Some yarns require more whispering than others. When you start with one named "Quite Contrary" it should be evident that you are in for a challenge. I know that I want this to become a sweater. And I know that I want it to have lots of texture. Beyond that, I don't know what I'm going to learn. Join me on my journey of Swatchitude!

I started small. This is the same cable I just used on my Japanese pullover, so I thought it would be fun to see what it would look like at a smaller gauge. I could tell immediately that the scale was too little for a sweater, and the cable definition was totally lost in the complicated yarn. But I did like what the holes were doing for the yarn.

So then I made more holes. Still combined with cables, and still too small, but more holes were even better. This would be great for a sock.

Then I went for acreage. I wanted a better feel for how the stripes would repeat, and since they are horizontal, I introduced a strong vertical influence, both with arrows, and with fatter cables. I also played with letting the cable splay be part of the design, which effect I always love. After blocking this, though, it felt like there was too much space between elements, and the textures were at war with the pattern in the yarn, rather than working together.

I decided I needed to bend those horizontal bands of color. The stitch pattern is still obliterated by the yarn pattern, and the scale is still not robust enough, but it felt like I was getting closer. I really liked the wave effect, and the holes, and the scallopy edge.

This one combines cables and lace and bendy stripes, Oh, My! There's a lot going on here, but it seems more cohesive to my eye. I like the way the purl bumps highlight the sparkly silk, while they also seem to hold the holes open. If only I didn't dislike knitting Garter rows so much. And the scale is still not quite there.

Here's one without the garter rows, and at a larger, better scale for a sweater. The sparkle is not as great as with the garter bumps, and the holes are not as open, but it is a lot more fun to knit.

Weigh in, Gentle Readers! Which is your favorite?

My mother once looked across a formal dinner table at me and smiled indulgently, in response to something I had just said. "But you're just not very well-read, Darling," she drawled, sending Phillip, my then-fiancee and intellectual wunderkind into gales of strangled laughter. He believed otherwise, both then and now, or wouldn't have been much interested in a second date, never mind more. Try not to judge my mom too harshly; she's a woman who, if presented with the Taj Mahal as a potential residence, would smile archly and say "Well, if you like MARBLE all that much...Personally, Ah think it's a little cold." Let's just say my mom's standards were high, in all arenas. To this day, it's impossible for me or Phillip to quote any work of writing without inserting in air quotes, and "But of course, Ah'm not very well-read".

If you have seen my independently published patterns, you will know that I always include a selection of visual ephemera, and quotations that I find inspirational and germane. Today I was looking around for such things to augment the Queen Bee pattern, and would you believe it? I found the perfect poem to express the essence of the design, written by none other than E.B. White:

Song of the Queen Bee
by E.B White
Published in New Yorker Magazine 1945

"The breeding of the bee," says a United States Department of Agriculture bulletin on artificial insemination, has always been handicapped by the fact that the queen mates in the air with whatever drone she encounters."

When the air is wine and the wind is free
and the morning sits on the lovely lea
and sunlight ripples on every tree
Then love-in-air is the thing for me
I’m a bee,
I’m a ravishing, rollicking, young queen bee,
That's me.
I wish to state that I think it’s great,
Oh, it’s simply rare in the upper air,
It’s the place to pair
With a bee.

Let old geneticists plot and plan,
They’re stuffy people, to a man;
Let gossips whisper behind their fan.
(Oh, she does?
Buzz, buzz, buzz!)
My nuptial flight is sheer delight;
I’m a giddy girl who likes to swirl,
To fly and soar
And fly some more,
I’m a bee.
And I wish to state that I’ll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.

There’s a kind of a wild and glad elation
In the natural way of insemination;
Who thinks that love is a handicap
Is a fuddydud and a common sap,
For I am a queen and I am a bee,
I’m devil-may-care and I’m fancy-free,
The test tube doesn't appeal to me,
Not me,
I’m a bee.
And I’m here to state that I’ll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.

Mares and cows, by calculating,
Improve themselves with loveless mating,
Let groundlings breed in the modern fashion,
I’ll stick to the air and the grand old passion;
I may be small and I’m just a bee
But I won’t have science improving me,
Not me,
I’m a bee.
On a day that’s fair with a wind that’s free,
Any old drone is a lad for me.

I’ve no flair for love moderne,
It’s far too studied, far too stern,
I’m just a bee—I’m wild, I’m free,
That’s me.
I can’t afford to be too choosy;
In every queen there’s a touch of floozy,
And it’s simply rare
In the upper air
And I wish to state
That I’ll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.

Man is a fool for the latest movement,
He broods and broods on race improvement;
What boots it to improve a bee
If it means the end of ecstasy?
(He ought to be there
On a day that’s fair,
Oh, it’s simply rare.
For a bee.)

Man’s so wise he is growing foolish,
Some of his schemes are downright ghoulish;
He owns a bomb that’ll end creation
And he wants to change the sex relation,
He thinks that love is a handicap,
He’s a fuddydud, he’s a simple sap;
Man is a meddler, man’s a boob,
He looks for love in the depths of a tube,
His restless mind is forever ranging,
He thinks he’s advancing as long as he’s changing,
He cracks the atom, he racks his skull,
Man is meddlesome, man is dull,
Man is busy instead of idle,
Man is alarmingly suicidal,
Me, I am a bee.

I am a bee and I simply love it,
I am a bee and I’m darn glad of it,
I am a bee, I know about love:
You go upstairs, you go above,
You do not pause to dine or sup,
The sky won’t wait—it’s a long trip up;
You rise, you soar, you take the blue,
It’s you and me, kid, me and you,
It’s everything, it’s the nearest drone,
It’s never a thing that you find alone.
I’m a bee,
I’m free.

If any old farmer can keep and hive me,
Then any old drone may catch and wife me;
I’m sorry for creatures who cannot pair
On a gorgeous day in the upper air,
I’m sorry for cows that have to boast
Of affairs they’ve had by parcel post,
I’m sorry for a man with his plots and guile,
His test-tube manner, his test-tube smile;
I’ll multiply and I’ll increase
As I always have—by mere caprice;
For I am a queen and I am a bee,
I’m devil-may-care and I’m fancy-free,
Love-in-air is the thing for me,
Oh, it’s simply rare
In the beautiful air,
And I wish to state
That I’ll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.