Mending

Everything I knit for friends or family members comes with a service contract of sorts. This is an offer (or sometimes a demand) that if any holes or thin spots or seam issues develop, the item should come back to me for a repair. And, boy oh boy, do I ever get great satisfaction from mending an item of knitwear. Part of that comes from knowing that the thing I made has been worn and enjoyed so much that it is starting to show some wear and tear and the rest comes from executing a successful mend and knowing that the object can be worn or used again.

The service contract extends to non-handmade knitted items, too. For example, my dad has a large and well-loved collection of wool socks that sees a lot of use. I've restitched toes, pulled together small holes, and patched large losses in the knitted fabric to keep these favorite socks going for another season or two. In fact, I enjoy the mending process so much that sometimes I "adopt" sweaters from Goodwill and repair tiny moth holes to restore their wearability.

One of my favorite mending techniques is detailed in Kate Gilbert's "Darn It All!" post on the Twist Collective blog. It's option #4, reknit and graft, which creates a new flap of fabric that covers the hole neatly and cleanly. I like to use a contrasting color so that the patch is pleasingly obvious. Somehow, this visible sign of repair feels significant, like the physical manifestation of care, love, and time. For more on these themes, check out Tom of Holland's wonderful blog about his visible mending practice. 

Anyway, my sister-in-law recently gave me her favorite pair of handknit gloves, which had developed rather alarmingly large holes in each thumb. I've worked on these gloves before when they needed a small repair on one of the fingers and I know they were made by someone special and are both used and treasured (the ideal combination for knits) by my sister-in-law. I warned her that the holes may be difficult to repair, but vowed to do my best by them and the original knitter.

These holes were too big to stabilize and close up and I knew that my favored knit patch method wouldn't be appropriate either. It would be awkward to work a patch onto the structure of the thumbs and I worried that the resulting mend would be too bulky. It was time to learn how to darn. Despite all my experience repairing knits, I'd never actually executed a true darn.

I checked out a few tutorials, found a good matching yarn, took a deep breath, and dove in, opting for a slightly larger darned area to give the fabric around the hole greater stability and reinforcement. I'm pretty happy with the results, though next time I'll try for a tidier finish. On the upside, the hole is long gone, the new woven area is dense but still flexible, and any fraying or unraveling that had started with the hole has been stopped. I'd say it's a successful first (and second) darn.

Exchanges

Thanks to Maine Women Magazine for the fabulous profile of my work! You can read the story in the magazine or online here. It was lovely to share my sweaters and project with their staff and I've had some wonderful interactions as a result of the story. One acquaintance read the story and then gave me her collection of vintage knitting patterns. I was delighted to "adopt" them from her and I think she was glad to know that they were going to a good home.

Along those same lines, I recently participated in an "Emotional Value Auction" at work. The premise was to offer participants an opportunity to release an object and tell its story. These became the items up for bids. Bidders were invited to attend the auction to read about the items on offer and then bid on anything they liked by contributing a story of their own. Owners then chose the story they liked the best and passed the object on to a new person. Many of the items offered in the auction were objects of great sentimental value that no longer fit into the owner's life, but somehow taking them to Goodwill or otherwise disposing of them didn't seem appropriate. Everyone has stuff like that in their life, right? The collected objects ran the gamut from handmade goods to seemingly mundane household items to works of sculpture, while the stories were equal parts humorous and heartbreaking. Bidders' stories were similarly rich and the transactions forged and connections made were powerful. It was a really wonderful event.

I donated a sweater I'd made years ago. It's a vintage-inspired cardigan that I made in a luxurious silk and wool blend, purchased with the help of a gift certificate to a local yarn store. It was a splurge and a delight to knit. The stitch pattern was fun and the whole project just seemed to fly off the needles. I took extra care in all the finishing and was really pleased with the results. I even liked the fit the first couple times I wore it, but, after that, it didn't seem so great. I felt like it was a little too baggy in the body, so I knit a belt to try to cinch it in. That worked okay, but then I noticed that the shoulders were too wide for me and the puffed sleeves didn't work right. Every time I put it on after that, I ended up changing before I left the house. I considered taking it apart and re-engineering it to fit, but never felt inspired to take real action. So, the sweater sat. I felt sad that I didn't enjoy wearing it, so it seemed like the perfect object for the auction.

Bidding was open for four hours, but no one seemed interested until the very end when I received one bid from a woman who said she loved the design and color of the cardigan and had just moved to the area and needed to expand her sweater collection. I invited her to try it on. Lo and behold, we had a perfect match. It fit her beautifully and even coordinated with her outfit and jewelry! It was a happy exchange. And now I have space for one more sweater in my closet!