Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Eve's Zelkova Sweater~ 2013

Eve's new sweater~

You can read about my mods on my Ravelry Zelkova Project page.
Made from  Rowan All Seasons Cotton (60% cotton, 40% acrylic) in "String".
Sz. 10 1/2 needles.

Buttons are from my stash.

  I love how the yoke turned out on the back. Darling.

The original design had 3/4 length sleeves, but here in the PNW, long sleeves work best, so I modified them to be full length, with a ribbed cuff.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Kai's Woodland Elf Hat~ 2013

 Kai is 7 months old now and it was time for a new hat!

The pattern is my creation, inspired by numerous hats I have made over the past few years...
It has a ribbed band with increases on the diagonal bias.
I added a ribbed neck band and a button closure. If it is not needed, the band can be taken around the back of the hat and buttoned to keep it out of the way.

Made from Miss Babs Yowza in Jive Talkin'.

The peak is exaggerated, stuffed with wool roving and topped off with a knit acorn!
The acorn is from the book 
“75 Birds, Butterflies & little beasts to knit and crochet” by Lesley Stanfield.

The rest of the photos are for cuteness sake. I could not choose so I included them all...
His purpley sweater is a Baby Surprise Jacket by EZ.

Kai with Mommy Mika.

Poetry (by Ann)

Poetry is the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy afternoon. 
It is the flow of pen on paper that glides so delicately. Some are intimidated by it. 
Never, ever be intimidated by paper.
Now, you may be thinking, “That is the silliest thing I have ever heard, intimidated by a piece paper and a pen.”
I want to see you sit down right now and write a poem. 

You can, just like that. Sitting down, looking around you, becoming aware of all that is around you. Not just the sights, but the smells, the sounds, the way the grass feels between your toes, that is what poetry is.

 For example, I was finishing feeding the chickens, it had been pouring all day, when the sun began to shine through the grey clouds, creating a greenish hue. The wind began to blow, lifting unknown fog out of the trees and carrying it off. Then, it began to hail. Small drops of hard ice began falling from the clouds. I stood there and watched as they bounced joyfully off the gravel in the driveway.
 That is poetry, it doesn’t have to rhyme, it doesn’t have to make any sense at all. It just has to come from your eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and hands.

by Ann