Fylgje

Fylgje is a very large winter shawl, knit in stripy modules. I’ve worked on variations of it for a long time.

Hurray! The pattern for my Fylgje shawl is now released, in Knitty Winter 2017. I’ve been following the magazine for such a long time, so I can hardly believe that my pattern is now part of it.

I submitted a lot of photos, but the ones I though would be considered the best were not picked. Since I’m not trained in photography, I’m still always wondering what makes a good photo. I know which ones I like, but many times, I’m not completely sure why.

Anyway, here’s a handful of photos that are not in the pattern:

My mom wearing the shawl, gazing into the forest. Several people have commented that she is very stylish, and I agree. This is a picture with no make-up or photoshop, so she looks like this in real life.
This is taken later in the year, and I like the slope of the shawl on the shoulders.
Walking down the street. I know you’re not supposed to take photos into the sun, and the background is rather dull, but I like the movement and the line of the lamppost’s shadow.
With my daughter. She wasn’t supposed to be in any photos so she is in her pajamas. We wrapped her in one of the shawls so no nightwear is showing. I think it makes them both look a bit funny, but they look very pleased!

Looking for Fylgje knitting kits? Find them in my Etsy store.

Folkvang Tam

Folkvang is a classic tam with a couple of twists

Folkvang tam, here shown in indigo blue with accents from velvet pax and reed flowers.

Color knitting makes a wonderfully warm fabric, but the yarns that behave the very best in stranded knitting are not very wonderful right against the skin.

I think I’ve solved that problem with the design for the Folkvang tam. The first twist is that it begins with a turned hem, lined with laceweight silk-merino, Bestla (600 m / 100 g, or 656 yards / 3.53 oz). Then, the rest of the hem and hat is knit in Fenris, my pure wool 2-ply fingering (450 m / 100 g, or 492 yards / 3.53 oz).

So you have the warmth and strength of Fenris, but only the soft Bestla touches your forehead.

Inside the hem, there’s lovely soft Bestla silk-merino.

The other twist is the color knitting. I’ve admired Bohus knitting for a very long time, and this design draws its inspiration from the Bohus tradition.

Bohus designs are often asymmetric in the direction of knitting, so motifs don’t have a center that they repeat around. During swatching, I did away with that, settling on a simple square pattern with repeated rounds. The important thing that I kept from traditional Bohus is purl stitches in the colorwork. That is what really makes the design, and I am a bit in love with the way that purling makes the background colors mix together:

The blue Folkvang tam on the left, on the right, a version dyed only with mushrooms: the grey-green is from velvet pax, the pinks from Cortinarius species.

To celebrate the release of the pattern, is is 50% off until Sunday November 26th at my Ravelry store.

And, the first 25 to comment below get a free copy of the pattern.

Looking for Folkvang knitting kits? They’re at my Etsy store!

A Herd of Hats

What’s the collective noun for hats? “Herd”? “Flock”? “Mob”? “Head”? Or, in my case, “parliament”, or even “pandemonium” may even soon be appropriate. I can’t seem to stop knitting them.

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I’ve been working on two new designs for hats, a lacy one that leapt out at me from a Japanese pattern dictionary, and one in stranded knitting that came about by swatching. Yes, swatching.

Brisingamen is inspired by a Japanese pattern, and knit in two layers all over. The entire inside is knit in Bestla, a 35/65 mix of silk and merino, the entire outside is Norne, my 1-ply pure wool lace yarn. It took a bit of hard thinking to come up with a way to line both the hem and the rest of the hat – in the end, I went with two provisional cast ons. That may sound incredibly complicated, but it’s really not. And the result really is excellent. Since the gauge is small, the double fabric is thin, but very warm, even when it’s windy.

Here’s Dagmar on a snowy day a while ago, wearing the first prototype, knit in undyed yarn. It turned out too small for me, but fits her just perfectly.

Dagmar happily wearing the Brisingamen prototype.

For the final version, I only had to do small recalculations. A triple cable replaces the single line of twisted stitches between motifs, and the rib is longer. Here it is, almost done, in yarn dyed with 1:1 madder. I’ve dyed with madder on pure wool so many times, and still love how it takes the color. Silk merino takes the same dye in a slightly different, no less delicious, way. Perhaps it is the silk sheen that alters the look just slightly.

Brisingamen hat, the outer layer is pure wool, the inner silk-merino. Both dyed with madder root.

