Picot Ribbing Cast-On

This wonderful cast-on produces a picot edge to ribbing.  If you care about the fine details of your knitting, it's worth learning.  And it's not that hard, because it builds on the long-tail cast-on you (should) already know.  (See this blog's post for April 7, 2011, The Long-Tail Double-Edge Cast-On.)

This cast-on consumes about the same amount of loose-edge yarn as the long-tail, so measure roughly 12 inches for every 20 stitches.  (I hold the leading edge in my left hand and run the yarn about 4/5 of the way to the crook in my elbow:  that gets me about 20 stitches for each such pull.)

Now make a slip knot. 

Make a tent with your left thumb and left forefinger, just as with the Long-Tail.

At this point the Long-Tail takes the tip of the needle up through the hole created by your left thumb.  Hold that thought; we'll get to it in a minute.  But first, for the Picot Cast-On, you're going to bring the needle tip under the left wall of the tent

and then you're going to snag the right wall of the tent, making a simple wrap on the needle,

Ribbing with a Picot Edge

The newest vision Charlotte has presented begins at the ribbed top of a turtleneck.  No ordinary spider she, Charlotte has insisted, this time, on a picot edge to that ribbing.

Here's what it looks like so far:

Note:  that is not a turned, double-back picot edge; it's a single edge that was cast on that way.

Stay tuned and I'll show you how to do it.

Tomorrow:  The Picot Ribbing Cast-On.

Charlotte's At It Again

Well, as you can see from the photo on the right, Charlotte's been busy again.  When the spider speaks, spin and knit I must. 

This lacy collar uses loops and bobbles for its closures.  The bobbles needed a little cotton stuffing, I decided.  One Q-tip per bobble provided just the right amount. 

I'll bet you've never seen a pattern call for 5 Q-tips.

Watch for it on Ravelry:  Sunday at the Sea.

Where Do You Get These Ideas?

At lunch the other day, my good friend Helen (wearing the Have-It-Your-Way Big Beret, photo on Ravelry) asked me, "Where do you come up with these ideas?"

I tried to explain that it's like an image that floats in, unbidden, and won't let go until it's made manifest.

I remembered Ratatouille.  When Matt and I were writing the cookbook (Cast Iron Cuisine from Breakfast to Dessert), I would often joke, in the throes of needing to prove a new dessert inspiration, that the rat was in my hair again.  (If you haven't seen Ratatouille, the Pixar delight, this will sound grotesque.)

But Ratatouille is purely a kitchen diva.

So who is it that takes hold coaxingly, imperiously, and will not rest until the whim has been knitted out?

That would be Charlotte, I believe.

Free or For Fee?

So, a new design is finished and ready to share with the public.  Then I wonder, should I charge for it or give it away?

Others may have their own criteria.  Mine comes down to this:  how much time did I have to spend writing up the pattern?

If the design came together easily, if the prototype joins my Christmas Gift stash, and if the written instructions were straightforward, I am inclined to post it to Ravelry as a freebie.  Easy Rib Turtle Bib is one such.  Eight Godmothers is another.

But if it took me four to eight hours just to create the written pattern, then I feel entitled to some compensation for that time, especially if there were original charts involved.  Lacy Popover was exceptionally time-consuming.  Lady Folderol took many hours.

So for those I charge a little something.

On Having It Your Way

Aunt Ruth crochets marvelous, inventive caps, no two alike—except they're all form-fitting skull caps.

But I like a big floppy beret.  Even better, I like a newsboy cap, or a golf cap, with a bill to protect my glasses from the rain.

So why not a convertible beret, I wondered.  One that can spring forward

 or fall back.

Done and done, worked in 100% pygora (hey, if you've got it, flaunt it).  This used two ounces, spun to sport weight, worked on increasingly larger circular needles, finished on double-points.

Watch for it on Ravelry.

Using Up the Scraps

Who among us doesn't have leftover balls of yarn, too few to make anything with, too beautiful to throw away?  I have bags full.  There they sat, taunting me.  "You're the designer," they teased.  "You figure it out."

After a few false starts, a few dead ends, I finally turned to Barbara Walker for inspiration.

And there it was in her second volume:  Scrap Yarn Afghan Stitch.  I liked best the look of the stockinette version.

This will be a scarf.  Its lovely scalloped edge is perfect for the purpose. As you can see, I used three (harmonizing) colors in a sequence of two rows each. 

