The Independent Stitch

Kristi's Nourishing (Nibbles and) Knits

During my years as an editor at Interweave Press, I didn't have time to participate in any fiber groups—other than those that naturally arose as part of work, which were more task-oriented than social. I still don't have a lot of time. So I'm especially happy to have found, a number of years ago, a particular knitting group. We meet one night a week. We have no scheduled activities. We show up, we knit, we talk, we occasionally vent, we often laugh, we go home. Oh, yes, we also eat. Because we start showing up at 6 and hang out until at least 8, maybe 9 or later, we do have food around, although it's not planned.

This is the group that supported me through the research, spinning, and writing of The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook, although most often—unless deadlines were just too imminent—I'd take my R&R knitting, like the Ink sweater. When I showed up with my spinning wheel, these good folks would know that I was seriously scrambling. I'm grateful for the ongoing and unqualified friendship of each individual and of the cluster that includes us all.

(Four folks are missing from that picture: Kristi Schueler, who took the photos of the group at our gathering last week; Dee, whose dining room we refer to as "the clubhouse"; Irene, who participates more often in the summer; and Ashley, who now occasionally commutes from her new job in California. Present are Kathryn, Amanda—who can be recognized as one of the models in Nourishing Knits—Sarah, me, and Rebekah. Rebekah's wearing her first completed knitting project, a blue wool pullover with a cable motif on the front.)

This group has also informally supported another recent project during its development: Kristi's Nourishing Knits: 24 Projects to Gift and Entertain. This electronic book contains a dozen knitting projects and a dozen (well, a generous dozen) recipes. The yarn-related and kitchen-based components are paired, with stories about each. Kristi is a gifted knit designer, recipe deviser, and photographer (she took the author photo of me that's on the back of Fleece and Fiber). We watched the development of the patterns and we taste-tested the recipes, sometimes in multiple iterations (from yum to WOW).

In the next photo there's Dee, pouring the spice tea that makes our world go 'round. (Recognize the sweater I'm wearing? Sarah's working on a Swirl, and has actually figured out how many stitches are in each section, as well as a total, and gives us reports on her status. She's an engineer. Dee's working on a Swirl of her own, and being an accountant has prepared a spreadsheet and revised some calculations: her work-in-progress is on the table in front of her. I think Kathryn is knitting socks. Rebekah is making another sweater. I have no idea what I'm knitting. I may have ripped it out. No, I think it might be a Christmas present that will be ready by spring.)

In addition to providing perspective, useful and not, on Kristi's knitting designs, we have joyfully contributed reliable feedback on her kitchen adventures. In the reddish glass by Kathryn and on the plate in front of Sarah are a few remaining saffron pastries that Kristi brought last week. They were absolutely scrumptious: not too sweet, delicately flavored, satisfying.

Nourishing Knits contains lots of options of the knitterly and cooking varieties. I subscribed to the early version of the book, so I've been getting updates as things progressed. Now it's finished, and I have the whole thing! You can, too. It's currently available only through Ravelry, the online knitting community (free memberships), but Kristi is working on a landing page on her website as well so non-Ravelry folks can get it.

One of the patterns in the book is "Guided by Love," a sock design constructed on one of Cat Bordhi's architectures so that pawprints go spiraling from the toe area up to the cuff, with "guided by love" added in braille beadwork around the top of the sock. (Note: Designing pawprints in lace is no small accomplishment. I've done it, independently. Getting the components to line up correctly takes a lot of trial and error. Kristi's standards for how things will work are really high.) Early sales of this pattern earned $1400 in donations for The Seeing EyeTM. The accompanying recipe is for Bow Wow Biscotti, dog treats that were tested by Kristi's dogs. . . .

very sweet Emma, who will, if she knows you pretty well and you don't look at her directly, let you pat her:

and spicy Brandon, a more recent addition to the household:

as well as our dogs, Ceilidh (with some of the yarn for Dee's Swirl). . . .

and Tussah, who, like the others, doesn't get fed people food but is hoping for a pup-biscotti:

. . . plus Amanda's and Sarah's dogs, and maybe some others as well. Everybody's been involved in Kristi's book, at least at the tasting level. All of the dogs shown here are rescues. Being rescued to test Kristi's dog treats is a pretty good deal for a dog.

Looking over the finished product of Kristi's book brings back lovely memories for me. The patterns and food ideas in it have been carefully selected to create similar fine memories for you.

Because it can be hard to know where to start, I'll pick out four of my favorite patterns and recipes.

