The nature of luxury

I went a little mad (well, completely mad) at the end of August at KnitNation in London. I had purchased tickets for the marketplace and for the ravelry talk, but completely lost track of time amongst all those lovely yarns, and didn't even make it to the talk. Never mind, I came away with the most amazing yarn ever.

I tried to give myself a budget, but in my opinion, budgets are only a general rule of thumb, not to be applied in instances when one is given the unique opportunity to acquire a gorgeous rare wool that is not sold anywhere in the UK. I am, of course, speaking of Qiviuk, a yarn made from the underwool of the muskox (which is actually a sheep-sized animal, not an ox-sized animal, as the name would imply). Muskox only live in the Arctic circle, mostly in Canada; they were almost wiped out in Alaska and Quebec, but have been reintroduced successfully, and there are now small populations in parts of Northern Europe as well. Wikipedia says there are about 80,000 to 125,000 individuals in the world. Which is pretty darn rare, especially considering the world population of sheep, according to the New World Encylopedia, was just over one billion in 2005. (Obviously you can't necessarily believe random information you get off the internet, but the general comparison holds).

When I got to the KnitNation I did a quick turn around all the stalls, noting for future reference where the Wollmeise was (just making sure there was still some wool left), and then spent the next hour at the Qiviuk stand stroking the garments, picking up balls of wool, and chatting with the salesman. Qiviuk is sometimes called the most expensive fibre in the world. Given the rarity of the animals and the fact that the fibre is from the undercoat rather than the exterior coat, and thus can only be gathered when the animal is molting (either from objects the animals brush against or from brushing the animal directly - a bit like rabbits, but somewhat trickier!) you can see why this might be the case. But in fact the Qiviuk stall had an even more expensive fibre on display - Vicuña - from an endangered relative of the llama which can only be shorn every three years. That was £200 for a tiny ball, and even I could recognize it was completely out of my league. But the pure qiviuk (they also had a qiviuk/silk/merino blend) was a mere £58 per ball - almost contemplateable.

light and lofty Qiviuk

I decided £58 a ball was a just about affordable luxury. Unfortunately I also decided I needed a minimum of two balls for a decent sized scarf. I also absolutely HAD to get a skein of Wollmeise, because that is almost as difficult to come by as Qiviuk, as it is only sold by one shop in Germany. They do have an online shop, but apparently the wool disappears as soon as it is posted. So the two balls of Qiviuk plus one skein of Wollmeise put me £51 over my budget. And what is £51, after all? Not even enough for a nice meal out for two with drinks, and that doesn't last anywhere near as long as a beautiful scarf, besides which we never go out to eat, so there was my justification.

Wollmeise excels in saturated colours

I had been feeling pretty glum about the looming end of a glorious summer, but my red Qiviuk and pomegranate Wollmeise (for a matching pair of gloves) put me right in the mood for winter. I went around in a delighted glow for days afterward. Now isn't that worth £51? Plus I will end up with a gorgeous scarf to use for years to come.

It took me ages to settle on the right pattern - I finally went with Link, by Tabi Ferguson, because it reminded me a of Turkish pomegranate design. And the gloves absolutely had to be something by Julia Mueller because her gloves are phenomenal. After some hemming and hawing over Eisblume, I eventually settled on Bobbie.

I finished up Arctic Pomegranate over the weekend, and the Wollmeise has been taken out of stash, and is in the slow process of being wound into a ball.

softest, warmest scarf ever



detail of lace pattern



Joys of the season

Fall really is my favourite season. In the States I love it because of pumpkins, Halloween, and the changing leaves. Unfortunately you can't enjoy these wonderful things to the same extent in the UK (Halloween is becoming slightly more common, but pumpkin pie is still pretty exotic, and the leaves just go yellowish-brown and fall off. Though the conkers are a nice touch). But anyway, there is another reason to appreciate Fall in the UK - it means you can give up hoping for summer to finally arrive, stop shivering in linen and sandals (worn in defiance of the weather), and start piling on the woolen accessories. Though now that I have moved away from Scotland, it appears I can actually expect something of a real summer, if this past summer was anything to go by. Unless that was a total fluke, in which case I will be doubly disappointed next year, because my expectations will have been raised to unattainable heights.

But regardless of how spectacular or disappointing your summer was, now is the time to pull out all those accessories that were languishing in your closet. Hopefully not nibbled by moths, as mine were a few years ago. I'm still in serious accessory deficit, and the moth menace, although diminished, has never quite disappeared. As a result of which I had to throw out my winter coat last month. I wasn't too upset because I got it for free from my sister, who thought it looked too much like a bathrobe. Also I had worn it for at least five years. But the upshot was, I needed a new coat and still more new accessories (to match the new coat), so all was good.

