Dress Journal #13: I Need a Sweater

We're off to the rink in our
brothers' sweaters!

     At the top of the list of things I need is a warm, lightweight, period-appropriate sweater, so this project is the perfect opportunity to knit an Edwardian turtleneck. (I'll pause here for the delicate flowers to clutch their pearls and reach for the smelling salts.) That right: I said "turtleneck sweater." As soon as those intrepid co-eds discovered their brothers' and fathers' athletic "jerseys," they began pinching them, then knitting their own. Why the surprise? Sweaters were as useful for outdoor activities at the beginning of the 20th century as they are at the beginning of the 21st century. There are plenty of photos of young women, often with skates slung jauntily over their shoulders, wearing turtleneck sweaters. There's even a bit of film shot by the Edison Studios of women frolicking in the snow, and many of them are wearing sweaters and dashing caps.

"Ladies' Outing Sweater" from The
Columbia Book on the Use of Yarns
(1904). I like the ribbing, but the
pigeon-breast is all wrong.

     Digging around in old knitting books uncovered some patterns for different "ladies' sweaters," but none are exactly what I want: I want a sweater like the girls are wearing. That means some creative extrapolating and adjusting patterns. From The Columbia Book on the Use of Yarns (1904), it appears that both ladies' and mens' sweaters were knitted "up the back and down the front," leaving no shoulder seams. The "Ladies' Outing Sweater" has a nice rib pattern--that will make the sweater fit smoothly. The "Mens' Sweater" has the ribbed lower sleeve detail that is evident in many of the photographs. A bit of this, a bit of that, and I have my pattern.

"Mens' Sweater" from The Columbia
Book on the Use of Yarns (1904).
I'll just "borrow" the neck and 
sleeve cuffs from this.

     Since none of these patterns were designed with my somewhat larger measurements in mind, I'll need to scale the pattern up to accommodate. I love Ida Riley Duncan's The Complete Book of Progressive Knitting for doing this. Duncan's system works off measurements taken from the wearer's body, and knitted swatches for gauge, and includes how to add the appropriate amount of ease to make the pattern fit appropriately. I've used it before, so this will make knitting this sweater simple.
     I want this sweater to be more than just a "costume" piece, so it needs to be light, warm, and not scratchy. Light means it needs to be thin, so a fingering-weight yarn on US#2/2.75mm needles should give me the thickness I want. The yarn can't be scratchy, so I'm using merino. And because I want this sweater to have some durability and not pill, there needs to be some nylon in the mix. (Some nylon in the blend also means the sweater can be gently machine-washed.) The yarn I've settled on is Knit Picks "Stroll" in the "Bare" colorway. I've used "Stroll" before, and it makes lovely socks. Knit Picks puts it up in 100g skeins for dyeing, but I'll simply skip the dyeing and knit an ecru sweater.
     The pattern(s) are chosen, and the yarns arrived on Tuesday. Next up is swatching, measuring, and casting on my "shocking" Edwardian turtleneck sweater.

Dress Journal #12: "Ski" Clothes for the Non-Skier

Snowshoeing with a friend,
c.1910. It's a walk in the park!

     First, I should explain about skiing. I don't. I didn't, even when I did several decades ago. I am amazingly bad at Alpine-style skiing. (I'm extremely good at falling.) Some of it is because I'm as coordinated as a duck on land, and some of it is because I have a real fear of heights, which translates to "Oh my God, I'm going to slide right off this mountain!" I can almost manage the tiniest beginner slope--the one toddlers start on--without falling.

Your grandma's snowshoes.
Old-fashioned but efficient.

     That inability to slide down a mountain with a couple sticks tied to my feet does not mean that I dislike the mountains or snow. I love the cold, crisp air and deep blue skies of a sunny day in the mountains, and as long as I don't have to shovel it, I think snow is pretty amazing. That's one of the real joys of living in California: as long as we get a "typical" wet winter, there's lots of snow in the Sierras, the Tehachapis, the San Gabriels, and the San Bernardino mountains, and I can be up to my expectations in white stuff in just a couple hours.
     So, if Alpine-style skiing is out, what else can a girl do, beyond making snow angels? Two activities come to mind: snowshoeing, and cross-country (aka "Nordic-style") skiing. Neither involves sliding at some rate of speed, both are relatively easy (and inexpensive) to learn and do, and there are good places to do either within a couple hours of home.

