Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Glentrekker, or: the cardigan of my dreams
Glentrekker by Jennifer Hagan, and it only took as long as it did because I worked on other things at the same time. It was endlessly interesting and engaging as a project, and while there were moments where I needed complete silence in order to concentrate on the different rates of decreasing at the armhole, raglans, and neckline all at once, it was never difficult. And, well, just looooook at the finished result. Guys, I want to wear this, I want to wear this right now, and every day. The yarn (oh man, this is the best part) is an unknown who-knows-what, bought at the thrift store, ten long sausage-shaped vintage skeins of it for four dollars. It is creamy, natural, DK-weight wool, and probably came as part of a kit for either a pretty big sweater or possibly a blanket--somebody had rolled some of it into a ball, probably in an unravel, and then gave up on the whole thing. For four dollars, I was willing to gamble that it would be wool, so when I got it home, I tested it by setting the end of a piece of it on fire. Wait! Hold on! Safety first! If you're going to do this, do it over the sink: take a three-inch length of the yarn in question, and light one end of it. Let it catch and burn for a second, then blow it out. If what's left on the end of the yarn is a hard ball of melted plastic that doesn't easily break off, you have acrylic (or maybe a mostly-acrylic blend). If what's left looks like a ball, but crumbles away when you touch it, you've got wool. (Another way to tell is to try felting it--I did this too, eventually, when joining one skein to the next. If it felts together with any kind of alacrity, it's wool. Plastic won't felt.) I love this thing, so much. Normally, the beginning of Pumpkin Spice Season makes this beach-loving summer girl a little bit sad, but whoo! This cardigan. I can see how a chilly day might not be so bad.