Although I like and would knit all the patterns, the specific designs that I personally would be happy to cast on for immediately, and be working on by tonight, include:

• "Buttercream," elbow-height hand and arm warmers with twisted-stitch patterning and shaped thumbs
• "Challah," warm warm comfort socks
• "Masala," unique slippers, and
• "Ciabatta," a sweater to steal from the guys

I'd revisit all the recipes. Yet the ones I want to make this week are:

• Savory Pesto Cheesecake, even though I don't like cheesecake! (it pleases cheesecake lovers and non-lovers alike)
• Smoky Sweet Pumpkin Seeds, which I should warn everyone are addictive
• Chai Concentrate, created in the spirit of a local restaurant's exquisite brew
• Pumpkin Fig Muffins, not too sweet, great texture, nice gingery punch, and
• Slow Cooker Black Bean Chili—this stuff is awesome, worth the price of the whole collection

Oops, it turns out I can't limit myself to just four.

Hmmmm. . . . They must have tested the Antipasti Bread Pudding while I was doing something out of town. I'll have to experiment with that one on my own.

Another plus of this book is that Kristi talks about her design processes, for both yarns and foods, and offers suggestions for modifying and principles for diverging from the written instructions. She's aware of allergy issues; likes whole, unadulterated foods; and is vegetarian-friendly.

Both patterns and recipes would be appropriate for the run-up to the holidays (even, for some of them, at this late date), but are also prime candidates for cheering up January, February, and mud-slushy-stormy March. And on beyond that. Check out Nourishing Knits. You'll be glad you did.

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Photos by Kristi Schueler, © 2011 and used by permission. / I purchased my subscription copy of Nourishing Knits.

It's all happening at the zoo. . . . part 2

One of the things I especially liked about the Sedgwick County Zoo, in Wichita, Kansas, is its dedication to both wild and domesticated animals. Too often the efforts to conserve one ecosystem come at the expense of another.

Not so here. I covered one aspect of this story in part 1, where I showed some elements of my visit to the American, African, and Asian farm areas. These diverse and educational collections support conservation of rare livestock breeds, while allowing human/animal interactions that respect the animals' need for appropriate protection and "alone" (or else "with my own kind but not so many people") time.

On my next foray into the zoo grounds, I kept going straight past the entrance to the farm section and soon found myself with this view:

Oh!

I don't have a fancy camera. I have a Canon A540. It has a little zoom on it, but it pretty much captures what I'm looking at just standing there in the world, with no assistance from specialized viewing tools like telephoto lenses.

That bear was THERE! Grizzly, too. The black bears, the kind where I live, were a bit farther along the trail. I haven't spent a lot of time in zoos in recent years, but during the visits that I have made there was nowhere near the sense of immediacy in how I saw this bear. And the experience continued through the rest of my visits (I managed several over the three days of the ALBC annual meeting).

I simply wandered. I didn't make a comprehensive tour of the zoo. I wanted to be outside, and that was a priority in how I rambled.

So I saw the river otters, while they were being fed.

The glass got in the way of a good photo here (reflections, plus lots of splashing of water on its inside surface). The zookeeper was making the otters work for their food: hiding it in the tree-like structures, throwing it in the water, and so on. The several otters seemed to enjoy the game. It was what I think watching pro soccer might be like (we don't have much television reception, and I don't sit still long enough to watch many broadcast sporting events . . . even with knitting in hand).

Farther along, there's a bridge over a waterway (boats operate in warmer seasons) that also let me look down into the habitat where the Mexican wolves live.

The zoo has had a litter of wolf pups, one of whom was released into the wild in the Southwest and formed a pack.

There were other fiber suppliers in this area: the bison.

Because it was fall and a mellow sort of day, most of the animals seemed relaxed (except the otters: I'm not sure they ever relax, except when they're sleeping).

A photo on the zoo's site of the cougars, which looks almost identical to this picture that I took, suggests that these cats get along with each other really well. (The photo I'm referring to isn't the one on the zoo's cougar information page, although that one caught them cozied up, too.)

We have these critters in the wild where I live, although we call them mountain lions. They are a reason to know how to behave when hiking or running in mountain lion country, and a reason not to leave children, house cats, or medium-to-small dogs outside alone. I love that these big cats live in the Rocky Mountains, yet I'd just as soon not meet one when I'm out for a walk. (Notes: Pick up a rock to throw as a defensive tactic before you think you might see a cat; if you wait for the need to arise, it'll be too late. Or carry a hiking stick. The point is to look BIGGER than you are, and not to either back away or run.) I am concerned that we humans are severely reducing these animals' natural habitat by building houses on top of their invisible-to-us homes. That practice significantly increases cat/human conflicts, and then we blame them!