Modern snowshoes.
Strap 'em on and off you go!

     Snowshoeing has changed a lot in the last 40 years. Where "snowshoeing" once meant strapping something like tennis rackets to your winter boots, then hoping you didn't get your tails crossed up, modern snowshoes are more like miniature snowboards and clip right onto your boots. Add a set of trekking poles with snow baskets, and you're off on a hike. (Of course, if you're into the more traditional, Faber still makes snowshoes).
     The equipment for cross-country skiing hasn't changed as much as the clothing. Where cross-country skiing was once a slower, more "genteel" way of skiing, it now features skin-tight spandex more often seen on winter runners and cyclists. That makes sense--cross-country skiing is often described as "jogging with skis"--but the basic equipment hasn't changed: long, skinny skis with lightweight ski boots.

Cross-country skiing, c.1910.

     So how do we "roll back time," while still making something that is suitable for a day in the snow? Simple: we look at pictures. Lots of pictures. Fortunately, the rise of leisure activities coincided with the rise of simple photography for the masses, so there's a lot of material. I'm finding a decent number of exuberant young (and not so young) people having fun in the snow at the beginning of the 20th century. There's also some reading to do: contemporary travel guide recommendations; diaries; and letters. Finally, there's simply common sense: what works and what doesn't. My internal thermostat is set fairly high, so the layers need to be light enough to prevent overheating, but warm enough to prevent hypothermia.

     My list of what's needed:

• A layer of cotton, silk, or lightweight wool underthings 
• A lightweight athletic corset that allows me to move and breathe
• A light wool "base layer" (e.g., a long-sleeved, high-necked sweater; wool bloomers or jodhpurs)
• A medium wool "outer layer (e.g., an appropriate jacket and skirt)
• Waterproof gaiters
• Waterproof boots
• Gloves
• A dashing hat
• Appropriate winter athletic equipment (snowshoes; cross-country skis; trekking poles; etc.)

Dyeing in Fire Season

     At the end of last year, my inventory looked like a plague of locusts had attacked it. In a way, it had: it was a very successful season. I checked things last week and my entire inventory is:

• 3 towels
• 2 washcloths
• 5 placemats
• 1 handspun, handknit scarf
• 8 skeins of handpainted and hand-dyed yarns

That small an inventory is enough to keep me from setting up the "shop" (my booth) at craft fairs and marketplaces this year. It also means I need to do a lot of work to have a decent inventory for next year.

     Top of the list was dyeing more skeins. I need the relative humidity to be low enough for the yarns to dry quickly, and warm enough to suit working outside in the dye yard. In California, this means dyeing in the fall, right before the winter rains start.

     Unfortunately, fall is also fire season. Fire season doesn't bother me. I grew up in what we now call the "Wildland-Urban Interface--we used to call it "the sticks"--and fall usually includes days of the powerful northeast winds known as "Santa Anas," "Sundowners," or "Diablos," depending on where in California you live. The winds blow, the fires burn the vegetation off the hills, and you try to stay out of the way.

     This year's fire season in Northern California is turning out to be more than a little frenetic. It doesn't help that a lot of the people living up here aren't familiar with fire ecology. It doesn't help that the local climate is becoming warmer and dryer. It doesn't help that pine bark beetles and sudden oak death have decimated the forests. And it doesn't help that the monopoly with a stranglehold on our utilities--Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E)--hasn't been able to figure out how to manage their aging infrastucture. 

   

A rainbow of handpainted
sock yarns.

Last week started well, and by the middle of last week, I had a rainbow of handpainted skeins of sock yarn. Dyeing those skeins gave me a chance to use up a big bunch of already mixed dyes. 

