Good Beach Day

A few days ago, on a beautiful day, Max and I decided to take a picnic lunch and go to the beach.
I am still wrapping my head around the new meaning of "going to the beach." Growing up on the Connecticut shore, it meant putting on your bathing suit, throwing a towel, some sunscreen, and a book into a bag for a day of heat, sweat, and swimming, and coming home with a glowing sunburn.

Here, when we head to the beach - even in August - it means throwing on a couple of extra layers, bringing a hat and a scarf just in case, and maybe grabbing your rain jacket. You can wear sandals, but you might want to bring along a pair of socks so your toes don't freeze. I brought most of these things, but the sun was shining and I didn't expect to need them.

We headed north to Patrick's Point State Park and one of our favorite beaches, which was, of course, completely engulfed in fog. On the bluff high above the beach, I was surprised to feel raindrops, but I soon realized it was fog condensing on the trees and dripping on us, since the beach itself was dry.

Most of the beaches around here are made up of velvety soft, dark sand. Agate Beach is different. There are a few patches of sand, but most of the beach looks like this:



Millions upon millions of tiny stones, polished smooth by the relentless pounding of the ocean. Even the driftwood, piled in undulating rows along the high tide line, is broken into smooth, finger-sized chunks.



I am completely mesmerized by the stones on this beach. I can't look up when I'm there. I can't even look Max in the eye for more than a few seconds, because the rocks are calling to me. I was actually glad the fog was obscuring the ocean on this visit, because I didn't feel guilty about not admiring the crashing waves. The only time I could tear my eyes away from the ground was to monitor the hungry seagull trying to muscle in on our picnic.

Max and I love to wander apart for a few minutes, and then meet up at the blanket to show off our finds. Sometimes we hold a few back in our pockets so we can surprise each other later on.
I feel a little greedy, tossing so many in the bag to take home, and I try to leave some of the really beautiful ones behind for others to find, but I can't leave without at least a couple of pockets full. We managed to find plenty of good ones the other day before our fingers got too cold.



There are rocks from Agate Beach in every room of my house. In bowls, or jars. Weighing down a grocery list. Perched on the bathroom vanity. We have several large ones that sit on top of the woodstove. On cold nights in the winter, when we're getting ready to go to sleep, we put a couple of them under the covers at the foot of the bed and they keep us toasty warm.



These stones are beautiful to look at, incredibly soothing to the touch, and they give me a sense of connectedness to this new place I live in. When people come to visit, I make them take at least one or two home with them. It's so much better than a postcard of a redwood tree, or a chocolate banana slug. It's a tangible piece of this incredibly unique and beautiful place, and a reminder that we humans are just a speck in a much, much larger picture.



Would you like an Agate Beach stone of your own? Come visit. I promise you'll like it better than a sunburn.

Pondering "stuff"

Liz at Pocket Farm recently posted a great blog entry about knitting, blogging, and consumerism. She nailed a number of things that have been nagging at me for some time, but that I've been ignoring quite pointedly.

In the last couple of years knitting and online communities of knitting and fiber enthusiasts have become a huge part of my life - perhaps the online communities even moreso than knitting itself.
For an introvert like me, it's a great way to make friends. For a procrastinator like me, it's a great way to waste time. For a consumer like me, it's a great way to want more stuff.

I don't want to discredit the good things I've gotten from knit blogs and forums. I've made what I consider to be real friends, and it's all about an activity that I genuinely enjoy. The problem comes with the escalation of stash sizes and gift exchanges. I participated in a few swaps a while back and discovered the unspoken rule that you include more stuff in your swap than what was agreed upon. I also quickly realized that no one wanted anything I put up for swap, since it was mostly recycled or non-name brand yarn. I participated in the first "Flash Your Stash" only to feel simultaneously ostentatious and inadequate.

Recently I took up spinning - something I don't think I would've done without the influence of bloggers, but the influence can often be negative. In the last week or so I decided my perfectly adequate knitting bag isn't good enough for me, and I started browsing around for new ones. I also began to think I needed another whole set of needles after seeing the set put out by Knitpicks. Knitpicks!!? What the hell am I thinking!? I hate that company! They're the Wal-Mart of the knitting world, selling yarn at prices so low the labor producing it has to be done at slave wages, and bullying smaller companies into changing their names so as not to infringe upon the Knitpicks trademark. This is bad news, people. Bad news.

There's a part of me that wants to, and occasionally does, give in to these influences. I have great ways of rationalizing my behavior. I like to tell myself that because I don't eat meat, don't wear make-up, don't drive an SUV, don't have kids, etc., etc., that I can go a little crazy with my hobbies, but that's not why I picked up this hobby in the first place! I wanted to create something. Something simple and beautiful from my own hands, like the bread I bake, but that sticks around a little longer. Something nourishing and sustainable. My knitting habit has become unsustainable.

So what am I going to do? I'm not sure, really. I'm not going to make any sweeping pronouncements, because I'll just feel foolish if I slip up. But I'm going to knit and spin from the stash as much as possible. If I make any purchases, I'll try to make them carefully, and I'll go to the library more instead of buying any old knitting book that strikes my fancy.
I'm also going to follow the Knitting Simplicity blog for inspiration. Knitbloggers are obviously a powerful bunch. Maybe we can use our powers for good.

Duh

Look at what Miss Smartypants bought to do some dyeing.

The Story of Birch

I finally decided to start the Birch shawl the other day, and I'm beginning to remember why it's been a year since my last lace project.

I screwed up my courage and began the 299-stitch cast-on. About 50 stitches in I decided I should probably do a swatch first. I made a small swatch, thought it looked a little different from what I was expecting, but pressed on with the daunting cast-on. It wasn't actually that bad, since I placed markers every 20 stitches to help me count.

I knit the first row, carefully repositioning markers along the way to correspond to the chart, and started to get sleepy. Got to the end of the row and my count was off. I tinked back about 120 stitches or so to fix the problem and re-knit the row.

Row 2: Plain knitting! Yay!

Then I spent some time surfing around online, looking at other people's finished Birches, and I realized an important thing: I hate the garter stitch version of this pattern. So I made another swatch.


I couldn't believe the difference between the stockinette and garter versions. The garter version doesn't even look like the shawl I want to make. So all 297 stitches of row 2 got tinked, too, and then purled.

So now, four whole days later, this is what I have to show for my efforts:


Lace sucks.