When my kids heard I was going to knitting camp, I imagine they rolled their eyes. Then, if we had all been together, they might have looked at me with something akin to pity. Then they’d probably would mutter the following to each other, as they patted me on my head: “Mom has way too much time on her hands, but camp will keep her occupied and off our backs, so that’s a good thing….”
I think they would have been surprised to learn that though I actually was looking forward to the experience, it also was stress inducing. One of my favorite quotes is “Knitting keeps me from unraveling” and knitting is what I would be doing six hours every day for a week. So why was going to “knitting camp” filling me with such anxiety? I knew no one No access to TV Spotty cell phone service Dependent on myself to orient, socialize and absorb And, after 7pm each evening, no activities
I remind myself: Where is my joy? Learning new skills Meeting new people Traveling to new places Feeling the knot of fear and doing it anyway
So it’s not surprising that early Sunday morning I found myself ambivalently boarding the plane to Atlanta. Final destination: rural North Carolina.
My week turned out to be a roller coaster ride of emotions and situations: Information overload Stimulation Jubilation Frustration Appreciation Sheer Fun
Information: Learning a bit of local yore
My knitting foray is at John C. Campbell Folk School, located in Brasstown, North Carolina. Historian and sociologist James W. Loewen identified Brasstown as one of several possible sundown towns in North Carolina.
According to www.blackpast.com, Sundown Towns are all-white communities, neighborhoods or counties that exclude Blacks and other minorities through the use of discriminatory laws, harassment, and threats or use of violence. The name derives from the posted and verbal warnings issued to Blacks that although they might be allowed to work or travel in a community during the daytime, they must leave by sundown.
It’s no wonder I misread this sign near the entrance to the school as “lawlessness,” not “lowlessness.”
Stimulation: Mastering techniques
We were seven women, ranging in age from mid-forties and up, (I think I was the oldest) with varying degrees of knitting expertise. (I self-ranked myself as the second least accomplished knitter of the group.)
Free-form knitting was the focus, with more emphasis on technique rather than turning out a finished product. We practiced seams, intricate patterns, adding beads to our creations, difficult stitches, composition. However, with these guys, creativity couldn’t be stifled.
One knitter started on a purse, then turned it into a work of art as a iPad holder.
Another turned her miscellaneous knitting scraps into a collage of all-seeing eyes.
Jubilation
I was so happy that I had ample opportunity to add to my stash of quotes:
“I sat down and knitted for some time – my usual resource under discouraging circumstances.” Isabella L. Bird, A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains
“Knitting,” he thought, “was a comfort to the soul. It was regular. It was repetitious. And, in the end, it amounted to something.” Jan Karon, At Home in Mitford
“I knit so that I don’t kill people.” Anonymous
Frustration
I was very slow to pick up every new technique we were introduced to. While my classmates incorporated their samples into works of art, I produced only a heap of scrumbles to carry home. (Scrumbles are any little pieces you knit, use and put together.)
And as I jotted down pages and pages of written instructions, my inner voice roared:
I can’t do it It’s too hard I’m too old
But I persevered. And practiced. And practiced some more.
Appreciation
The range of classes at John C. Campbell Folk School was sweeping. Just by chance, the cooking class was next door and on two afternoons we were treated to brimming platters of desserts – sweet potato pie, zucchini bread, and bread pudding.
And above us was the singing class, who not only serenaded us regularly, but composed a song about knitting.
Sheer Fun
How do you imagine an avid knitter to look? To act?
Wednesday afternoon, our instructor, fighting a mid-afternoon onslaught of drowsiness (probably from all the sweets) decided to pepper up our atmosphere. On the big screen TV that was magnifying her knitting steps all week, she linked to this YouTube video entitled “Pardon me, I didn’t knit this for you.” https://youtu.be/dUOgqefnt_I
It was truly the highlight of my week at knitting camp.
I took a risk I ventured out of my own self-limiting silo I hustled rather than hovered I controlled my own remote.
