Five things I have learned so far while crocheting my Bobbled Bilodeau:
1. Alpaca wool is very easy to rip out.
2. One or two extra stitches (but who’s counting? eh?) at the crown of a circular crocheted item means you’re gonna end up with one mother-huge hat when you’re done.
3. Watching the women’s China / Finland hockey game in Vancouver can easily make one lose track of what’s happening with your crocheting in your lap. Who knew China had a woman’s hockey program? Those girls really kick it!
4. Ripping out several inches worth of a Bilodeau is not nearly as painful as one might suspect.
P.S. I forgot… I also learned that the aforementioned “beauty” is not an alpaca. She’s a llama. The gold medal for “camelid identification” goes to our familial wool expert, Janice Lever, of Windblest Farm. in lovely Lanark County, Ontario, Canada. Thanks, Jan!
I changed sports. Athletes do it all the time: Snow boarders become ski jumpers, figure skaters become baseball players. etc.
I have retired from Olympic knitting, and have moved on to Olympic crocheting.
I’m going to use this kind of wool. I think it comes from one of theses beauties, or at least a close second cousin.
We rode past her (I’m assuming female: pink collar) on our bike ride to Mavericks on Saturday.
She has spectacular wool, which compensates adequately for those funky knees. Apparently, alpaca wool has no lanolin and is hypoallergenic, making it a good choice for those easy-to-itch among us.
I want to make one of these. I’m going to call it my “Bobbled Bilodeau,” in honour of the Quebecois cutie-pie who won Canada’s first gold on Canadian soil in the Men’s Freestyle Mogul competition.
GO CANADA!!! My blood is running thick maple syrup as we speak.
I want my Bilodeau to look like the ones Ann at Fengari Fiber Arts made, back when they were still called “cloches.”
It takes two balls of wool, and some mystery “marker” dealy-bobs I’m told I’ll need. This initially made me a bit nervous, as I have no idea how one might utilize said DBs.
However, I shelled out for the high end “Soft Touch” crochet hook since it came with the guarantee that it would make my project easy to crochet. I love a good tool.
So, on with the Canada sweatshirt, strike the Olympic theme song, and… she’s off!
We were up with the birds today, so we took the camera along on our morning walk to see who was in da hood.
The poop factory was already up and attending to business. They’re a scrappy lot — just ask “Peg-leg” (third from the left).
Except for all the hootin’ and hollerin’ first thing in the morning around here, the resident aviary tends to be a pretty peaceful lot.
The thing is, there are a LOT of birds in da hood.
Some of them are pretty ordinary little things, nothin’ special, just on the look out for an ordinary breakfast beetle or two.
But don’t let their size fool you: some of them are super models with egos the size of Texas. They know their best angles, when to puff up and hold it, and where to sit so their fluffy little bottoms catch the best up-lighting from the rising sun, dahling.
Wait! Wait! Don’t you walk away with that camera yet! Check THIS out…
Ha? Wad-i-tell-ya? I’m so gorgeous, I make MYSELF green with envy!
On the other hand, some are not so pretty as they are fascinating, preferring wisdom over beauty. How can you look part pterodactyl and not be wise?
I don’t know if pelicans are intelligent, bird-wise speaking.
But even if pelicans are dumber than a sack of scrambled hammer handles…
… they always seem to get a good chuckle out of life.
But let’s let the crow have the last laugh. They love that.
* I’m using the “u” in honour of Canada currently being the Olympic “Host with the Most.” As the Prime Minister of Canada, Stephen Harper, said regarding the games, “Go ahead and wave those flags! We’ll apologize for our immodesty later.”
Mavericks is a world-renowned big wave break located one-half mile off the coast of Half Moon Bay. With waves cresting as high as 50 feet, ridiculously strong currents, dangerous rocks, shallow reefs, and bone-chilling water, Mavericks is legendary.
This isn’t Mavericks. It’s the little beach at the end of our road, but it was impressive enough. What would Mavericks be like?
The contest offers a $150,000 purse, making it the most lucrative big-wave contest in the world. The contest is not held every year and is called only when conditions are prime. Conditions were prime today.
There’s a bike path that goes from our back door to Pillar Point, so we took it. The Coastal Trail seemed like the perfect way to avoid traffic, breathe some fresh air, and get a front row seat to watch “The Men Who Ride Mountains.”
Frankly, the landmark golf ball at Pillar Point looked a LONG way off at the beginning of the trek. The spirit was willing, but I wasn’t sure my butt was up for the distance. