I live in North Carolina, which while not exactly known for its weather, is known for a beautiful range of landscape features. From the Blue Ridge Mountains (also known as the Smoky Mountains, or the Appalachian Mountains) on the western edge of my fair state, to the rolling Piedmont hills, to the Crystal Coast on the eastern side with hundreds of gorgeous unspoiled beaches and historic lighthouses. We get all sorts of weather here – extreme humid summers to cold snowy winters, with hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes in between. What that means for my knitting? Varies significantly.
There’s a point every fall where I start to feel that brisk, cool chill and my toes start to know that they’ll never be fully warm again until April. The coldness really sets in around October and November and I try to stock up with mittens, cowls, scarves, gloves, and socks to keep my extremities covered and cozy. I have thin Southern blood – there’s nothing I can do about the fact that I feel cold most of the time except bundle up. The worst weather around here is January and February – it’s like a cruel reminder after the dry December that not only will I be cold, but I’ll be cold and damp, and it will sink into my bones unless I have enough wool on.
The counterpoint to the frigidity I feel all winter long is the disgustingly hot, humid summers we get. Temperatures in the 90s give way to 60, 70 percent humidity and all you can do is sit in a lawn chair, preferably in the shade, with something cool in a sweating glass, and melt. And don’t even think about going inside – the air conditioning is turned down to 40⁰ F, same temperature we complained about back in January. The heat begins with some tantalizing days in March and April that just tease you into thinking summer’s come early – I start with getting out my shorts and tees, only to find that by mid April we’ve sunk back into the cool wet of April showers. And then we’ll veer back into the furnace and you should hope that you won’t have any formal outdoor functions to attend until September.
The only projects that are even remotely acceptable to work on in Raleigh summers are things made from linen, bamboo, or cotton – and nothing bigger than a tank-top or possibly a pair of socks. Never carry a project that’s big enough to double as any kind of blanket; you’ll immediately regret it. Also try for something simple enough to take with you to that outdoor café where they also have beer on tap – too many of those and you will need something stockinette or risk having to take out all your work. I recommend either the simplest pair of socks in bamboo you can muster or stocking up on your dishtowels.
Regardless of the weather, though, it’s not worth my sanity to not have a project on the needles. And I can usually find something to occupy my time. When I’m not knitting, lately, I’m designing projects for submission. The trouble comes when I realize that my deadlines are in exact opposition to the type of project I want to be doing- i.e., a summer call in November or a call for scarves and hats in May.
I’ve often wondered if it wouldn’t be worth my time to move to Australia and design as the weather came there; since they are Southern Hemispherians, it would be perfect, I think. I wouldn’t mind having to wear sunscreen all the time, and certainly it would be interesting. But I think in the end I would miss having a cold Christmas and a birthday too hot to swim, let alone eat ice cream cake. While I try to figure out how to adjust my schedule to my would-be publishers’, I’ll just keep knitting.