One last hurrah of the light, before the dark . . .


We made it through September. Yesterday was a gloriously sunny day, and I took advantage of that to give the lawn what will hopefully be its finally clipping until spring (read: January), and then the dog and I basked, and I knitted.

My last serious knitting project (read: that wasn’t a washcloth) was a lap blanket for my grandmother. I didn’t finish in time. I remember working on it furiously as my grandfather fought and then lost his battle with pneumonia, hauling on the plane with me, and back again, going faster as Gram showed all signs of giving up. As if, if I finished the blanket, she’d stay. And then, weeks later, giving up on the blanket, as if, if I finished it, she’d go.

I still have it tucked in my knitting basket. Someday I’ll finish it, and maybe I’ll keep it. Maybe I’ll use it. Maybe it’ll stay packed away.

Knitting takes me out of time. Sitting outside yesterday, in the sunlight, listening to the wind in the trees, watching Corbie puppy-out after bees and flies, I could have been anyone, anywhere (read: at least since the advent of knitting). If I ignored the house with its humming electricity at my back, and the cars on the road, and the planes overhead, I could have been anyone, anywhere. It’s a small step to the side to then, through this craft, reach out and touch my ancestors. It ceases to be about knitting specifically and begins to be about textiles in general, and there is something we all have in common: making portable shelter. Taking some raw material (in this case, essentially thread) and creating something that wasn’t there before.

We made it through September with our immediate family intact, but death and loss have been felt by those near and dear to us, and that keeps us mindful and sober. I read once that no death happens in solitude, and I think there’s truth in that. After that first one, every other death is experienced along with all the previous deaths, and there seems to be something to that.

I adore this time of year. The growing dark, the inner quiet, the pulling in, the introspection, the colder days (the tea!) I distinctly felt the transition to what we call, in our family tradition, Hunt Season, the other weekend, and while that is part of the ‘Season of the Dead’, while there is overlap, I definitely experience them as layers. These days, those who have left this world and this mortal flesh, feel closer than they generally do. It’s bittersweet; it always will be, but unlike last year, at least there is that sweet component.


3 Comments Add yours

  1. When I preserve the harvest, get put out of time. I’m not really “crafty” so to speak. I can make things, but most of the time they are a one off and I can’t replicate the quality of the first go around, except with food. I belong to a CSA, and I’ve had a massive bounty of tomatoes, apples and pears this fall season. I’ve been busting my butt to preserve all the things for the winter.

    I’m not a Freyrswoman, Not that I can tell anyway LOL I just feel that it would be a dishonor to let all the bounty go to waste

  2. Reblogged this on Before Change, Comes Chaos. and commented:
    This is a good post and I want to boost signal.

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