Next I watched the meerkats for a while. They have complex social structures that the zookeepers need to pay close attention to. There are currently two separate meerkat communities at this zoo and never the twain shall mix, although the groups can see each other through the glass barriers that keep everything relatively calm.

While I enjoyed the proximity to the animals the zoo provides, I also appreciated the educational material that is incorporated into the exhibits that reminds people that they are wild animals.

In the early morning, the African wild dogs avidly attacked their food.

When I went by later in the day, they were napping in the shade.

This is a lion CUB, born at the zoo not all that long ago. Yes, I was about two feet away and we were both pretty relaxed, although I was only relaxed because of the structural intervention.

Earlier I'd watched this young one working on a meal.

In this next picture, the woman with the camera is standing almost exactly where I was when I took the first cub photo. Makes one feel a whole lot like prey. The small (?) one's parents also live in this section of the zoo. The lioness is apparently the one with the most serious attitude issues, which she arrived here with. She's apparently mellowed somewhat, although I wouldn't want to count on that. The zookeepers sure don't.

The Malayan tiger . . . well, this guy looked even more imposing than the lions, if that's possible. And, according to the zoo keepers, he's even more of a force to be reckoned with. And that's saying a lot.

Visiting with the giraffes was much less edgy.

The cool, fall weather meant that the zoo was relatively quiet and all the animals seemed content and most were almost on vacation: alert, but not showing off.

This red panda could have withdrawn inside its shelter more thoroughly, but I think it was enjoying a time when it could keep an eye on the world while also having a rest.

Those of us participating in the ALBC conference were offered the opportunity to take some behind-the-scenes tours. I signed up for a couple on Sunday morning before starting the drive home.

The elephants, both about 40 years old, are Cinda and Stephanie. This is Cinda, who got to be the one who interacted with us. Stephanie, the dominant (although smaller) elephant, had been able to show off for the previous group.

I got to feed Cinda several times, and to stroke her side. She has amazing skin! The elephants have several hours a day of school, with operant conditioning (for those of us more familiar with dogs, this is clicker training, although Cinda responds more to verbal praise, and food treats, than to clicks). The training has several purposes, including intellectual stimulation, exercise, and patterning of behaviors that are useful in veterinary care. Some of the activities are just plain fun for elephant and human alike. (That's Stephanie in the background, sulking just a bit because she's not the focus of attention.)

As part of our tour, we met one critter who is not on display because of health concerns. This antelope-type creature is one of the last of his kind, and there will be no more. The population levels have dropped too low, and attempts to keep the species going through zoo-based breeding have resulted in young with serious genetic problems, especially heart defects. Further efforts are being abandoned. It was sobering to be face-to-face with a living being that represents the last step before extinction. I was stunned enough that I missed the animal's name and forgot to ask, and because we were in a private area there were no signs to help me out.

Just after the elephants, however, we had met (and fed banana chunks, peels and all, to) Eugene, an Eastern black rhinoceros, another endangered species. My photo of Eugene is lousy. Eugene was a delight.

Having a black rhino eat out of my hand was amazing—even more than elephant feeding (which was unquestionably cool). These rhinos have prehensile upper lips. Eugene was delicate and precise in his acquisition of the banana sections.

Eugene is an old man—38 years—and retired, living out his days being pampered by the zoo keepers. His bones are achey, so thanks to a private donor he now has a rubberized floor in his area. He has contributed to the continuation of his species and his offspring are now at a number of different locations. I was impressed with the amount of knowledge of animal behavior and care for the individual animals among the human cohort at the Sedgwick County Zoo.

That's one reason that they don't do operant conditioning with the Grevy's zebras, who look equine and familiar from the other side of the fence but are not predictable enough for close interaction to be a wise, safe idea for the humans.

After the tours, the earlier of which included the greenhouse and a glimpse of the veterinary facilities, both in areas where photos were not possible, I took a meandering path out of the grounds. It was a sleepy sort of day, as demonstrated by the ruddy shelducks. . . .

. . . and the bar-headed geese.

My trip to the zoo missed huge portions of it. I didn't see the primates, the amphibians and reptiles, the jungle area, the penguins, or the Australian or South American sections. In warmer seasons, as I mentioned above when I talked about the Mexican wolves, there's a boat that carries people across a lake; I think it runs from the North American area to the African exhibits. That sounds like fun.

