In Which I Pull a Rabbit From My Hat

Oh and there’s Knitting! There’s always knitting. My current WIP is going to be a dress when it grows up. Bizarrely, I’ve never knitted a dress before, and lately it’s all I can think about. Enter the exquisite merino from Jorstad Creek, called Shuksan:

I only had one skein of the gorgeous moss green to start with, so I had to plan accordingly, in case subsequent skeins are of a different dye lot. I could have just worked from the top down to start, but doing so would have resulted in motif stitches that are reversed (oriented like “A’s” rather than “V’s”), which I just can’t abide. So I measured around my chest and shoulders (Do Not Attempt This at Home), worked a provisional CO, and jumped right in. I hadn’t planned on the turtleneck; It just sorta happened in my hands. But I totally dig it; it’s super cozy.

Another thing I’ve never done before is to draw a chart which occasionally features three strands in a round. That’s been a big non-no of mine, but I just couldn’t control myself this time. My rationale is that I’ve spaced the three-color rounds far enough apart to rest in between, and the vast majority of the remaining knitting will be single-color stockinette in the round, which is kinda boring.

The finished pattern will be written to be worked from the bottom up, due to my fixation with motif stitch direction, but it should be easy enough to reverse the direction for my top-down junkies (I’m looking at you, Carson Demers)

So, who’s got a great idea for the name of a dress with hares on its yoke? Kindly share in the comments, won’t you?

My Need for Tweed

It turns out that tailoring handwoven tweed is the fiber equivalent of a comfort food binge. Mac and cheese has nothing on this, people. It’s so maleable, so coorperative, so downright deluxe to play with. I may need an intervention.

I started by doing this. Even I, who have no problem eviscerating my own knitting, had to take a calming breath before hitting an otherwise perfectly made garment with the shears. But hit it I did, and I’m glad I took the dare.

Removing the lower 6” of fabric. The black tape is the original stabilizer from inside the front hem. I recycled it, since it was already trained into the perfect curve by its maker. Thanks, unknown tailor!

Renovations are underway. Can I tell you about the smug satisfaction I derived from making handsewn buttonholes on Harris Tweed? My last real tailoring adventure was in 2016, when I finally attended formal kiltmaking school. Buttonholes are a fairly big deal in kilts, even though there is usually only one. This little trip back to my roots feels so organic. It’s good medicine to occasionally pivot from one fiber art to another.

New back belt (more buttonholes!), waiting for buttons to arrive

And while I’m on the subject: I found a new treasure trove of sewing supplies!

Bias Bespoke is a NYC tailors’ supply company who offer quality, hard-to-find sewing items that may be of interest to you, Gentle Readers (no consideration is paid to me for this endorsement - just passing it along). Click HERE to see the goodies. They shipped right away after receiving my order, and helpfully provided tracking and updates.

While I wait for my new buttons, I’ll finish the last bit of shortening and handwork, then decide whether or not to pull the trigger on hand-washing or not. Being so satisfied with my alterations has me doubting the wisdom of risking a hand wash. But I don’t love the idea of living with decades-old garment soil, either. Post your opinions in the comments. won’t you, Friends?

Hacking a Hacking Jacket

Around this time of year my lust for all things wool often reaches critical mass, and 2021 is shaping up to be no different.

Sometimes I try to exercise restraint, but this is not one of those times. Instead, I recently found myself feverishly googling for a real live Harris Tweed Hacking Jacket.

As. If.

A ready-to-wear version costs north of $500 USD, and a good deal more if made to order in Scotland, which many are. Not that they aren’t worth the cost, if one has the scratch: Harris tweed is still woven by hand by true artisans, and then expertly tailored in the finest tradition. This care and skill results in garments that can and do last for generations.

Undaunted, I turned to my favorite online vintage resources, knowing that a garment of that quality can be just as good, if not better, when acquired second/third/fourth hand. Sadly, this seems to be common knowledge, as the vintage examples I could find were even more rare and valuable than some new ones.

For the uninitiated, a hacking jacket is a kind of tweed sports coat, traditionally worn for horsing around. On actual horses, typically, but if Ralph Lauren and J. Peterman are to be believed, having the jacket is enough to imply having the horse, and the leisure, and the country estate that go along with it.

An excellent guide to hacking jackets can be found HERE

Never one to be dissueded by a little thing like poverty, I took myself off to the closest charity shop. Without even trying, I found no less than three (3!) Harris Tweed jackets in the men’s department, for a little under $12 each. In an uncharacteristic display of restraint, I chose (only) one. It shows no damage or wear, has its original labels, and best of all, fits me perfectly. I can only assume that it was previously worn by another woman, or a young gentleman. My guess is the latter; it was probably outgrown before it could be worn much.

Characteristic half-lining and perfect tailoring

It even retains all its original buttons, though time and possibly dry-cleaning solvents have taken their toll on them.

So although it’s no hacking jacket, I believe I can complete a few renovations which will give it the the authenticity I crave, if not the equine accuracy. Notably:

• Add a third handsewn buttonhole and button at the center front

• Add another welt pocket on the right side above the existing one

• Shorten to a more proportionate length for my frame

• With the leftover wool, create a throat tab on the upper lapel, and a back belt

• Replace the tired buttons with new hand-tied leather ones

• And here is the biggest gamble of all: Wash it by hand.

Now, guessing by the font on the Nordstrom label, I’d place the vintage of this piece sometime in the 1970s-1980s. Which means I could be dealing with 40+ years of dust, grime and dry-cleaning residue. Washing it will do no harm to the wool, and may, in fact, improve it greatly by fluffing up the fibres. The possible downside of a wash is that the hair canvas, padstitching, and shoulder pads could shrink, even in cold water, leaving me with a rumpled and puckered mess. But for less than $12, I think the ends justify the means. If the worst happens, I can replace the shoulder pads and try reshaping the canvas with heat and steam. And/or kick myself, then go back for one of the other two jackets I passed up.

I’m off to begin surgery, just as soon as I feed my imaginary horse.