) but didn't arrive at my happy place until this morning, when it all came together.

That's sand stitch in the middle, with a wave cable running up each side.

Two more rows and I will switch to a wavy rib pattern which will segue into an enclosed cable down the middle and side panels of a wavy stitch.

I'm really loving the way the sand stitch works with the nubbiness of this yarn. And the texture bears a striking resemblance to the ice at water's edge.

The other project that called my name this weekend was a little something that's been rattling about in the back of my mind the past few weeks. There's not much in there to begin with, and even less now that I am peri-menopausal. (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!) so the rattle was fairly deafening.

It didn't compare with the noise level at the RCA dome, but it was way louder than the fans on their way out (or should I say down and out. FRACKKK!)

I had a ball of Dream in Color Smooshy left over from a botched design idea. You so DON'T want to see the swatch. Trust me.

And I needed something relatively mindless to work on at our monthly Ravelry meet up.

So I whipped up this little project for all you lovers out there, who can't wait for Valentine's Day. And I'm giving it to you now, a month ahead of time so you have time to complete it before the big day. It would make a great little gift for someone or a lovely accessory for your own celebration. It would also make a great project for a breast cancer survivor.

I call it HUGS AND KISSES.

See the X's and O's?









How about now?









The scarf owes its sense of place to Leland as well. When the boys were little and we said goodbye to the lake house at the end of summer, my stepmother Molly always ran outside and stood in the driveway, waving her arms about YMCA style, making "X"s and "O" s for the kids until we were out of sight.

Then she probably poured herself a stiff drink. (As you can see, I hold no misbegotten delusions as to the enchanting nature of my children when they were younger - or lack thereof.)

The kids picked up on it, and pretty soon we were "X"ing and "O"ing up and down the Lake Michigan coastline.

They knew it meant they were loved.

I knit my scarf in pink and cream, but it would be great in just about any red or pink combo, from fuschia to bubble gum pink to burgundy.

Go crazy.

HUGS AND KISSES SCARF

Cast on 54 stitches.
Row 1: P1, *C4F, C4B, YO, SK2P, YO, C4B, C4F ,YO, SK2P, YO; repeat once from * to last 9 stitches, C4F, C4B, P1.
Row 2 (and all wrong side rows): K1, P52, K1.
Rows 3, 7, 11, & 15: P1, *K8, YO, SK2P, YO; repeat three more times from * to last 9 stitches, K8, P1.
Row 5: As row 1.
Row 9: P1, *C4B, C4F, YO, SK2P, YO, C4F, C4B ,YO, SK2P, YO; repeat once from * to last 9 stitches, C4B, C4F, P1.
Row 13: As row 9.

P - purl
K - knit
C4F - Cable 4 front: Slip two stitches to cable needle. Drop to front of scarf. Knit next two stitches. Knit two stitches from cable needle.
C4B -Cable 4 back:Slip two stitches to cable needle. Drop to back of scarf. Knit next two stitches. Knit two stitches from cable needle.
SK2P - Slip, Knit 2 together, Pass: Slip one stitch to right hand needle, KNit next 2 stitches together. Pass slipped stitch back over.
YO - yarn over: Pass yarn over needle from front to back.

Repeat these 16 rows until desired length or end of yarn. Bind off.

That's all there is to it. I made mine on size 5 US needles with sock weight, but you could really use any yarn you like from laceweight to worsted. Just adjust the needle size and number of repeats accordingly. You could easily make it into a shawl, or even an afghan.

The pattern is easily memorized and scoots right along.

So have fun, make sure to let your loved ones know how you feel about them (even if you don't want to go about waving your arms in the air like one of the Village People!)

And remember: Knit what where you know. That way, the work has heart.

Like you...

Autumn Candy

My sorrow, when she's here with me,
thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be;
she loves the bare, the withered tree;
she walks the sodden pasture lane.
-Robert Frost