Ackery

Happy things: yarn, coffee, books, friends.

Is it wrong to uproot your entire family so that you can live closer to a yarn shop? Because I'm giving it serious consideration.

Earlier this week, I went to hear my friend Allie read from her latest novel. Knitting figured prominently in her previous book, and fittingly, she'd held a reading at her local yarn shop. This time, coffee featured prominently (Allie is my type of girl) and conveniently enough, the yarn shop has a coffee bar inside. So off I went to Knitche, a lengthy drive, on a school night, because Allie is a great person, and there was yarn. And coffee. Really good coffee. And shortbread. And yarn. Did I mention the yarn?

Allie and I write about very different things. She writes Christian romance, and I...do not. I'm not even sure the book I'm working on will have a happy ending, and Allie is all about happy endings. She is also all about $14,000 espresso machines, exploding pajamas, and drugged chickens, but I am pretty sure they were happy drugged chickens. The thing about Allie is that she is funny and smart and warm, and that would come through even if she were writing about septic systems. Which she is not. But she could, and it would be a hoot.

She's also an amazing knitter. Check out the fancy-pants entrelac shawl:

Check out, too, the yarny goodness behind her. The shop, Knitch, is pretty close to perfect. They have a wide variety of well-chosen yarn, beautifully displayed. Everything is tidy without giving off the "don't touch" vibe; it's cozy without being cluttered. There's room to walk around and think about what you want to do, the staff doesn't pressure you, there are samples and swatches all over the place. There is a minimal amount of foo-foo eyelash yarn (this is crucial). And while it was mentioned before, there is a coffee bar behind the register. My only complaint is the location, because it is too far a drive for me to get there regularly.

Allie is a big believer in doing research for her books. For this one, she spoke with the good people of Intelligentsia Coffee, to learn all about specialty coffee. She learned how to make a latte from the number-three barista in the world. Thursday evening, she brought in a speaker from Intelligentsia to lead a coffee tasting and discuss the company's direct-trade model. It was fascinating to hear about their efforts to treat both their growers and their product with such care and respect. At one point, a woman asked whether the coffee we were drinking was certified shade-grown. It turns out the answer is no, but the guy went on to describe the farm it came from in meticulous detail, and the specific growing needs of that varietal of coffee tree, and the changes the farmer has implemented since entering into a relationship with the company. I can't help but think that kind of involvement translates into better coffee.

I managed to restrain myself in my purchases -- yarn enough for a secret project, and a few more skeins of Malabrigo to make myself a scarf. But that's only because I'm saving up for the move.

I can't handle this much fun.

With a title like that, you'd think I'd spent the weekend at Rhinebeck, playing with squishy babies. Which I did not. Instead, we spent the weekend cramming in as much of the beautiful fall weather as we could.

Saturday, there was apple picking:

Sunday, we visited one of our favorite places on earth, or at least in Chicagoland:

 

The Morton Arboretum has a four-acre Children's Garden that is all sorts of hands-on fun. There are rocks to climb, creeks to play in, bridges to cross, ropes to clamber over...

There's even a path named for the Kentucky Coffeetree, a painful trek for those strange folk who don't like coffee.

We rarely spend both weekend days on fun stuff -- there are always errands to run, and classes to get to, and birthday parties to attend, and obligations to be met -- so to take both days as family time was a treat. Of course, now we are exhausted.

Figuring out how to do a provisional cast-on and a picot edge for Isabelle's Halloween costume nearly did me in this morning. It took several cups of tea and a healthy dose of apple-cider doughnuts before I could even attempt it. But I prevailed. (The colors in real life are more muted, I swear it.)

Rooster Dance

Although there are things about Ellie's preschool that make me nutty, they also manage to get quite a bit right. More importantly, Ellie is positively giddy with preschool love this year, which is reassuring considering that I spent the summer questioning our decision to continue there. One of the areas they do an nice job with is the monthly field trips.

Friday, we visited a local pumpkin farm; it was a very kid-friendly tour, educational without being deadly dull, with a wagon ride through some fields and a petting zoo with some really goofy-looking chickens (who resisted my attempts to take their pictures), a couple of donkeys, and a herd of goats. Ellie was very excited to pet the creatures who provide her with her beloved goat cheese. I refrained from pointing out that Costco, home of the incredibly cheap chevre, probably wasn't relying on these particular goats.

Goats, we learned, consider willow leaves a delicacy.

We also walked through the corn maze.

After the field trip, we hung out for a bit and bought a few extra pumpkins, in the vain hope that they would distract people from our utter lack of front landscaping. When we returned the wagon to the corral, we noticed these two (actually, there was another hen out of the frame):

We watched the rooster show off for the ladies, "just like a real boy," I told Ellie, and then the hens fought for his attention, which didn't really reflect well on their dignity, in my opinion, and then the owner scooped one up and let Ellie pet the hen to her heart's content. Chickens, as it turns out, are surprisingly soft, and really quite beautiful. The rooster, of course, was more dramatic, but I also loved the speckly black and caramel color of the hens, with that little bit of red. Apparently, chickens are also a little dim. The owner explained that one of the hens had spent the night in the garage, which was enough to wipe her from the rooster's long-term memory, and hence...strutting and squabbling. Just like real people.

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I have little knitting news to report. Most of the stuff I am working on is un-bloggable, at least right now. I have a little Halloween knitting to do for Isabelle, and less time to complete it than I had originally thought, so let us hope that tomorrow is a day of much progress.

Flatlander

We are home from Virginia, which is a beautiful state if you are not in a moving car and have a fear of plummeting over a guard rail and going to your reward in a fiery ball of destruction and mayhem. If you are sitting on a front porch with your husband and having a grownup conversation for the first time in a week, or visiting Colonial Williamsburg with a little girl who declares it is so cool she wants to spend a week there, or watching another little girl chase her uncle around the yard until they are both ready to collapse, it is a lovely place with an incredible amount to see and do. On foot. Not in a car.

I have spent nearly my entire life in northern Illinois, and while I long to visit other places, it has become clear to me that I will not be reaching those places by car unless I am heavily medicated. I was so tense that I could not knit through most of West Virginia and ALL of Virginia, because it was only my iron grip on the passenger-side door that kept us from the aforementioned fiery plunge of death. That, and D's excellent driving.

I have more pictures, although not enough, and some knitting, although, again, not enough, due to the hills and also my inability to stop reading Dorothy L Sayers. What I do not have is time to post about them right now. Soon, I hope, I can post about the World's Largest String Bag, and Colonial Mud, and my seeming inability to read dyelot numbers.

In the meantime, go see Daphne and wish her a happy birthday. She's an Auntie now, and a fabulous one, and a treasured friend to boot, and she deserves an outstanding day. Happy birthday, my dear!

Happy Thirtieth of June!

For the first time since we moved to this house, we've been able to attend the annual 4th of July Block Party. One of my favorite neighbors was so put out by the fact the party wasn't being held on the ACTUAL 4th of July that she opted to go see Ratatouille and have dinner at a fancy restaurant instead. Clever girl.

We will be spending the Fourth with D's family in Virginia, so I will be offline and posting even more sporadically than usual. The good news is, four days in a minivan should produce some impressive knitting-related content. Also, the delightful but sadly blogless (I'm wearing her down, though. It's only a matter of time.) Sarah has given me directions to her preferred VA yarn shop, as well as numerous other tips, so I should have all sorts of pictures and stories upon my return.

A bientot!