Folkvang is a tam that was inspired by Bohus patterns. Since I first read about Bohus patterns, I’ve wanted to make something using them as a starting point.

I started swatching to try patterns out. In the beginning, I wanted an arched pattern, so that’s how the swatch starts out (right side). But the arch didn’t behave, and I realized that you would have to work 3 colors in one row to make an arch that separates areas with two different background colors. I hate knitting 3 colors at a time, so I continued the swatch with rectangular shapes.

First, a white rectangle on a blue and green background. It’s OK, but the purl stitches on the long edges don’t add anything. Next, a blue rectangle on beige background. Purl stitches inside the rectangle add texture that makes the pattern more interesting. Now, I was on to something. I changed to white background, kept the dark indigo blue as the contrast color, and added in a bright green band of background color. I was getting close, and was finally happy with the pattern when I let the white background peek into the purled inside of the rectangle, and softened the bright green with a bit of beige.

The Folkvang swatch. White background with contrast colors blue (indigo), dark green (tansy and indigo), beige (velvet pax 2. bath), and bright green (reed flowers).

The vertical lines of blue purl stitches just beg to be lined up with purl stitches of a corrugated ribbing, so that’s what I did:

The Folkvang tam, flying off the needles.

The hem is lined with silk-merino. The outer part is knit in Fenris, which is excellent for color knitting, but really not that soft.

In order not to break up the corrugated ribbing when progressing from the hem to the main body of the hat, I used a new (I think?) way of closing the hem in color knitting.

In the photo below, you see the corrugated ribbing in front. The provisional cast on is undone, and the live stitches put on a needle, sitting behind the work. Now, holding the yarns appropriately for color knitting (blue is my dominant color, so it’s towards the left because I knit continental), I purl the purl stitch with blue, then knit together 3 white stitches with white, one from the front needle and two from the back. This leaves the purl columns unbroken, very satisfying to the obsessive knitter.

Closing the hem in color knitting.

Germination Test

I harvested seeds from my dye plants last year, for the first time. So instead of just counting on the seeds, I decided to test their germination before spring truly arrives.

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Last year, I harvested seeds of dyer’s coreopsis and woad from the garden, not a big surprise there. Coreopsis is an annual, and will make huge numbers of small seeds. My woad plants were in their second year, so their seeds were also expected.

The surprise was my Japanese indigo. When I harvested my last plants on October 24th last year, several plants were flowering. On a whim, I potted a plant that I had just ripped out of the soil with roots, and brought the pot inside. There, it calmly kept growing, actually until we went to London for Christmas – the plant had died when we came home. When I was going to throw it, I noticed the seed, good numbers, actually. But it did spend the summer outside with the bees.

Japanese indigo seeds.

I tested the germination of all my dye seeds by placing 10 seeds in moist kitchen paper towel in a ziplock bag that I put under the microwave oven where it’s warm and dark. From January 31st, I let the seeds germinate for a week, and got this result:

Coreopsis, harvested September 27th – 5 out of 10.

Coreopsis, harvested October 24th – 6 out of 10.

Woad – 5 out of 10.

Japanese indigo – 9 out of 10.

Not bad! That was on February 7th, so I decided that this was still too early for the coreopsis. Also, I just sewed it directly last year. So I tossed the sprouted coreopsis for now.

The sprouted woad and japanese indigo, on the other hand, went into seed-starting pots where they now grow. Last year, I found that I was too late in the season, and that was with germination beginning on  April 16th. My notes are sporadic, but it seems they grew in the seed-starting pots for about a month, and in larger pots outside for another month before I transferred them to the garden. So that would have been mid-June.

Various sources disagree on when to start seeds indoors, maybe because they are written for different climates? Recommendations range from early May, 2-3 weeks before the last frost to 6-8 weeks before the last frost.

According to (the authoritative?) “Handbook of Natural Colorants” chapter 7, “Indigo – Agricultural Aspects”, Japanese indigo should germinate inside in April and be transferred to open land in June – and that just happens to be what I did last year (although I hadn’t read that chapter yet). The book goes on to conclude that Japanese is a good crop for Central Europe, but not for England and Finland because the growing season is too short.

I imagine that it’s possible to beat the short season by transferring well grown plants, and doing it earlier than June. So that’s why my sprouted indigo is allowed to continue growing indoors, and more seeds are germinating. Even though this is what it looks like outside:

The frozen wasteland…