Blizzard update

Two feet of snow over the past two-and-a-half days means that I've found lots of time for knitting and have finally made substantial progress on my 1930s metallic Cocktail Jacket. This has been a really slow project from the beginning. Size 2 needles and smocking means that a lot of time and labor goes into each inch of length.

The back was completed a while ago; both fronts were fairly quick and easy after the expanse of the back. Sleeve the First was larger and more labor-intensive than I'd anticipated (though I don't know why as that's always the way with sleeves). It looked huge as I was knitting it, so when I finished it I decided to start assembling the sweater the make sure the sleeve worked and fit well before tackling Sleeve the Second. The seams were a little awkward to sew up due to the different textures of the yarn and the uneven edges caused by the stitch pattern. Luckily, the busy-ness of the surface camouflages any areas of mismatching seams. Sleeve the First fit in beautifully and has a sturdy enough structure to hold up a substantial puff at the shoulder. It took a couple tries to set in the sleeve evenly, but I think I've got it now.

Apologies for the blurry photo, but it's dark and snowy here.

I've already cast on for Sleeve the Second and hope to have it finished within the next few days. After setting that in, I'll start with the crochet edging around the cuffs, neck, buttonbands, and lower hem. Getting so close to completion!

Hubris

Last weekend, I finished Sleeve 1 and started seaming up the sweater. The pattern calls for a very specific and, to me, unusual progression of seams: sew the side seam, sew the sleeve seam, sew the sleeve into the armhole. I don't think I've ever finished a sweater in this manner, so, believing that I, the 21st-Century Knitter, knew better, I tried to fit the un-sewn sleeve into the sweater and then sew up the side seams. This went wrong fairly quickly as I realized that the offset side seam meant that the sleeve seam and the side seam did not line up. I had forgotten about this fact and pinned the pieces together wrong at the start. Ah, the hubris of the present day knitter. 

So, I ripped out my seams and went back to follow the pattern's original instructions. Anna Schumacker, the 1907 pattern writer, clearly knew what she was doing. Overall, it worked well. Setting the sleeve into the armhole as a tube proved to be a little fiddly, but it allowed me to center the sleeve more easily and ensure that there was some excess fabric at the shoulder for the puff. Incidentally, when the sweater is finished, I think the sleeve puffs will need a little extra support to keep their shape.

The sleeve seam from the outside. I promise that the sleeve really does puff when worn.

The sleeve seam from the inside. I wove in a multitude of ends for this photo.

I spent a lot of time working on the seams, all the while hoping that things would also fit well. So far, so good. The sleeves are the right length, the shoulders fit well, and the double-breasted front should work. I'll share pictures soon. In the meantime, Sleeve 2 awaits and then there's the small matter of the crocheted edging and buttonholes.

The view from Sleeve Island

This is why I so often knit short-sleeved sweaters: they do not require any sort of extended stay on Sleeve Island. If you're not a knitter, you should know that Sleeve Island is the mostly imaginary and frequently-visited place where we knitters go when we are elbow deep in sleeve knitting (see what I did there?). It's barren and lonely, and, in my case, very gray. You see, sleeves are wide and they are long; they are time consuming and they come in pairs. They make you think that they are just narrow tubes of fabric that will take no time to make. After all, you've already completed the front and back of the sweater, so most of your body is already covered at this point. The sleeves are basically afterthoughts, right? Wrong. Always so wrong. Sleeves are deceptive. Sleeves are cruel. They start narrow for the cuff and just get wider and wider. And then you have to make a second one.

Fortunately, for the 1900s knitter, designers were a little more sensible about sleeves. In the case of my Ladies' Outing Coat, the sleeve pattern starts at the top and decreases down to the cuff. This not only makes for a more pleasant stay on Sleeve Island, but also seems to offer more options for ensuring that the sleeve is the proper length. You can try it on as you knit and, if it ultimately ends up the wrong length, it's much easier to rip out a cast-off row and add or subtract length than it is to fiddle around with the cast-on row and do the same. With that said, though, I am trying to power my way through this first sleeve. It's still slow going, but, once it's done, I'll attach the sleeve and seam up half the sweater and see how things are fitting so far.

In the meantime, I've been thinking more about 1900s fashion. My 1907 pattern book is full of patterns for women on the go: they are fishing, riding horses, studying, traveling in automobiles, golfing, and sailing. It's fabulous.

Cable-stitch Sweater from The Columbia Book of Yarns, 1907

Columbia Knitted Blouse Jacket from The Columbia Book of Yarns, 1907

The S-curve silhouette and attendant smooth, puffed-out breast are still very present, but I think these designs express a nascent shift in womenswear, one that would allow for more comfort and freedom of movement, especially as increasing numbers of women took up hobbies like cycling and lawn sports. This era was one of great change in women's undergarments, too, as heavily-structured corsets gradually gave way to brassieres and lighter-weight corsets. There's a fascinating read on the Victoria and Albert Museum's website about the evolution of corsets in the early 20th century. I love that knitwear seemed to be able to offer women this greater ease of movement while also keeping up with contemporary trends in fashion designs and silhouettes.

In related news, I acquired a few new-to-me vintage pattern books over the weekend and am pretty sure I have my 1980s sweater picked out. I love it. But no spoilers for you.

Where are the mistakes?

Every time I knit from a vintage or antique pattern, I prepare myself to run into lots of mistakes in the pattern itself. Of course, not every vintage pattern is riddled with errors, and there are plenty of contemporary patterns that are full of them. Personally, I think this cautious sentiment stems from looking though mid-19th century pattern books, which so often contain a disclaimer that, although great care has been taken to prevent mistakes in printing, there will necessarily be some errors and that it is the knitter's responsibility to find and correct them. The publisher basically takes no responsibility for the home knitter's bad results from error-filled patterns. That doesn't exactly fill one with confidence.

So, I've always just expected mistakes. I look at each measurement, stitch count, and decrease with great suspicion. I do all the math. I count all the stitches. I interrogate each instruction. And if I don't find mistakes in a particular pattern, I start to doubt myself, as if I've overlooked something obvious if I haven't spotted an error. So far, my Ladies' Outing Coat instructions have been error-free, which has inspired in me a fair amount of distrust. Where are the mistakes? Have I missed them?

Fortunately, I worry no more. I have found some mistakes and weird math in the sleeve instructions (wahoo)! I have the strange sensation of feeling both confident and trepidatious: I found the mistake (all is right with the knitting world again), but now I'm concerned about the outcome of my sleeve. The pattern calls for a cast-on of 50 stitches, followed by increases of 2 stitches on both ends of the needle every other row until there are 100 stitches total; this forms the top of the sleeve. This is impossible since 50 is not divisible by 4 (haha! mistake! I knew you'd turn up). It also seems doubtful that the pattern would be uneven in this way, so I decided to work until I had 102 stitches. I considered the possibility that the mistake was something more than a simple typo, but the sleeve cap seems to look right so far. So, on we go.

In thinking about this mistake, I did also check a couple other sources for solutions. Unfortunately, no one has posted projects from this pattern on Ravelry yet. I wondered if later editions of the Columbia Books of Yarns might have the same pattern with updated instructions, but my search didn't turn up any later versions.