My New Old Friends

The incomparable Joan Schrouder recently hatched a cunning plan, whereby all the knitting teachers she could find in Oregon, weather or not she knew them yet, were invited to a retreat with her at the coast.  She thought it would be nice for all of us to take a bit of time to get to know one another, network, compare war stories, and of course, knit.  Of the original 14 invitees (you would not believe how many high-profile Knitterati live in Oregon), 7 of us made it (this first time).

Joan's clever house-marker, propped up in the yard

In addition to their careers as mild-mannered knitting teachers, the group's secret identities include: 30-year Phlebotomist, Private Practice Optometrist, Computer Scientist, Copyright Attorney, Wife and Business Partner of a real-live Rock Star, and a Wall Street Investment Banker-turned-Cattle Rancher.  Oh, and there's me: Cube-Farm Refugee.  These are some smart, powerful and busy women.

Nautical sunset on the Oregon Coast

In addition to taking in some of the greatest coastal scenery the country has to offer, we genuinely enjoyed one another's company.  We did a lot of show-and-tell, exchanged many problems and solutions, ate like kings, and knit like maniacs.  We all surprised ourselves by making a lot of progress on our projects du jour as we talked and bonded.

Clockwise from upper left: Parna Mehrbani, Angela Davis, Joan Schrouder, Shelia January, Mary Scott Huff, Anne Berk, JC Briar

We promised ourselves and each other to do more of this.  In addition to including the others who couldn't make it this time, we all agreed that we want more of this kind of restorative and inspirational time together.

And we have several evil schemes brewing.  Which should come as a surprise to no one who knows me, or my New Old Friends.

Baa, Baa Black Sheep

Here is the back of the Caorah Dubh sweater, pinned out on the blocking board.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to take a respectable photo of this color, but you can absolutely take my word for it:  My yarn rocks.

To describe knitting with my own handspun, I'll have to resort to a food metaphor:  If working with millspun yarn were a perfect hothouse tomato, dewy and chilled from the produce aisle, then handspun knitting would be standing in the garden, filching tomatoes off the vine.  They have blemishes, they are warm from the sun, and there is absolutely nothing else in the world quite like them.

Make me this promise, Gentle Readers, even if you have no interest in learning to spin yourself:  Get hold of some handspun yarn, and make something from it.  You don't have to become a Master Gardener to appreciate a good tomato.  Just find the right garden.
 

The Scenery Changes; The Dialogue, Not So Much

The cast of the Huff family made our annual sojourn to the Oregon Coast for Labor Day.  We joined three other families there for a fun-filled weekend of water sports, outdoor knitting, and other forms of lighthearted debauchery. 

Campbell did some snorkeling in the hot tub.

My two favorite fellas went for a paddle.

Phillip and Justin held down beach chairs, under the careful supervision of their dogs.

The Smallies became surfers.

I boned up on my required reading.  This, by the way, is how a knitter sunbathes: Sunblock two million and a great big hat.  I still got burned.

I spent some quality time with my Black Sheep.  I cast on for this on Friday, and snapped this picture on Sunday.  Knit Much?  Funny how fast I go when there's no deadline...

And then it was over as abruptly as it seemed to start.  I sent Phillip and the Smallies off to school.

And that's that.  My first summer at home with my family is in the bag.  The four of us made it through 90 days in 1400 un-air-conditioned square feet together.  Any lived to tell the tale.  The worst day of this summer was still better than my best day at the office.  I am the luckiest mommy in the world to have been able to share it with them.

The stillness in the house is deafening.  I think I'll get used to it.