In the end I bought a cape, instead of a coat. Which will be sufficient for most English weather, but not all, so I might be in the market for another coat. Possibly from ebay - that's where I get most of my coats, because I couldn't possibly afford to buy as many coats as I need through the usual channels. Saying that, you can probably have too many coats (due to storage issues), but you can never have too many accessories.

One that I'm wearing a lot these days is Daybreak, by Stephen West, which I finished up in a week earlier this month. I want to make this again and again, because the colour possibilities are endless.

The other scarf I wear a lot is Kusha Kusha - which uses one of my very favorite fibres - a silk/steel blend by Habu. I also need to make a lot more of this one. (You can tell from my grin how enthusiastic I am about this scarf).

You will see a definite green theme running through my work, but I prefer reds and pinks for mid-winter, and besides, green most definitely does not go with grey. I got some fabulous red yarns at KnitNation at the end of August - I'll post about the projects as soon as they are finished. 

A frog for every season - part 2

Seasonal foods, seasonal fibres... that's not the whole of it. I'm also very seasonal in the colours I wear. Green is a constant, but I go for more lime greens for spring/summer, whereas I prefer chartreuse and olive for winter. In general my summer colours tend to be much cooler - I love the simple, crisp look of khaki, grey, blue and white (I call them Japanese colours). There is really no need to wear bright colours when nature provides in such abundance - no point in competing with the flowers.

Don't you love how this colour combination pops?

But the minute fall is on it's way, I start craving oranges and reds (which fortunately look brilliant with chatreuse and olive). And in midwinter I start veering toward fuscia (which also goes splendidly with chartreuse). Winter is so dreary, you really need those jolts of colour to get through it.

I used to live up in Glasgow, and I got so tired of the Glasgow passion for black. People have this misconceived notion that black is elegant and sophisticated, which is perhaps why big city folk tend to wear it so much. Whereas I often find black to be lazy and unimaginative, and cities are places where you particularly need colour, all the more so in a wet and dreary city like Glasgow. On top of which, the pale complexion of Scottish women is not generally complemented by black.

After Glasgow, Oxford is a relief - lots of colour (mustard and burgundy seem particular favourites with certain dapper gentlemen). I feel like I can get away with more colour here, which is perhaps why my wardrobe is becoming a riot of orange, chartreuse, purple and teal. And knitting contributes to the preponderance of certain colours - when you make your own you can pick your prefered colour combination to go with any pattern, so you are not limited by what the fashion arbiters have decided is the colour of the season.

A frog for every season- part 1

Giving the corugette harvest a little knitted boost

Having a garden has made it wonderfully easy to eat seasonally. I don't think I have bought any vegetables since around May - well, other than a couple red peppers here or there, and maybe a few baby tomatoes before ours ripened. Of course, we have had to resign ourselves to eating pretty much nothing but courgettes all summer - with a few beans and swiss chard thrown in here and there. Some people think courgettes are a bit bland, but I find them nicely versatile, and they work wonderfully with a variety of cuisines. Favourites in Frogland this summer have been courgette curry, courgette pasta with anchovies and walnuts, and courgette fritters. Also zucchini bread. (I don't normally mind using the British [ahem, French] word for this vegetable, but it just doesn't sound right for bread - particularly since courgette bread is pretty much unheard of in Britain.)

Food is so incredibly complicated these days. No matter what you eat puts you in some sort of ethical dilemma. We have to watch our food miles, eat seasonally and organically, support local artisans and small farmers in the developing world, as well as avoid meat, fish, hydrogenated vegetable oils, sugar, fats, etc., etc., etc. And then a lot of these turn out to be mutually exclusive. You can't really support developing world farmers and avoid food miles, so you end up feeling guilty a lot of the time; at least I do, because I can't resist buying the occasional Peruvian asparagus. And also just about the only edible and affordable fruit I can find in the UK is grapefruit (I know I SHOULD like apples, but they are just so boring, and I've got to get my 5 fruit and veg in somehow!) So I feel a lot better now that I grow my own - and those food miles I justify by not owning a car.

It turns out that knitting is affected by some of these same seasonal and ethical issues. I'm a very seasonal knitter. I can't bear touching wool in the spring and summer, and then when fall comes around I immediately drop all that linen I was working with over the summer (I make an exception for laceweight - I'll knit wool lace all year round, especially if it is mixed with some silk). Some vegetarians avoid silk because after all it does cause the death of billions of insects. And then there is the British wool movement. Though I don't think this has much to do with fibre miles. It is more of an artisanal movement, and about supporting traditional British industry, which I am all for, but I couldn't possibly give up alpaca. Anyway, I'm more interested in Fair Trade and supporting developing world industries, which fortunately allows me to continue buying Manos del Uruguay.