Here's a tip:  when working with three strands that begin and end on the same side of the work, begin your knit row by knitting the first stitch with the two lowest strands held together.  (The first stitch of each knit row will thus use two strands of yarn rather than one.) Then continue the row with the color whose turn it is, leaving the other one to dangle at the right edge, waiting its turn.  This will prevent long, awkward skips on the right edge.

Here's the pattern:

Using color A, Cast on in multiples of 12 plus 3.  (The illustration shows 27 stitches.)
Knit one row with color A.
Row 1:  Using color B, k1, ssk, k9, sl 2, k1, p2sso, k9, k2tog, k1.
Row 2:  With B, p6, (p1, yo, p1 in same stitch), p9, (p1, yo, p1 in same stitch), p6.
Row 3:  Color C, same as Row 1.
Row 4:  Color C, same as Row 2.
Row 5:  Color A, same as Row 1.
Row 6:  Color A, same as Row 2.

Seaweed Stitch

If you've been wondering about that Seaweed Stitch, here's what it looks like on the knit side:

The oblique knit blocks meander gently upwards and to the right.

On the purl side it looks like this:

Like its parent k4, p2 rib, Seaweed needs no border.  I like that it adds textural interest without the rigid bars of a plain rib, which to me can feel too businesslike, too masculine.

Instructions:

Cast on multiples of 6.
Row 1:  p4, k2, repeat
Row 3:  p3, k3, repeat
Row 5:  p2, k4, repeat
Row 7:  p1, (k4, p2) repeat, end p1
Row 9:  p1, (k3, p3) repeat, end p2
Row 11:  p1, (k2, p4) repeat, end p5
All even-numbered rows, k the knit, p the purl as they present themselves.

A creative knitter could develop riffs on this basic theme.

The Evolution of a Design, Part 2

"In its knitted incarnation, the first yard or so draped nicely.  But it was somehow still too . . . hmmm, understated?  Not femme enough?  It still looked like something a guy would wear."

And then Lady Folderol wandered in.

Remember Lady Folderol, the yoke that morphs into a cascade of ruffles? 

She gave me trouble enough, that one, getting the ruffle right.  By the time I was sure of the numbers, I'd had to do yet another test knit.  This one was still on the needles, about three inches of it complete.

Lying next to Seaweed, she looked curiously refreshing, like foam on the wave's edge.  Frothy.  Girly.  So I ripped back to collar depth, added an anti-roll border of seed stitch, and bound off. 

Then it was, Where should she ride?  I tried all the usual tricks: Test it here, squint from a distance.  Try it there, walk in on it unawares.  You know the drill.

The scarf's edge seemed to work best, though then there was the obvious conundrum—all the way down an edge?  Both edges?  Well, I only had a collar's worth; might as well add that now, worry about more later, and adding it now as a collar, of course it had to be centered on an edge.  But that didn't look quite right.  Again, set it aside and ponder.  And then serendipity.

You see, when I set the scarf down this time, it fell into a fold occasioned by Seaweed's design.  A natural turn-back.  Which is as you see the finished item featured in yesterday's post.

Designs seldom spring full-blown.  Most of them emerge, evolve in baby steps:  hypothesis, test, revision, over and over.  Adding, redacting, building, ripping.

Until finally, if we're lucky, it feels just right.

The Evolution of a Design

First came the leather jacket.  So supple, so soft, so comfortable:  I loved it.  But all by itself it was too . . . commando.  It needed femininizing.

A scarf would work, I thought.  Something in a brighter hue, but not plain.  Variegated, slightly, like the—aha!—hand-painted merino/tencel the Rumple had led me to.

Not plain, but not bordered.  Here was needed a stitch with some texture, a stitch that wouldn't roll at the edges or curl at the hem.  Ribbing?  Didn't feel right.

Broken ribbing, then?  Still too humpy-bumpy.

"Seaweed."  Seaweed was the thing.  Zoom in:  see how the broken ribbed blocks meander.  Nice.  Suitable for the subtle variegation.

In its knitted incarnation, the first yard or so draped nicely.  But it was somehow still too . . . hmmm, understated?  Not femme enough?  It still looked like something a guy would wear.  (I love ya, fellas.  I just don't want to look like you, ya know?)

Denouement coming.  Stay tuned.  (After all, this thing didn't get knitted in one sitting.)

