The weather turned early this year, dropping the overnight temperatures to the level where the leaves have started to turn. The first, always, are our dogwood trees — interesting since they are one of the last things to bloom in late spring. I always took the white part to be the flower, but it turns out that the flower is actually the fuzzy bit at the center. These turn red in the fall, and are a favorite food of bluejays and squirrels.
Bruce found out one year that these “make nice jam,” and collected a basket full. I gave it a try. Mostly you get rock hard seeds, and about 1 drop of a syrup out of each of them. You then have to strain the mess through a fine sieve to remove the seeds. My basket yielded less than 1/4 cup of “jam,” and it tasted dreadful. Bruce put a drop on his tongue and made quite the face.
This also is the time that I love looking out at the lake in the morning. There are mist pixies rising up from the water, and the temperature is crisp and invigorating. We laugh every day that we wake up to the weather forecast of “sunny all day,” as usually we are shrouded in fog until about 11.
I apologize to all for the amount of time it has been since my last post. I’ve been in the weeds — down rabbit holes, surrounded by socks, and writing like a fiend on my manuscript about wool in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Most of all, right now I’m bewildered by bog cotton!
This plant, as you might imagine, grows on the moors of Scotland in bogs. It’s not cotton, but a wildflower that often grows in great profusion on the moorlands of many countries. I’ve spent countless hours trying to find someone who has successfully spun it to no avail. Most spinners who have tried have deemed it impossible. I still question this as there are no records I can find stating when the flowers should be gathered to make the best fiber for spinning.
These stockings (listed either as bed stockings or wedding stockings) are purported to be knit from bog cotton, along with several other knit items in museum collections. One catalog entry states that the knitter “plucked and spun” the bog cotton into yarn.
I want some proof! I have asked the curators of two museums if they would consider sampling from their collection (that random thread at the top of the right-hand sock would be about 100x as much as would be needed for analysis). I’ve been seeking a response for more than a month, and it’s getting REALLY annoying. Even if the answer is NO, just let me know so I can try something else.
Orkney is one chapter in my book I’m having trouble with — not in terms of the history and sheep, but in terms of the knitting. I asked as many knitters as I could find what they would say is iconic about Orkney knitting (like Fair Isle for Shetland or Eriskay Ganseys for the Hebrides). The universal answer was, “nothing.” Nothing special at all about Orkney knitting. While knitting with bog cotton might not be considered “iconic,” it doesn’t mean it’s not special. If indeed this turns out to be truthful, it’s an important finding (even if a very, very small one).
Besides that, I think these stranded knit stockings from North Ronaldsay are really different in design and feel from the type I think of as typical Fair Isle (below). As you can see from the bonnet just to the right of the socks, the Orkney stranded designs are generally heavily influenced by those from Scandinavia.
Whether or not the white stockings turn out to be bog cotton, I like the idea of the sock pattern, and so have been working on an adaptation. The lace pattern here is an old one — Old Shale, seen frequently on workaday haps and shawls. It is a quickly memorized stitch that has a meditative quality to its repeat, and a good one for less experienced knitters.
A pair of christening socks for a child actually sparked my interest more than the adult pair above, and it was an easy adaptation to resize the pattern to an adult size.
This variation is called Fan Shell, and uses only the open work segment repeated in the round. It also breaks up the repetitive design by inserting 4-stitch cables between the shell repeats.
The one I’m working is in Uist Wool’s Canach (canach is Gaelic for cottongrass). I chose it because I really loved working the twisted stitch pattern for my diamond socks in this yarn. To me it really does have a cottony feel in spite of the fact that it is merino.
I’m still plodding along on my bonnet pattern, working on version 3 while I still need to do the toorie (pompom) for the tops of the first 2. I’ve gotten quite cranky about those pompoms. Even with all of the advice from knitters who make lovely ones, several YouTube videos, and a couple of plastic pompom makers, mine look like something hurked up by the cats.
In better news, I think I may finally have gotten the size of the head opening correct to fit me — only fulling will tell. I’ve also come to the conclusion that they all need a lining of some sort. I went back to the museum research I did and did a scan through those in the best condition. Some do have linings. For the most part they have been cut from other knits (probably worn out bonnets). Just guessing, but I’m reasonably sure the lining is put in after fulling, and is sewn into place. I’m going to try for the profile of the bonnet in the middle. I think that will work best for bonnet #2 that came out a little rippled along the edges.
Bruce made this sensational teasel cross for me with wood scraps from his workshop. I don’t know how our ancestors managed it, but it took both of us to hold the pieces in place while winding on the string. I confess we had to resort to elastics and hot melt glue to keep it together while we did the stringing. We were picking spines out of our fingers after! Still this is a real treasure I’m so glad to have.
It takes a bit of practice to get the right pressure to raise the nap, and much longer than my hand carders (I used them on the first bonnet). I did worry when I was using the carders that I’d break the yarn, so went gently, but the teasels do work better by comparison. I wasn’t able to reach the point where I needed to shear the nap like the early cappers did. It likely would take lots of brushing and more patience than I generally have. That, or the wool staple used for the historic bonnets was much longer than the yarn I was using.
Meanwhile on the needles…..
Yes, still working on the Gansey (or I should say, they are on the needles but have not recently seen the light of day). Finishing up the Fan Shell socks. Swatching cables for an Aran design class. Getting fed up with the two sweaters still on the needles from last year and seriously considering frogging both. Being tempted by circular yoke designs that I could work with gradient colors (yes I have the yarn, but am TRYING to resist casting on). Etc., etc. To many ideas, too little time.
But I’m back in writing mode for things other than book chapters, and will make an effort to post with more frequency going into the fall. So as always, stay calm and craft on. It’s the best wooly time of year.
Thanks for the great read and pictures. Love those lace socks!