“What Are You Working On?”

The story of my cabled sweater project, full of Portuguese yarn and a ton of math problems.

It’s a smoky day in Boise, the gray haze of August masking the mountains, lingering between buildings, and making me long for some fresh fall air. No, I am not ready for summer to be over–I’m greedy for a few more paddle board floats and campfire stories. But in the meantime living in the city with the worst air quality in America, I am happy to hunker down, away from the elements, and enjoy myself a little couch-knitting. 

In my hands is the start of a bottom-up cabled sweater, using an auburn wool I picked up at the Retrosaria yarn shop, in Lisbon, Portugal. My uncle and aunt live in the old city. To get to the shop we walked single-file down incredibly narrow sidewalks, snug against the crumbling 1700s facades. Our path zigzagged up the city’s hills, against the traffic of mopeds and delivery trucks, with petite umbrellas shading us from a coastal drizzle. The cobblestones slippery and streets glossy. 

Inside the yarn shop, yarn galore. The Portuguese women, winding yarn at the counter, wore knitted tops with cream and beige wool that they made themselves. Most of it was grown, dyed, and spun in Portugal. The shop partners with regional growers to support the wool industry: breeding and growing indigenous sheep. I liked this premise (and the great price - around 7 bucks for a locally grown, worsted weight yarn, and a good 200 yards) so I stocked up and stuffed my suitcase.

In addition to the bright golds, corals, and beach blues, I bought 10 skeins of this auburn yarn called Mondim. The color is rich like coffee beans. I knew exactly what I’d make with this yarn. My aunt Tamara, a bad-ass-business-boss-woman working in international environmental sustainability, asked if I could knit her a sweater. A brown sweater that’s just like the one she already has, only new, without the holes, and with Portuguese yarn. 

Yes, I told her at the time. I will knit you a cabled cardigan, with pockets, a hood, a faux fur brim, and….a zipper…. 

Today I am only mildly resentful about the zipper. The sewing machine is no friend of mine (I should have negotiated buttons).

Here she is, cute as a button, modeling the sweater I would recreate from scratch. 

I have been ready for a challenging project. A project that makes me scratch my head, tilt it to a 45-degree angle, and really think. Knitting in this way cracks my mind open to notice the basics. Of math. Of numbers. Multiplication. Division. Addition. Subtraction. Fractions. And no, it’s not the scary kind of math, like high school trigonometry or calculus. It’s the satisfying kind like calculating a 20% tip or finding the common denominator of 1/2 cups and 2/3 cups when tripling a cowboy cookie recipe. It’s the kind of math that makes everything else seem unimportant. The emails can wait, let the babies cry. This math problem needs to be etched and erased, calculated, and double-checked until the formula is just right, the answer solved, and I know exactly how many stitches I need to cast on for this massive sweater project. 

Math knitting is deeply satisfying. And it takes me a while… I draft the sweater pattern by first measuring Tamara’s old brown sweater. I measure every distance between armpit and ribbing, from the hood to the pocket, in every which way direction. Then, I draw the blueprints on graph paper with a pencil and ruler.

I was inspired to create a pattern from scratch by my grandmother, who has designed dozens and dozens of Irish sweaters all with a few simple items: graph paper, a pencil, a ruler, and a mind unafraid of math. These Irish sweaters look complicated, crafted with bobbles, Celtic cables, lattice shapes, twists, and the prominent popcorn stitch. She created her own patterns, and the sweaters always fitted just right.  

If my grandmother is the master knitter, then I’m just an apprentice. I needed a step stool to help me, so I found the Alice Hoodie pattern that could give me the bones of what I needed and the flexibility of adding more unique cables. 

The sweater is knitted from bottom up in one piece. I wanted to pack as many cables as possible, similar to Connie's Irish sweaters.

I then knitted a gauge – a square with every cabled stitch I wanted to include. Knitting a gauge is important for any knitting project when the sizing matters (Size isn’t that important all the time, such as loose beanies or drapey shawls). For my project, knitting a gauge was especially important since cabled stitches tend to create a bulky, scrunched fabric. Twenty stitches of cabled fabric is much tighter than twenty stitches of just plain knitting. This is because cabled stitches are simply stitches crossed over each other, which stretches the yarn and makes the piece tighter. 

Next, I casted off the gauge and blocked it (washed it)—by letting it soak in tepid water with soap and leaving it out to dry on a plastic bag. This step is critical for measuring a cabled gauge. Blocking allows the wool to relax, open, and bloom into a bigger shape. In this process, my scrunchy square flattened and widened into its actual size.

Finally, I measured and crunched the numbers. I pressed the ruler against the fabric and counted how many stitches filled one inch. The cables were about 5 stitches per inch, and the regular knitting (stockinette) 4 stitches per inch. Then, I mocked up the order of cabled stitches, adding up the stitch count that would make a width of 36”. 

This is all very technical, I know. 

For new knitters, cables might seem out of the question, a far away venture to only tackle after knitting hundreds and hundreds of plain dishcloths until the brain starts to melt from garter stitch boredom. I beg to differ. In fact, cables are one of the simplest knitting techniques that have the magic act of looking complicated. The technique only requires you to knit stitches out of order, causing them to cross.

Looking ahead into fall, I’m teaching a few cable classes at I Yarn for Ewe which will introduce the technique to brand new knitters.  

Two years later after buying this gorgeous Portuguese yarn, I’m only 10 inches into the project. A little tennis elbow tendonitis doesn't allow me to knit more than a few rows a week (elbows are for another blog post), and that’s okay. When knitting, more than anything, it’s important to listen to the body and stop when something hurts.

This sweater is another lesson to move slowly, look down and admire the new cable I just made, and enjoy the process. My aunt may just have to wait a while to wear it. 

Now, I'll ask you, what are you working on? Leave a comment if you'd like. (I think you can also add a photo).

Teaching Update - Fall 2024 

I met with Kerrie from I Yarn for Ewe and planned many beginner knitting classes in the fall! I am so excited to teach again this season. Classes will include Intro to Knitting, Hat Knitting, Cabled Cowl, Cabled Headband, and Felted Soaps. These classes are geared towards beginners, folks who need a refresher, and people looking to build community around knitting. Sign up links should be open on their website in the next few weeks.

For anyone looking for individual or advanced lessons, private lessons are always available. Please send me an email, I love hearing from you and hearing about what you want to learn!