Kitchener Tips

A few tips for working Kitchener:

1.  Hold your right-pointing knitting needles as close together as you can get them and snug your stitches up firmly as you go.  Otherwise, your Kitchener row will be too loose and when your join is finished you'll have to go back and coax all the gaping stitches into proper alignment with a tapestry needle.

If you can get your left index finger between the two parallel knitting needles, your Kitchener stitches will be too loose.

2.  If you must interrupt a Kitchener sequence (say, to answer the doorbell or the phone or a spouse or a child—you know what is most likely to break your concentration), don't leave off until both stitches on a particular needle, front or back, have been worked.  So, your front needle's "knit off, purl on" should be an indivisible package, as should your back needle's "purl off, knit on."  Keeping to that rule will make it much easier to pick up again at the right place.

3.  If you're working with a very soft yarn, consider threading your tapestry needle with an accompanying strand of thread.  This will help keep the really soft yarn from fraying to pieces.  Later, when the Kitchener row is finished, you can go back and pick the thread out.

Joining with Kitchener

Have you ever wished you could join the body (not the sides) of two knitted pieces seamlessly?  Invisible grafting, otherwise known as the Kitchener Stitch, will let you do just that.  What Kitchener actually does is insert a new row between the two pieces. So artfully is this new, needle-applied row contrived that none but an expert eye can detect the join.

Here’s how it’s done:  

Visualize two lengths of stockinette, still on the needles, presenting knit-side up.  These two pieces of stockinette contain exactly the same number of stitches.  Position these pieces purl-sides together, both needles pointing to the right, with the yarn coming off the right side of the piece in back. 

Cut the yarn, leaving a tail about three times as long as the sides to be joined.  Thread this yarn through a tapestry needle.

The Set-Up:

Now bring the yarn to the front knitting needle.  Insert the tapestry needle into the first stitch as if to purl.  Leave this stitch on the front knitting needle.

Bring the yarn to the back needle.  Insert the tapestry needle into the first stitch as if to knit.  Leave this stitch on the back knitting needle.

Working Kitchener for Knit:

Front knitting needle, first stitch, insert tapestry needle as if to knit.  Remove stitch from knitting needle.  Insert tapestry needle into next stitch as if to purl.  Leave stitch on needle. 

Yarn to back knitting needle.  First stitch, insert tapestry needle as if to purl.  Remove stitch from needle.  Insert tapestry needle into next stitch as if to knit.  Leave stitch on needle.

Continue in this manner until all stitches have been removed from both knitting needles.

Here’s a mantra to help keep you on track as you work:

Front:  knit off, purl on

Back:  purl off, knit on

It will help if you actually verbalize this.  “Knit off, purl on; purl off, knit on.”

Working Kitchener for Purl

To join two pieces of stockinette on the purl side, hold them with knit sides together and follow this mantra:  “Purl off, knit on; knit off, purl on.”  The set-up is opposite of the method for knit.  Beginning with the yarn coming off of the right side of the back needle, bring tapestry needle forward.  Insert tapestry needle into first stitch as if to knit.  Yarn to back needle.  Insert into first stitch as if to purl.  Then proceed with “knit off, purl on; purl off, knit on.”

If you're careful about how (and precisely where) you pick up your stitches, I've found that you can even add to a cast-on edge using Kitchener.

Remember the piece I referred to in my previous post ("A New Beginning")?  The lacy shell that I'd finished, blocked, and assembled before I discovered it just didn't look good at its 20" length?  The garment I decided to add 6" to, from the bottom up?

I used Kitchener in the knit mode to join a 6" extension to the bottom of that piece I'd begun from the bottom up.  Here's how it turned out:

Can you find the join?

A New Beginning

I think I mentioned the merino/bamboo shell, the one I ran out of merino for and had to unwind some merino plied with itself to get enough to finish the project?  The one that, even finished and blocked, just didn't hang right, stopping short of where it needed to be?  The one that I found some more merino for in a shop in Roseburg, guided by Rumplestiltskin?  That one.

Well, the new merino has been spun and plied with the bamboo, and a new six inches have been knitted, bottom up, in the same lace pattern as the rest of the shell, to the same proportions, continuing the slight A-line slant of the finished part of the garment, which itself was knitted bottom-up, from an edge cast on in long-tail.

