Great Aunt Dottie

There’s nothing like the feel of soft yarn through my fingers. Let’s face it; Seattle, Washington can be dreary in those long winter months. It’s not as rainy as Forks, but there are those torrential rain days where lighting candles and sitting by the fire makes homesteading look easy. There are also those clear cool nights when sitting at the fire pit, knitting a blanket keeps me warm connects me to my great Pacific Northwest roots. Nothing tops listening to the birds chirp next to a roaring fire bursting with hot orange flames. One of my Great Grandmothers who lived back during the Civil War, made her own clothing from raising sheep and growing flax, spinning a yarn she named, “Flaxy Woolsey.” Knowing I’m continuing the tradition of knitting from generation to generation connects me to the family I never personally knew, but from stories in old letters brings a sense of comradery. Having something to keep my fingers busy brings me joy, especially when it can bless someone else. My own Great Grandmother Ruth knitted many a warm outfit for my own mother when she was a baby living with her family in Alaska. Great Grandmother Ruth wrote about my mother, “It isn’t much, but Grandma wants those little legs warm these cold mornings.” She knew the icy weather my Grandmother Donna experienced in Alaska. Grandma Donna wrote to Ruth, telling her how the great north winds coming off of the Taku Glacier chilled her to the bone. Those were the days where Borden’s milk cost a dime and my Grandfather could buy a ten pound salmon for a quarter. Making things by hand was both special for the person receiving them as well as practical if you could save a dime doing it.

During the pandemic of 2020, my Great Aunt Dottie turned 100. I decided to make her something to commemorate this amazing feat in a beautiful and practical way. I decided to knit an afghan for her. I picked varying colors, knitting each square with different stitches. A plain square with a colorful border with the thickest yarn would keep her tiny frame warm and cozy any time she needed to be. Even the elderly living in hot California, sometimes get cold. Part of getting old means slowing down. Our blood doesn’t flow like it did at age sixteen, and getting around also seems slower if not more arduous. Honestly, I worried that I might not get it done before she passed, as living till a hundred years old is quite a milestone. Every day after eighty is a gift these days in my opinion, especially during a pandemic.

I finally finished it. Then I rearranged the squares. Then I rearranged them again, and again until I finally felt that they were in the order I wanted them in. Then it became the daunting task of knitting them all together. But first, because I’m so practical, I needed to use the yarn scraps. I began looking for imperfections in my work, and covered them with embroidery, making butterflies and flowers, hiding my mistakes with a bit of whimsy. The sharp Fiscar scissors that my step mother gave me before she passed came in handy. Nana could have made a purse out of a pig’s ear. Her 800 square foot sewing room above the garage doubled as a third guest room and many a quilt was sewn for people in the hospital, or babies born to friends or family. I feel a connection to her every time I use them as if she’s telling me where to cut or how to add something special to a project. So I finally finished the afghan. We weren’t able to travel due to the pandemic restrictions, but I sent it in the mail. The days of one cent stamps are long gone, but Great Aunt Dottie, who saw those days, is using that blanket. She turned 101 this year, lives at home and always has a hospitable smile to friends and neighbors who come to visit. Every stitch because such a joy for me. In trade, Great Aunt Dottie sent me pages of her favorite family recipes and old pictures that no one else wanted. I’d say I got the better deal on that one. She sits happy as a clam with her cozy blanket, safe and warm, waiting for the next birthday while I find new projects for babies, people getting married and new challenges to hone my knitting skills. There will never be a day that I stop enjoying the feel of the yarn through my fingers, the click of the needles creating new textures and the immense connection to those who have gone before me urging me to bless others with my gifts and talents. At least until I reach a hundred and one.