On the other hand, because it was fall and cool, the place was relatively quiet. I had the wonderful and unusual treats of seeing behind-the-scenes areas and of feeding Cinda and Eugene, and learning more about this zoo's work on the conservation of wild species and of rare domesticated breeds of livestock.

I'm not sure when I'll be near Wichita again, but another trip to this zoo is something I look forward to.

It's all happening at the zoo. . . . part 1

A month ago, I drove to Wichita, Kansas, to present a session at the annual conference of the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy (ALBC). My session was for people who are keeping rare-breed sheep on how to market their wool to spinners and other fiber folks. This is a part of the conservation equation that I've been envisioning for many years and we finally had an opportunity to put it together. Wow, is it fun to share ideas with people who either have, or intend to soon acquire, rare-breed sheep. I've done that before, with one flock at a time, but we had a bunch of folks together all at once. It was truly delightful.

The daytime events for the conference were held at the Sedgwick County Zoo, which is extremely active in the conservation not only of wild species but also of domesticated breeds of animals.

All participants in the conference were granted access to the zoo itself throughout the event, so during times when all the available sessions were about meat production (not my forte), I walked out the back door of the conference center and looked around.

Domesticated animals

There are three "farm" areas where the livestock conservancy activities are centered: the American farm, the Asian farm, and the African farm. They're called the "Children's Farms," but don't let that mislead you. There's serious business going on here. The format just makes the animals really accessible, so kids (human) can get acquainted with them. (The animals throughout the zoo have access to privacy, and in the case of the farm animals spend their "off hours" in a different set of spaces that are less structured. Not all animals are out where the public can see them.)

In that picture, those are Jacob (spotted) and Navajo-Churro sheep, in the American farm area. What an amazing opportunity for the rare sheep to get to know people, and vice versa!

Signage talks about the ALBC and the breeds' history and status.

There are something like 38 rare livestock breeds in these three farm areas. In addition to the Navajo-Churros (shown pretty clearly in the photo above), there are the American Jacobs, with a better photo here. . . .

. . . and Karakuls, in the Asian farm. . . .

. . . and American Tunis, located in the African farm area. I suspect the location decision occurred because, although the breed is 100% American, its roots began in north Africa. . . .

I also spotted this little goat in the African farm. I don't know what kind it is, other than exceptionally cute. I'll bet it's also mischievous. Goats are, in general, and then there's that extremely innocent look on this one's face. . . .

There are other fiber animals in the farms, including camels (although these are dromedaries, not the Bactrian camels that produce most camel down and hair):

. . . and yaks, over in Asia.

I don't have a fancy camera. Throughout this zoo, I found I had an amazing ability to get close enough for decent snapshots. The reconciliation of visitors' access and residents' privacy needs was masterfully accomplished through the design of the spaces.

Here are a few other ALBC-listed residents of the farm areas.

A Poitou donkey, outside, and what I'm thinking is an American Mammoth Jackstock, mostly inside. . . .

On the other side of the fence are American Cream horses, which are large draft horses. Yes, the equine population involves a lot of very large animals (also miniature donkeys, although I didn't get their picture taken).

There are also a number of types of cattle, including the Ancient White Park, which is horned (the American White Park, genetically quite different, is polled, or hornless).

I think this is a Japanese silkie chicken:

I don't think it's rare, but it is fun to see.

These photos just hint at who's hanging out in the farm areas. The zebus were astonishing.

I did wander off to see some of the "regular" zoo areas as well. I'll start another post for that section.

Blue sweater, Ink sweater

This is the story of a sweater that began in the middle of the 1970s, when I bought a few skeins of blue superwash yarn (superwash was relatively new then) and knitted a simple sweater with lace patterning and raglan shaping that I've been wearing fall/winter/spring ever since. That sweater has definitely earned its keep in my wardrobe, and is still a favorite. However, it has been showing its age. (Again.)

The next part of the story began at Sock Summit 2009. I was teaching and helping another teacher and had very little time to spend in the alluring marketplace. Yet as I walked past the market booths, moving at warp speed for somewhere I needed to be, a table at the end of a row caught my attention and I veered off-course to take a quick closer look. It was covered with beautiful colorways of hand-dyed yarn. I picked up the one that drew me most strongly, and was caught short by the label.

