Library 113: Russell Memorial Library (Monkton)
Knitter know thyself.
Library 113! The Russell Memorial Library in Monkton was the 113th stop on my quest to read, write, and knit in every public library in Vermont.
I read: “Are Llamas Ticklish?” from the But Why? podcast by Jane Lindholm, Melody Bodette, and Neil Swaab; and Black is a Rainbow Color by Angela Joy
I wrote: the word “nalbinding”
I knit: a test knit in mountain mohair by Green Mountain Spinnery
Driving to Monkton to knit with strangers today for their Sunday “stich & spin” was a good choice in the face of my mounting sabbatical-is-over to-do list.
Kat (current librarian) and Deb (former librarian) kindly gave me a tour of this ground floor library. Before it moved into this new building, it was in a private home where I thought I was going today, which is standing in a visible corner of town. The library’s namesake (Dr. George Russell) was a neighbor of Norman Rockwell, and the model for many (but not all) of the doctors in Rockwell’s paintings. Maybe Dr. Russell’s face was hanging in some of our childhood homes. Or sitting on our coffee tables.
Spotted: a card-turned-seed catalog; games games games; a rock wall; a deep crafting book section; granny squares; a local art exhibit; a lovely view.
Marjorie from the knitting circle asked if I am meeting different types of knitters through the library project, and described herself as a type of knitter who “knits to keep people warm.” In knitting culture, people often identify as either a process or a product knitter, and to queer that dichotomy I‘d like to claim both types. I am also a type of knitter who “falls asleep thinking of knitting and wakes up thinking of knitting.”
The type of knitters I met at this Sunday spin and stitch are kind, creative, and curious. Chrissy showed me a stitch technique called “nalbinding,” which uses short lengths of yarn and a tapestry needle to weave stitches around a finger, which also serves as a gauge. I also got to see a blue ribbon Chrissy won at the Addison County field days for a hand-spun wool silk blend drop spindle 3-ply lace-weight yarn.
What weight is one third of lace weight?
Kat (a spinner) pulled out a cat-treat-tub-turned-wool-holster that they attached at their hip with cordage they made themselves. They keep the carded fiber in the holster to pull out when they are ready to spin. This invention tickled me and I wanted to take 435978 pictures of it. Crafters are crafty.
Deb (a new knitter) turned to the many knitting books on the shelf to solve a knitting problem she asked me about, and that I was unable to solve.
A knitter: I am. A knitting teacher: I am not.
Research about teaching and learning tells us that content knowledge (e.g., knowing how to knit) is not inherently accompanied with pedagogical content knowledge (e.g., knowing how to teach knitting effectively). Most people have to learn (often slowly) to teach others about knowledge and skills in their wheelhouse.
I love talking to people about knitting, but in my experience, I am rarely helpful to beginners. I am encouraging! Learn to knit! Join me! And then, when they have expectations to “get it” without years of trying and trying and trying, I don’t know what to say. Instead of thoughtfully explaining it in a way that makes sense, my teaching strategy is to demonstrate the knit stitch and then send them off: “now watch how to do that stitch on YouTube from three other knitters until you find your own hand-yarn-way and then do that stitch over and over again for a year making ugly things.” I feel pressured to say: “and that’s how you make a scarf: voila.” I get impatient. I’m not my best self.
Other things I lack patience for include: knitting lace; knitting socks.
Things I have endless patience for: knitting with people in libraries; sheep and wool festivals; talking to people who love yarn; knitting hats; knitting sweaters; staring for hours at the yarn in my stash and imagining infinite potential FOs; takin gictures of Kat’s cat toy yarn holster.
Knitter know thyself.
Love your longer posts on Substack. Always happy to see your chicken making new friends.