So, visualize this:  a lacy, sleeveless, v-neck shell 20" long, and a lacy band 6" deep.  However are they going to be joined, invisibly, so they look like a 26" garment begun from the bottom up?

Kitchener.  (Invisible grafting.) 

Stay tuned.

Sweet Satisfaction

Within half an hour of my posting Lady Folderol to Ravelry, the pattern received these comments:

Anomaleah said, "How pretty!"

My response:  "Thank you. Getting the ruffle right was quite a challenge. Hubbest said it’s the longest he’s seen me struggle with one design. But I wore it out to dinner last night and his admiring reaction was oh-so-worth it!"

Seven said, "Love this. So elegant! I know someone who would just love it for Christmas!"

Today Bassetslave said, "Looks absolutely elegant!  It would make a great holiday piece, gift or otherwise."

My response to Seven:  "Yes, this would make a wonderful gift, one they couldn’t find in a store, one that conveyed your love--and your intelligence--through your handwork. Interesting you should use the word “elegant,” because I almost named the piece Lady Elegance."

And to Bassetslave:  "Thank you, bassetslave. Lady Folderol does like to go to parties and out to dinner! Bamboo works nicely because of the subtle, silky sheen. The pattern uses a grid concept for the yoke and ruffles, to avoid those long lines of text and establish a visual for the areas of increase. I recommend placing stitch markers at critical junctures, to keep track of the increases and help diagnose any errors."

And then Anomaleah responded with a comment that I'm dismayed to say I can't find now on Ravelry.  I'd love to post it here and claim bragging rights.  Her words were to the effect of, "Yes, I was thinking how difficult it would be to get the ruffle to hang right.  You are to be congratulated!"

See my big, beaming, smug smile?  

Borders and Such

Stockinette (where we knit one row, purl the next) is such a useful, simple texture.  We do see it in stockings, after all, and, in miniature, in tricot jerseys or other garments.  It's the texture most people automatically think of when they think "knitted."

It's a good stitch for production knitting.  Many experienced craftspeople find they can work stockinette without looking, guided by touch alone.  It's that automatic.

But stockinette likes to roll at the edges--that means at the bottom as well as at the sides.  When you choose stockinette, be aware of this tendency.  One of my favorite sweaters, a plain-vanilla stockinette mock turtle,  uses the natural rolled edge of stockinette to good advantage:  hem, sleeves, and neck all roll gently back on themselves.  It's part of the design.

But what if, like my dear little mama, you want to knit a long scarf, in stockinette, and have it lie flat?

Then you are going to need a border, my dears.  A simple one, a shallow one will do; three stitches will suffice if you choose them well.

Lady Folderol (featured on the right) uses seed stitch:  k1, p1, k1 begins every row.  You'll see seed on the edges of the ties in Lapped Hearts Neckwarmer. Seed stitch makes a good border for scarves, as well.  It will keep your scarf from curling into a tube when finished.

Garter stitch (where you knit every row) makes a decent scarf border, although it can tend to pucker vertically.  Steam blocking can counteract this.

Good old ribbing makes an elastic hem suitable for sweaters and vests, but if you choose it for a scarf hem, keep it really shallow.  Two or three rows at the bottom and three stitches at each side will be enough to keep your scarf flat, and if it does draw in more than you'd like, then let the flat lady teach it a little discipline.

Never Let it See You Sweat

I knew better, I knew better, but so eager was I to get back to that recalcitrant row on this most recalcitrant of patterns (Lady Folderol; you'll see her when she's ready to debut) that as soon as I'd finished with the lunch dishes and made a hasty swipe at the dish towel, I picked up that bamboo yarn on those bamboo needles.

Yikes.

Squeak.  Crunch.  Cling.  Stick.  Squeak.

Bamboo is thirsty.  It's a grass, after all.  Even in its fiber state, spun into yarn, it still sucks up any moisture that might remain on your hands.  This, I can promise, you will regret, for even very, very slightly moist bamboo does not move easily along your needles.  It will grab your bamboo needle and cling like a burr.

So if you're working with bamboo in the summer, or if you're just a nervous knitter, it might be worth keeping a little terry facecloth handy in case your palms begin to sweat.

Think of it as a side rag for knitters.      

