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Thursday, February 4, 2021

Digging Drama Denoues and Size 1 Needles

Sometimes a girl's gotta' call in the troops, or the stronger arms with shovels. To illustrate: you take a shivering friend of your son's home from swim practice down an unknown dead end, and there happens to be an awful lot of snow and ice just in front of the house. Your big ol' truck sinks further in the longer you wait to make sure said kid gets let into house. (You do not know this, or you would have waited down the street a bit further.) Kid waves, you take off to head home...and go nowhere. "Spinning"'s original meaning: the tires spin, the car goes not. And it turns out to be an act of universal benevolence, because the same shivering kid (no coat, everyone knows coats are uncool), is back again. Did he see you needed help and arrive with a shovel...and a coat? No, he is truly locked out and no one else is home to jump to the rescue. "Hop in and warm back up." 

 

This happens throughout the cold and snowy regions of the world. There are known techniques to dislodge a vehicle, and as a Midwesterner, I know them all. After a neighbor loaned us a doormat to lodge under one tire, hoping this would be the key to a little traction, then promptly disappeared into his house, we had tried about all we had at hand. Pushing, reversing, gunning it in 3rd gear, starting all over again. With the marked absence of any other helpful neighbors appearing to lend a hand, I had to face the painful music and call home for shovels and brawn. It was dinner time and dark.

Of course, the men felt they had to take over, which would have perhaps miffed me in earlier times. As it was, I had 20 rounds of decrease to work on the back of a baby bonnet on size 1 dpns* of various lengths, It was a bit dicey to keep all of the stitches on that 4" one I had to throw into the mix: all in all, there was nowhere else I needed to be. Having been deprived of any knitting during last weekend's campout and severely limited during the subsequent work week, by Wednesday evening, it was time to knit again.



*Notes for the non-knitter: My mother-in-law calls these needles "smaller than Mikados" in fun. A dpn is a double-pointed needle, size 1 is the diameter of a fat toothpick. The parts we are not knitting are held on 4 of these while we knit with a fifth. It is just the thing for working small bits in the round. "In the round" equals no sewing up seams when we are finished.

Illustration credit: https://www.instagram.com/richardduijnstee/

 


Monday, February 1, 2021

Invitation to a Challenge: Accepted!

The question "WHY" is the one most asked the world over when a human who is lucky enough to live in a perfectly comfortable home decides to pack up and spend a few days or maybe a week performing the seemingly torturous rite of camping out. 

I had plenty of time to ponder the notion this weekend, as I put myself into exactly this scenario, in January, in the Midwest. It is easier to justify a camp-out in the clement weather of the other three months, I suppose. Being out of doors is a pleasant experience for part of the year.  But I had been invited to join the Scouts, and I find that an invitation to a place that is out of one's comfort zone, when accepted, is the sort that can take you places you would never have discovered on your boring lonesome own. Besides, I do believe in spending more time outside than in, I just don't always get around to doing it.

The outdoors; a beautiful, snow-covered landscape, was calling to me, my husband had warmly welcomed me to join them, and all the work I needed to do at home had been done. The only voice still sounding a small alarm was the pending weather forecast: 33 degrees F, with rain beginning at noon, it said, ending by 8 p.m., then snow. Ah well, they could be wrong. There was snow on the ground, I like snow. What was the likelihood that we get rain in January? The new system of two sleeping bags should mean not repeating that one time when my toes froze all night during a November camp-out. I knew how cold it could be, and yet, I was going to do it again. 

As I said, I was given ample time to reconsider the entire concept, in-depth, while standing around, under a picnic shelter with the rain pounding down, my toes growing cold and the smoke from the portable woodfire stove constantly burning my eyes. It did not only rain, it rained for ten solid hours. The dads encouraged the boys to take a hike to warm up. All were game, so we left to walk along the Hennepin Canal, an engineering marvel that was scarcely ever used. This had the mixed result of warming us all up, getting to see some scenery, as well as my first in-person coyote sighting, and drenching our outer layers and, in my case, the inner ones as well. 

I spent the evening as mindfully as possible. There were discussions on history, on why we go camping, on a love of nature as experienced up close. I was not feeling much love, but I was intent on paying attention to these moments out of time, in another existence. The challenge was to stay the course, in good humor, come what may, to serve the purpose of letting this experience for the young scouts be all that it could be. We knew the morning would bring snow instead of rain, and the arctic beauty that had begun with the trees icing over as the temperatures fell would surely take our breaths away in the morning. 

The ideas of adding tarp walls to the shelter to protect us a bit from the rain and wind was offered, accepted and executed. Pre and post hike, the little fire in the mini cooker smoked and steamed us into some semblance of warmth. There was no card playing; social distancing and circling the fire on picnic table benches and a few chairs did not allow for games, there was no sketching or journaling; too wet, and there was not even cooking to be done. COVID regulations preclude the sharing of food this year, so each scout arrives with their food ready to be heated in individual packages. No meal prep, darn, that would have constituted an activity in P.C. times.

Dinner, when it arrived, was a fabulous feast. My husband and son had been experimenting all year, and they have precooked meals down to an art. Mostly dad cooks, and my kiddo packages the portions. Tonight we were having rice cooked with fresh mushrooms topped with garlic-sauteed shrimp. It was so good.

The night, which we all agreed, should not begin before the rain stopped, was a cozy one. At least in my tent it was, since it was the only one with more than one person. I followed the techniques my sweetie recommended for getting into the sleeping bags as dryly and as warmly as possible. It was a true feat of planning and execution in some crazy positions. Wet shirt and wet socks changed in car, wettest layers (first coat) left in car, dash to tent, remove snowpants as entering, turn them inside out and slide them between the two layers of sleeping bags for warmer recovery in the morning. Bottom half inside the sleeping bag, I look around to see where I put my other coat, thinking I might put it too in between the layers. I finally realize I am still wearing it. Coat off and quick, into the bags all the way, hat on, scarf handy to keep over face. Zip. 

The morning rewards us with a snow-covered wonderland that is every bit as beautiful as we had hoped. Bliss! Yes, it was worth it. Head out and enjoy where you are today, even if it means breaking out the mittens and scarves and boots. Consider this my invitation and challenge.