The Most Beautiful Scarf I ever Hated

There’s no shame in admitting it. Sometimes we makers end up hating what we make.

I’m not talking about the times we’ve tried and failed. When we’ve done our best and missed the mark and ended up with something we’re not exactly proud to display. (I’m thinking about my weird Christmas Tree Skirt here.) As I’ve mentioned previously, those occasions are part of the wacky and wonderful process of learning and growing as artists, and we’d all do well to learn to accept (and even welcome!) them when they come. They make us better artists and better humans.

No, I’m talking about when we’ve made something exactly like we’re “supposed to,” according to the pattern, directions, or example, and we just don’t like it.

Here’s one of mine.

Normally, when I think about a past project, I recall one of the pretty “finished” photos I try to remember to take. I often refer to them as “Glamour Shots” of the project. That should age me.

But when I think about this project, this is the image that comes to mind. An unattractive wad of tangled pink laceweight alpaca yarn that I can still hear sighing at me in mild disappointment.

I Should Have Loved This Project

First, it was a commissioned piece. I love knitting commissions. When I knit a commissioned piece, all the hard work is done by someone else. All I do is knit. Yes, you read that correctly!

Often, I get to try out a new pattern for a commission. If I’m especially lucky, I get to learn a new technique. I love doing those things! Someone else has already done the less enjoyable (to me) work of choosing the yarn and pattern combination and ordering enough yarn for the project. I just get to play.

Second, this was going to be a challenging pattern, and at that point in my life, I gobbled up challenging patterns like they were chocolate chip cookies. The tougher the better, I thought, because I was so eager to learn all they could teach me.

Third, this pattern came from the book Victorian Lace Today by Jane Sowerby. It is a dreamy book full of gorgeous scarves and shawls photographed in English countryside manors. One of the photos happens to be in The Estate with The Bedroom where Mr. Darcy pens The Letter to Elizabeth Bennet in The Perfect 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice. I feel like I need to end that sentence with an Amen.

I’d been looking forward to making something from that book as soon as I ordered it.

So What Happened?

Why did this seemingly perfect match between project and knitter fall apart? Let’s start with chemistry. Or more accurately, biology. I was quite allergic to something in that yarn. It was made from alpaca, which is usually considered hypoallergenic. At the time, I didn’t have a lot of exposure to alpaca, so I wondered if I was the statistical weirdo who managed to be allergic to alpaca but not any type of wool. Now I think the yarn had probably spent some time as a cat cushion before coming to me.

From science we can jump to ego. Apparently, I was full of confidence but not much common sense as it took me a whopping three times to realize I didn’t know the cast on method called for in the pattern. And it really mattered.

My notes on the project read: “Casting on for the third flipping time now that I realize that crocheted cast on did not mean what I thought it meant.” Ahem.

As I recall, I discovered how much this mattered when I finished an end bit of the scarf, bound that off and tried to get started knitting the other direction for the main portion of the scarf. It looked awful and I couldn’t figure out why. Twice.

I finally swallowed my pride, looked up the proper cast on method, and then proceeded to create the lumpy wadded pink mess you see above.

And that’s when things went from bad to worse.

Lace Knitting vs. Knitted Lace

Up to this project, when I put intentional holes in things, I had only ever done what is most often termed “lace knitting.” Lace knitting alternates one row of all knit or all purl stitches with one row of increases and decreases. It’s the “holes” of the increases that give the lacey look while the decreases serve to keep the stitch count even in each row and give direction to the overall lace pattern. When you do this sort of knitting, you may have to concentrate like a tightrope walker holding a teaspoon of nitroglycerin one row, but you know you’ll be able to take a bit of a brain break on the next row.

Knitted lace is the same, but with no rest row. You do increases and decreases every row, no breaks, no brain rest stops, no respite, no mercy for the love of all that is warm and fuzzy. If your lace pattern happens to be complex? Buckle up, kids.

There should be visible signs someone has lived through experiences like these. Just a little something so that another knitter who has also lived through a similar experience can somehow express, “Yes, friend. I, too, have walked this treacherous and horror-filled path.”

Normally, I love a challenge. Really, I do. And I’ve learned to read my knitting so that when I drop a stitch or a needle breaks (as happened more than once with this project), I can reconstruct the pattern and get back to knitting along quickly. It’s much trickier with knitted lace. I missed those rest rows.

Where’s The Pattern?

You know what else I missed? Seeing any sort of pattern emerge as I was knitting!

I try very hard to adhere to the following rule when it comes to knitting and lace:

If you’ve worked with lace patterns before you know the wisdom in the rule. It takes a while for the lace pattern to establish itself and become appreciably visible.

That just didn’t happen very well in this project. I ended up knitting the entire thing without really seeing the pattern emerge much at all.

The official name of the pattern is Scarf with French Trellis Border from Weldon’s 1890 and Bramble Leaf Center. (Ravelry link) Until it was finished, it was just “The Sneezy Pink Mess” you see in that first picture.

Thankfully, it cleaned up nicely.

I knit this back before digital cameras were awesome, but I think you can still see the detail well enough to appreciate the dramatic difference between the pink wadded mess and the blocked, properly finished piece.

Nothing is Wasted

I genuinely disliked making that scarf. There were very few overall positives, and if I’m being honest, I probably wouldn’t have finished it had it not been a commission.

But if I believe (and I do!), that nothing is wasted and we can find positive lessons in all our artistic endeavors, what can I find in this project that would be an encouragement to others and myself?

First, this scarf is another exhibit in the Case for the Magic of Blocking. Gently cleaning the fibers and pinning out the piece to open up the lace design while it dried made the design come to life. Instead of a vague blurry sense of shape before blocking, we have crisp lines, clear sections, and airy fabric that drapes beautifully. If you’ve never experienced this kind of transformation, consider trying a lace pattern just so you can. It’s really special.

Second, this scarf can be a reminder that the skills required to execute a pattern well aren’t limited to the techniques that can be done directly with needles and yarn. This pattern required some involved chart reading and chart tracking skills, disciplined concentration, and a strong ability to read your knitting. I also learned a new cast on method and used a lifeline for the first time. It’s great to be willing to learn new knitting techniques, but it’s important to be open to learning other adjacent skills that will make us better knitters.

Third, I learned some things I’m not crazy about. I like how alpaca feels, but I don’t like knitting with it in lace weight. I don’t enjoy making knitted lace as much as I do lace knitting. If I do make knitted lace again, I will do everything in my power to make sure I use grippier wooden needles rather than metal ones. These may sound a little nitpicky, but it really helps to narrow down our preferences. We only have so much time, yarn, and other resources to give to our knitting. And as one of my favorite people loves to say, we can’t hug every cat. We have to make choices. Identifying what we truly enjoy making is a gift to ourselves.

Do you have a project you hated? I’d love to see it and hear your story!

Happy knitting,

Kiersten J