Confessions of a Bean Counter

I must admit it:  I cannot visualize geometry through arithmetic.  Those numbered increases I need to make for the yoke of the bamboo ruffled fol-de-rol, so you can get it right the first time instead of floundering around as I’ve had to do (see “Lost in Numberland”), simply will not work out for me through addition and subtraction.  The numbers just slide all around in my mind.

That’s why, when Hubbest came home today, he said, “What ever are you doing with my beans?” referring to the 19 black beans and the 93 white beans that were strung out in a l-o-n-g row on the dining room table.

“Knitting, of course,” I replied. 

Well, the last time he’d seen me do this—use manipulatives to represent stitches—they were jigsaw puzzle pieces, laid right side up or upside down (we were on our Land Cruise, with no beans in sight), so no wonder he was confused.    

Second Knit Required

It’s finally off the needles, that piece that had me Lost in Numberland.  And I still didn’t get it right.  Where the back yoke should lie smooth, it’s ruffled. 

This wasn’t obvious until the finished piece was blocked, since it’s knitted of bamboo, which becomes limpid and drapey only under steam.  Argghhhh.

Now, I can salvage the prototype by taking a few darts in the back yoke, and since it’s bamboo, which yields so nicely to steam, it will barely be obvious.  It will wear the same and look nearly the same. 

But I can’t give the instructions to YOU that way.  It must be gotten right.

So there’s nothing for it but a second knit, ‘cause I’m sure not gonna rip a blocked piece back to its base.

The big-name designers must have test knitters, accurate folks for whom it’s their first time with any given design, detail-oriented folks who can say, “There’s something wrong here” and suggest how to fix it.  Perhaps the yarn company that buys the design provides the test knitter(s); I wouldn’t know.  

I’m just out here eating the spiders.

I think I’ll dip a few in chocolate.     

Ounces and Yards

I've mentioned it before, but it bears repeating:  when you're buying yarn, the only measure that really matters is yardage.

Oh, you'll see patterns that call for, say, six or eight or twelve or eighteen ounces of a name brand, never specifying yardage.  I suspect that such a yarn company, who paid the designer for developing the pattern, is hoping you won't feel secure substituting another yarn.  And without the ounce-to-yard equivalent, it would be a little dicey, for you'd have to deliberately overbuy to have enough.

But look at any pattern on Ravelry (dot com) and you'll see the buying instructions expressed in yards.  As they should be.

Have you ever wished you could buy just that certain number of yards of yarn?  "Just wind me off 178 yards of that gorgeous angora, please."

Nope.  It's the whole skein or nothing.

Not so with roving, the raw stuff from which your yarn is hand spun.  Though some fiber does come prepackaged by the ounce or two (the pygora clouds I bought from Applebright Farms were put up that way, of necessity, being wound in brown paper like a jelly roll), in many cases you can ask for . . . oh, about five and a half ounces, to take a not-round number . . . and the proprietor will dutifully wind you off a good guess, weighing it in a preweighed bin until the right amount has been added.  Like hamburger from a butcher shop.  Or half a pound of nails from the hardware.

Then it's up to the spinner to make it go the distance. 

Roving and More Roving

It didn't set out to be a buying trip, my Land Cruise through Oregon, though I knew well enough I was headed into prime fiber territory.
 
I'll just stop in at Pacific Wool and Fiber in Newberg, I thought, and see if they can match that remnant of whatever-kind-of-wool-it-is that I ran out of about two-thirds of the way through the lacy shell.  

But in the eleventh hour I learned that Pacific Wool and Fiber had chosen those two days--those two very days--to move to new quarters.  I'd have to settle for dealing by mail again. 

All the more magical, then, that in Roseburg I stumbled upon a beads-and-yarn shop.  A beads-and-yarn shop that also carried roving.  A beads-and-yarn shop that had the very same cream-colored whatever-kind-of-wool-it-is I needed. 

When Rumplestiltskin winks, I pay attention.

So it was "I'll have eight ounces of this, and twelve of that, and this lovely painted braid, and that--oh my goodness, how beautiful!"  Just scooping it up like candy.

The owner, of only three months' tenure, beamed when I exclaimed over the skein of icy-blue painted merino I HAD to have, for it was she who had painted it. 

I would not have realized its beauty, seeing it upon a computer monitor.  She would not have tried to sell it that way, having had no success with etsy.  But there I was, nearly giggling with excitement, and there she was, smiling at my appreciation.

The circle of inspiration had been completed; creative vision had manifested its admirer. 

I love it when that happens.