It said "Color: Ink for Deborah." Not only was it gorgeous, it had my name on it. Further study was obviously in order, despite wherever I needed to be.

The booth contained Karin Maag-Tanchak's Periwinkle Sheep offerings. The table that had stopped me short was filled with a set of special colorways she had dyed for Sock Summit, one for each of the participants in the Luminary Panel that would be taking place on Sunday. This was my color.

I'd never had a color before. Especially one that was called "Ink," bringing together all the knitting and publishing and writing that I have done, and continue to do, in a subtly variegated way that mingled a lot of my favorite shades. Sometimes I feel very scattered between all these activities, in addition to the need to earn a living. The yarn said to me, "It's all one, and it's definitely you."

I didn't know Karin. The whole thing seemed a touch magical. After having finished the whatever-it-was that I was scheduled to do when I went skimming along the edges of the market, I went back and bought a skein from the person who was assisting Karin, who was then on a break. Later I went back for a quick visit to tell Karin how much I liked the yarn, and she gave me a skein. (Apparently each Luminary was in line for a free skein, but the assistant hadn't known that, and also didn't have any reason to suspect that I had any special interest in the yarn I was buying, other than being a random person who thought it was pretty.)

I took the snapshot of one of my two skeins, opened out, shortly after Sock Summit, when I was at a family gathering that took place not far from Portland. The question I had begun to face, of course, was what to make with the yarn. At that point, I had two skeins. The more I looked at it, the more I liked the colorplay (as well as the colorway). I knew I would need to make something other than socks, even though I now had enough yarn for two pairs of regular socks or a nice pair of knee socks. Merino socks and I do not have long-term relationships. I tend to walk around either barefoot or wearing socks without shoes, and my feet behave like they belong to someone who walks around barefoot a lot. I need sturdy sock yarns.

When I got home, I contacted Karin to see if she had any "Ink" left. She had a few skeins. I bought four more, for a total of six. That would be enough for a sweater. Then lots and lots of other work intervened (mostly intense attention to The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook), although I kept looking at and thinking about the "inky" yarn. I wanted to make something I would wear frequently.

The following winter, I noticed that the previously mentioned favorite garment, knitted when I lived in Port Townsend, Washington, needed mending again. It had already had its cuffs re-knitted twice because of wear. I'd patched some other spots, too. Now new locations were showing holes, and this rude type of disintegration was the sort that is harder to fix than just re-knitting cuffs, or re-securing the neck facing, or tightening and re-fastening a broken strand.

Calculating from when I lived in Port Townsend, the sweater was at least 32 years old and probably more like 35. It might actually be time to think about constructing its successor. Perhaps the Ink yarn would be appropriate. The original yarn was a worsted weight of unknown breed, in a heathery, grayed blue. The new yarn was a superwash sock or fingering weight of Merino, in a subtly variegated brighter blue with bits of purple here and there.

I could not in any way duplicate the first sweater, but there was potential here for continuing in the same spirit.

So I began to consider why I liked, and used, this sweater so much.

The original:

Although I was tempted to think in terms of more complex and sophisticated structures, I enjoy the simplicity of this garment. It's plain 1/1 ribbing, and a basic raglan shape. The neckline is not shaped, so neither side is the front or back. It goes on correctly any way I grab it.

Yet within that simplicity resides a nice set of details. The body and sleeves are worked in the round, with an even number of repeats of the pattern in each of those sections. (This means the increases, for both body and sleeves, all occur in the final row of the ribbing. Both sleeves and body are worked straight from ribbing to underarm.) Although this part isn't entirely clear from the photo, the patterns match up along the raglan decreases, and because I worked partial repeats of the Horseshoe lace pattern, the design goes right up to the edge of the decreases. (It doesn't look that way in the photo, and I'm not sure what happened with the image, but the actual sweater does have partial repeats at the points where things look blurry along the raglan lines.) I found the original pattern in a 1970s issue of something like Woman's Day or Family Circle. I don't recall having modified the instructions, but I might have. I suspect the attention to partial repeats was my contribution; that sort of pickiness is hard to write into a published pattern that needs to convey enough information for multiple sizes.

I thought about using a Horseshoe lace pattern again, but it didn't seem like the right choice for this yarn, for reasons I can't completely explain. I felt a slight sense of anticipatory boredom when I considered it, even though I thought I could knit another type of Horseshoe-lace project (say, a blanket) in an instant, if that pattern felt like the right match for the yarn. I've learned to pay attention to even a hint of boredom in the design process and to quickly discard the idea that evoked it.

