Tomato Growing Weather

My Granddad often said corn should be knee high by the 4th of July. Born in 1899 on a Nebraska farm, he knew about hot summer work. After he served in World War One, he came home and found a job selling construction materials for a company called Door and Sash. He never became a farmer but loved working in his garden with an old straw hat on his head. I followed that hat around and learned to love gardening. He taught me that heat and humidity extending overnight is prime tomato growing weather. When he finished working in his garden, he sat down in an old white metal lawn chair in the shade. Dewey (as we called him) was a quiet gentle man with a quick wit. I often think of him as I garden and wonder what he thought about when he rested in that chair.

During this tomato growing weather, my handwork feels as flighty as a butterfly. I reclaimed the rose colored yarn and am currently trying a new shawl pattern. I don't swatch for shawls but just cast on and knit to see the pattern/yarn combination. I completed a bit more of the knitting but am letting it rest to see if I want to continue. In the meantime I cast on a hat that I'll donate somewhere.

Last winter I wore my favorite old walking hat inside out because it was so faded. This seems like a sad state of affairs for a knitter, so I knit a new walking hat from three strands of yarn. As per pattern suggestion, I divided a skein of fingering weight in two and then added a strand of light mohair. Both skeins came from stash. Three strands meant I knit a little more slowly but it wasn't terribly fiddly and turned out to be a good way to cope with constant turmoil of the news.

I am stitching on Christmas quilt blocks for the new grandchild arriving late in September. I cut the blocks, leaving a margin for squaring up later. To date I have finished five of twenty blocks. Quilting, like knitting, is a process - one stitch at a time. The baby won't need this twin sized quilt in his/her crib this Christmas. I just wanted to get started as I think about this new little one. The handwork is a nice break from knitting. 

I am reading Anything is Possible by Elizabeth Strout. This book fills in the back stories from Lucy Barton's (My Name is Lucy Barton) home town. As usual, Strout's writing is excellent and I am enjoying these stories. I have just begun but am wondering how the theme "anything is possible" will play out during the book. 

Linking up today with Kat and the Unravelers.

Happy 4th of July and Happy Tomato Growing Weather.

Last Week

Last week I finished the September Morn sweater I have been knitting this winter. That is, I finished the ripping and re-knitting and finally knit the contrasting ribbing. Since my short neck gets lost in a large turtleneck, I knit a simple ribbed crew neck. Then I washed and gently blocked the sweater before weaving in ends.

The sweater was hard to photograph, especially this time of year with little contrasting color in the landscape. Too much light washed out the color and too little made for a dark photo. The shadows in this photo remind me of an older image of my Grandfather. The photo was taken in 1919, just after he arrived home (a farm in south central Nebraska) after serving on the Western Front in France. When I look at it, I see a shadow on his face and wonder what he was thinking. His smile doesn't seem quite natural, perhaps a little tentative. I also wonder who took the photo and what the family was doing and saying in the yard under the pear and elm trees. Before spinning a story, I remind myself that sometimes shadows occur in photos. Perhaps he was just looking into sunlight on a May day.

I can tell you what I was thinking when my husband helped me with the sweater photos. "Stick a fork in this sweater because this story has come to an end." The Chickadee yarn by Quince and Co. held up beautifully. I knit several skeins four times with no difference in the finished fabric. The wool, tightly spun and carefully processed, has as much memory as an old photo. I will wear this sweater/sweatshirt often because it is warm and cozy without being heavy. I prefer sport to worsted weight sweaters.

However, I am not casting on a stockinette sweater any time soon. Currently I am knitting the hand of a second mitten and a cowl. When I finish these smaller projects, I will tackle a Christmas stocking for little J.

Last Friday morning, he came to visit for a few hours. He is growing but still at the newborn stage when he melts into the chest of whoever is holding him. I can't think of a better way to spend a Friday morning.

Lilac Scented Memories

Last week, the lilacs in my yard began to bloom. I have three varieties and am considering adding a white lilac. While I drive to and from work appointments, I look for the hardy flowering bushes along backyard fences and alleys, near the curbs of busy streets, and in yards and gardens. Unfortunately, I can only imagine their scent while flying by in my car. Yesterday, my husband and I set aside Saturday chores to visit the Maxwell Arboretum Flack Lilac Collection on the south side of the CY Thompson Library. (Photo above)  We arrived around 6:00 p.m. along with four couples dressed for a high school prom. As I pushed my nose into fragrant blooms, proud parents took photos of their teenagers. The young men, looking slightly awkward in their tuxes and suits, reminded me of my grandfather when he was their age.

In 1917, my grandfather Dewey was eighteen years old and lived on a farm in central Nebraska with his widowed mother. Instead of the suit he might have preferred, he donned the uniform of a World War One doughboy. Dewey and an older brother volunteered for military service so another brother could stay home and farm. My granddad arrived in France in late May 1918. When my sister asked him about the war he replied, "We didn't think about making history, we just wanted to go home." Just after the armistice was signed, Dewey wrote his mother saying, "I hope to be home before the flowers bloom." However, shipping the American Expeditionary Forces back to the United States took some time. Dewey arrived home in mid May of 1919. I don't know whether or not he returned in time to see lilacs bloom that year but I do know my grandfather was very thankful to be home.        

Although Dewey didn't become a farmer, he gardened most of his life. My grandparents had several large lilac bushes in their yard where my siblings and I often played. Once, when I was a first year teacher, my grandfather picked a large bouquet of lilacs, placed it in a plastic bucket of water in my car before I drove 2 1/2 hours back to Lincoln. Dewey has been gone for almost thirty years but the sight and scent of lilacs will always remind me of my gentle grandfather and a young man who went to war because he felt he had a responsibility to his family and country.