The previous post was about sickness and waiting for spring. Now it is fall, the season of marvelous kitchen still lifes, of breakfasts of an apple sliced and stewed with two heaping tablespoons of rolled oats and a teaspoon of cinnamon, of dinners of baked squash doused in thyme served with rice. On the mend from an obstinate cold or “grippaler Infekt,” I am experiencing an inexplicable yearning for winter, snow, and darkness. It started mid-August. While perusing Ravelry, I fell in love with a knitting pattern, and it soon became clear that the Slovene wool that had impertinently refused to become several different sweaters had just been holding out for The One. The cardigan flew off the needles and was finished just in time for the first dip in temperatures.
This project was a turning point for me. This was the first time I experienced deeply that it is not about the pattern alone (which had previously been my focus – I like the pattern, therefore I will knit it); it is about the interplay of fiber and pattern, of what happens when they come together, of how they complement each other like yin and yang or night and day. I swear the yarn called out to me and said something to the effect of “Make me into a Wheatsheaves. If you knit me into that pattern, I will finally behave!”
Convalescing on the couch, I had ample time to peruse a bunch of magazines and select a few recipes to try out. It wasn’t until yesterday that I had the stamina to tackle the first one: a German take on Tuscan cookies, vegan and chock full of raisins, walnuts, and pine nuts. The recipe included wheat bran, something I don’t remember having encountered in a recipe since the eighties. (Readers of a certain age, remember the bran muffin?) The cookies got the thumbs up from my resident food taster.
Outfitted with a garment to keep my upper body well wrapped and snug in the damp, cold October weather to come, I have shifted my focus to my feet. There is just enough yarn left over from the two pairs of socks I knit last winter for a pair of no heel socks. They are supposed to remain hole-free longer because the heel doesn’t rub the exact same place each time. (And yes, the two skeins like the color of the other and are intrigued about being socks without heels.)
Enjoy the fall and take heed of any messages from your yarn!