Yet lace felt like the right direction to be going to maintain the qualities I'd enjoyed in the original sweater.

I find leaf-lace patterns especially appealing, so I cruised my books for options and swatched several. The one I settled on was pattern 22 in Nihon Vogue's Knitting Patterns Book 300. I was partly charmed by the alternation between the smooth and textured edges of the leaves. While I was swatching, I thought about "fixing" them to match, and then decided that I liked the hint of two different types of leaves, with both rough and smooth edges, in one design. It reminds me pleasantly of working through tree identification books ("Are the leaves alternating or opposite? Are their edges smooth or sawtoothed or lobed?").

I measured the old sweater, then compared its dimensions to the raglan sweater proportions in Knitting in the Old Way. This sweater's sleeves are narrower than the percentages presented in Knitting in the Old Way. On other occasions, the additional ease in the proportions from Knitting in the Old Way would be what I'd want. But since I'd decided to replicate the old sweater, I decided to stick with its measurements. I calculated pattern repeats, thought ahead to the sleeve joins when I picked my cast-on number, and began.

I started with the sleeves. It's always handy to check out a pattern with a sleeve, because it acts like an extra-large swatch. Plus if I do the sleeves first, then when I reach the underarm on the body I'm immediately ready to join all the sweater parts and work the yoke area. I always feel like I've gotten a jump start when I've finished the sleeves. I completed them, and then began the body. Here's what the body of the sweater looked like last February:

I was on a ferry between Friday Harbor, Washington, and Seattle when I took that snapshot. I can tell because the photo carries the right date, because some of the Washington State ferries have bench seats in that color, and because some ferries also have linoleum flooring in the pattern that shows in the corner of the snapshot. So I was working on sweater 2 not far from where I'd made sweater 1. I like that part of the world a lot.

Much deadline-knitting and writing and teaching and traveling and other responsibilities slowed my progress, but it was always a treat to come back to the sweater, wherever and whenever I found myself with a few moments to work on it. When I reached the joining point—when I put both sleeves and the body together in one big loop and began to knit the yoke—I had to decide what to do about the raglan decrease areas. I decided to work the pattern as close as possible to the decrease points, and not to have a column of plain knit stitches run up those lines, in the way that had pleased me so much on the earlier sweater. This was an on-the-fly decision, made while looking at the fabric in front of me and deciding what I thought would work best for it. I was prepared to rip back to the joining area if I didn't like how it was looking after a few inches. I evaluated and pressed on.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, I reached the neckline. After wavering for a bit—Should I shape the neckline after all? It seemed like a dereliction of my design duties to leave it completely unshaped—I stuck to my original plan, knitted twice as much ribbing at the top as I wanted in the neckband, folded the extra to the inside, and tacked it in place, making my stitches loose enough that they would expand along with the ribbing when I pulled the sweater over my head but not so loose that the stitching would snag on anything. I washed the sweater and laid it out on towels to dry and find its destined shape.

When I put it on. . . .

it worked just fine.

How do sweaters 1 and 2 differ? The original sweater was made of worsted weight yarn at 20 stitches to 4 inches (10 cm), or 5 stitches to the inch (2.5 cm). The Ink sweater is fingering weight yarn, at 30 stitches to 4 inches (10 cm), or 7.5 stitches to 1 inch (2.5 cm). Sweater 2 doesn't have sweater 1's neatly angled raglan lines, but I did get pattern connections along the decrease area that please me equally well: the raglan joins meander back and forth with the leaf patterning and are almost invisible. There's more depth to the patterning in #2, and the yarn is livelier, so the result is more sculptural. Sweater 2 is slightly warmer than sweater 1 was, even though it's made of significantly lighter-weight yarn.

Similarities include the ease of wearing, the extra-long sleeves (I like my sleeves on the long side), the practical goes-either-way neckline, and the fact that I like it a lot.

It comes as no surprise to me that I'm wearing the sweater today.

Those aren't pictures from today, though. The pictures were taken a few days ago. Today we have a bunch of snow on the ground. The sweater works for both sets of conditions.

Sweater 1 can now take a well-deserved rest.

The previous photos have all been taken in sunshine. I like colors that shift slightly depending on the light in which they're seen, and the dyes on this yarn fall into that category.

There's one more photo I need to show, and this one was taken inside, without the brightening sunlight. I snapped it when I was cleaning my pen. The container holds water along with fountain-pen ink, dissolved from the nib that's soaking.

Could it be more a more perfect match?