the changing light

Today was warm, and tomorrow will be warmer.

In fact, I might even go as far as to say it has been unseasonably warm for late September in Portland, despite the fact that this is less unusual than most of us think.  If you happen to be one of the climate-savvy few who is aware that it is actually the third hottest month of the year on average (according to the Wikipedia entry for Portland the avg. high temp. in September is 74.6 °F) coming in just behind August (avg. high temp. of 79.7 °F) and July (avg. high temp. of 79.3 °F), I salute your meteorological enlightenment and encourage you to lay the smackdown on anyone you encounter who complains about the weather going sour this month.  We have had a crazy-warm and -dry September this year with a few notable exceptions.  We harvested our popcorn yesterday for drying in the garage just in case the weather becomes wet again - they are supposed to dry most of the way on the plant but some ears were already threatening to rot. 

I, for one, enjoy the onset of the rains as I've mentioned here before but I won't beat a dead horse.  Suffice it to say, the unseasonable warmth doesn't fool me, doesn't lull me into a false sense of extended-summer-security.  Of course, I don't want to be fooled and there's the rub.  I am truly happy that the light is changing.  The angle of the sun is dropping in the sky, the light is taking on a different hue.  It is my favorite season, fall.

I know this time of year inspires many to craft, and that knitting is definitely a cool-weather activity for most, but nothing stops me from wanting to make things with my hands - whether the sun is beating down or there is nary a ray of light penetrating the mass of slate-colored clouds overhead, I am happy with a lap full of wool.  Having already checked Transit Tracker (an awesome resource for Portland-area public transportation users that uses GPS tracking of buses and trains to accurately project arrival times for individual stops so riders can get the most out of the system) I knew I had enough time before the arrival of my bus for a few rows of the baby hat I started yesterday.  I dove in to my project with zeal, happy to feel the warm sun on my back but not worried about breaking a sweat - to me that is a difficult balance to achieve, as "warm" weather is often just plain too warm for me.  Early fall days are the best for this.  I noticed as I was knitting the change in the light that foretells the short, dark, wet fate we are supposed to dread as denizens of the Pacific Northwest.

I say, "If you can't take the rain, get the hell out of the rainforest!"

Absorbed in my knitting and musing on the changing of the seasons I only half-noticed another rider walk up to the stop.  He barked his question so abruptly - "WHATCHA KNITTING THERE?" - that I actually jumped an inch or so off the bench.  He immediately apologized for startling me and I said it was okay.  I attempted to infuse my voice with a polite but firm hint that I wasn't interested in a conversation as I informed him that it was a baby hat.  He said, "I really ought to know better, you knitters are always counting and such.  I used to always do that to my grandma, too, I'd just run into the house and yell, 'WHATCHA DOIN', GRANDMA?' and she'd just about jump out of her chair."

I've also posted before about how usually I quite enjoy telling people about my favorite craft and will often end up sacrificing the precious little distraction-free time I have during my commute to devote to my knitting so that I can tell them all about my project and why I knit and the difference between knitting and crochet and why handmade things are so expensive now compared to the stuff you buy at the MegaSuperCorporateMart and blah blah blah.  NOT TODAY, however.  I wanted to lose myself in my knitting and forget about the rest of the world.

And for no small reason: In the wake of some unfortunate news regarding the failing health of a beloved family member and the need to change travel plans that were made months ago to make sure we can visit her before the inevitable, our little clan has been under considerable stress.  Not to mention the fact that I was down with a stomach bug over the weekend and have already missed 2 typically lucrative days at work, and will now be missing five more.  Finances out of whack + unexpected additional time off of work to visit terminally ill family member + spouse being stressed and distracted out of his mind by said tragic events + being pregnant + rowdy, completely oblivious to others' needs toddler child = plenty to worry and fuss over and very little room to relax.  So I nodded my head at this somewhat odd fellow but ignored the obvious plea to have a conversation.  I needed to spend some time soaking up that perfectly balanced warmth, luxuriating in the feeling of the fiber sliding over my fingers, marveling at the smoothness of my lovely polished rosewood double-pointed needles, and not giving two hoots about talking to any strangers.  Totally unlike me, to be honest, but everyone has their moments.

Thankfully no one tried to interrupt me on the ride downtown to ask questions or wax interminable about someone they know who likes to knit.  I truly enjoy my job, but I really didn't want to get off at my stop downtown.  I really didn't want to have to put away my lovely little knitting project, a sweet little baby beanie for our soon-to-be-newest-family-member made with some soft, springy fingering weight superwash merino yarn John brought back for me from Italy.  It's a gorgeous shade of yellow, reminding me of crocuses and daffodils, the very flowers that will be blooming right around the same time our little one arrives in February.  It also reminds me of the light that is changing, still warming and soothing but beginning to fade; the light that is prodding the trees to transform the color of their leaves and leaving us with cooler and cooler days and nights where sweaters and blankets are finally necessary, where baked goods sound even more delicious than usual, where the last tomatoes and peppers and summer squash are harvested and consumed or processed for storing.

Like the transformation of the precious energy that fuels our world, I feel a change in myself as a knitter with this project.  I am finally starting to feel confident enough to simply improvise a piece rather than follow a pattern.  For this hat I was impatient regarding gauge so I did take a few pointers from a pattern in a Debbie Bliss book that I have used quite often over the past ten years (Knitting Workbook, for those who are curious), but other than a general neighborhood for a beginning stitch count, I made it up entirely.  Much like the feelings that go along with pregnancy/childbirth/mothering, creating things with my hands gives me a wonderful sensation of purpose.  It is one of knowing that the thing you are creating truly originated within you, that it sprung from your desire to love and care for someone else, and that it is possible for you to follow through on that desire in a way that isn't just pretension or a well-meaning flash in the pan.  It is a commitment to something both within and outside of yourself.  An odd concept when you think about it.  And I do, probably too much sometimes...

But of course here I am wasting what little energy is left in me for the day.  Now that I'm home, fed, and the house is approaching something akin to a state of cleanliness, I want to get back to that baby hat.  Pictures when it's finished...