     The weather continued to hold so, in spite of a forecast for wind, I started madder and brazilwood dyepots. Natural dyeing takes a lot more work, and madder is tricky--it takes several days to prepare the dye liquor, and temperature has to be monitored to get good color. The pots would be ready for dyeing on Sunday (normally a "work" day for me). By Saturday afternoon, everything was on track for a dye day, with yarns in mordant pots and tools at the ready. My cell phone kept chirping every couple hours with messages from PG&E about potential pre-emptive power outages, but every time I got one, I checked our address and we were in the clear. That wasn't surprising--I'm in the middle of an urban area, and not anywhere near a canyon that can funnel winds. 

     Everything changed at 3:40 p.m., when the City declared a Water Emergency and immediately instituted mandatory water rationing. Wait! What?? It turned out that the Water Department never bothered to install back-up generators for their pump stations, so the only water available was what was in the water tanks. Twenty minutes later, PG&E and the Solano County Office of Emergency Services sent out messages that the power would be shut off, beginning at 6 p.m. I ran around the house, positioning emergency flashlights, cooking an early dinner, and worrying about that madder pot. Six o'clock came and went, and the power stayed on.

My hard-won naturally dyed skeins. From left to
right, madder; brazilwood; onionskins; coreopsis.

     The wind woke me up about 5 a.m.: sustained 20 mph, with gusts above 30 mph. No matter--that madder pot was ready to go, and it was going to go no matter what. I got the yarns in and dyed, pulled the pot from the fire, and left it to cool. Everything else was left for the next day, when the water was turned back on and rationing ended. Monday was smoky but less windy, so I was able to finish dyeing the onionskin and coreopsis skeins. 

     The yarns are done, but I really need to re-examine when I do my dyeing. Our power never did go out, and we were never in any sort of danger, but I don't like being left "high and dry," without a reliable water source. The yarns don't dry as quickly during our foggy summer months, but at least the power stays on and water comes out of the taps. 

Dress Journal #11: Ski Clothes!?!

     As I've posted in other places, I do not do things by half measures. I'm a firm believer that anything done well is worth overdoing, so my decision to start building historical costumes again is destined to be something.
     This all started last week, when I discovered that

• Costume-Con 39 is scheduled for April 23-25, 2021, in San Jose
• A friend is running the "Single Pattern Competition" at said convention

McCalls M2087

     Normally, I don't do competitive costuming, primarily because the thought of getting up on a stage and being judged by my peers is enough to make me lose my lunch. On the other hand, I'm at the point in my life where I simply don't care. There is no stage, no real presentations, and I can simply relax and have fun.
     There's also the matter of the pattern. The idea of the Single Pattern Competition is to work from a single or small group of patterns and make it your own. The patterns are chosen from the "Big Four" pattern companies (Simplicity; McCalls; Butterick; Vogue) and Folkwear, and then the sky is the limit. The pattern that caught my eye was McCall's M2087 from their "Cosplay by McCalls" line: it's an over-the-top fantasy coat-robe that looks completely ridiculous, and a lot like one of my bathrobes. It's that silly, so it needs to be rescued and recycled into something a bit more useful.

A self-portrait of Swedish photographer
Maya Beskow, around 1908.

     So what can be done with that silly a pattern? Some careful thought, a little research online and in some books, and I realized that this pattern is crying out to become...ski clothes. Not just any ski clothes, but something appropriate for an active American woman before World War I.
     I've got an idea, and I've got a pattern, but do I have the necessary materials? Stay tuned....

.....aaaaaaand we're back!

     Nearly four years is a long time to be quiet. A very long time. However, "quiet" doesn't mean "boring." My life in general has been insanely busy, and I haven't felt like posting about it. There it is.
     A brief recap: I went to Kauai; spent a couple months in Europe and on the high seas coming back to the U.S.; went to New Mexico (Santa Fe) and Nevada (Reno); lost my mom after a shortish illness; got the loom of my dreams; dyed, spun, wove, and knitted a lot.
      So now I'm back.