My last day in Shetland several members of the Knitters and Spinners Guild asked if I would write a letter for their newsletter. I was extremely touched, and wrote the following to sum up my experience. Given that I never wrote a concluding blog post about Shetland, it seemed like it might be worth sharing...
Unlike most of you, I remember learning to knit. I was about eight years old and I fell under the colorful, soft, warm spell of a wool shop in Idaho, and the owner started me on a scarf. For years afterwards this "legitimate fiddling" kept me out of trouble at my grandmother's house. And then kept me engaged during a year of dizzy spells that confined me to the couch. Somewhere in all these years I looked up Fair Isle and decided that I needed to visit, and shortly thereafter decided the best way to accomplish this was to apply for a Watson Fellowship (forget the intermediate steps of applying to, getting accepted, and attending a participating university). The perfect dream: one year of independent international travel to pursue a personal interest. And sometimes, if you're lucky and you work really hard, dreams come true. To my friends, "I'm going to knit for a year!" To the academically inclined, "I'm studying textile history and traditional patternwork."
And so I found myself spending a month in Shetland.
What a lovely month it was! I started by attending a Knitters and Spinners Guild talk and slideshow about textiles around the world, and finished with Wool Week. I managed to go both north to Unst and south to Fair Isle. I didn't hug a pony, but I did sit in the front seat of a plane and see five different lighthouses (I grew up 1000 miles from the ocean). I learned that camping bods are cold in late September and that most busses don't run on Sunday and that the Lerwick library is both warm and dry and has free wifi.
But mostly I found kindness and artistry.
I found that I could walk into stores or museums or Sunday tea and leave with both a new friend and a quick lesson on improving my own knitting skills. A big accomplishment for a girl who used to shake just introducing herself to a crowd!
I don't know which amazed me more: the speed at which Shetlanders knit or the quality of the work they produce. The combination absolutely blew me away. It's one thing to say, "I want to learn about Shetland lace" and quite another to hold one of the shawls in my hand and marvel at the lightness, the seeming fragility, the thousands of stitches, and the invisible seams. And that was before I tried to knit lace myself! Or with Fair Isle color work. I read patterns, and count stitches, and try to remember which color is in which hand...and watch women fly over the rows, while chatting, and modifying "patterns" to fit a specific piece. As someone who used to get phone calls at university because I could sew a seam, unpick a row, or teach someone to purl, this was an incredible opportunity for me to be the beginner again. For me to see what is possible and to learn from the best.
All too soon I found myself cramming a few extra balls of wool into my backpack and saying goodbye and summing it up as "beautiful place, beautiful people, beautiful knitting. When can I come back?"
People keep asking me if my visit lived up to my expectations. It far surpassed them. Even when you expect artistry it takes your breath away. But I found more than that. On some hard-to-reach-rocks-in-the-sea are resilient and generous people who made me remember why I travel, and also reminded me why sometimes people choose to stop. And stay.
But for those of us on tourist visas, the time came to catch a ferry.
This is really a thank you note. To everyone I met in Shetland for sharing their homes and time and stories with me. For all the short conversations that mean so much to a lonely traveler and a growing girl looking for inspiration. A very big thank you to three women I met first in Glasgow. To Hazel Hughson, who helped me to place textiles into my own context as a computer programmer and a traveler. To Helen Robertson, whose jewelry captures the essence of a "living tradition", rich in skill and willing to push the limits, and has broadened my outlook going forward. To Hazel Tindall, who opened every door in Shetland for me and without whom my month would have been both lonely and uninformative (and much less fun). And finally, thanks to Bruce Gilardi, who I met by chance in Bosnia last spring, and whose connections to these islands, and advice and enthusiasm have been invaluable.
And with another thank you, I'll turn my attention now to Norway. To see what people, places, and textiles capture my imagination in the next few months. If you're curious, see where I end up on weaveofabsence.blogspot.com.
-Katie
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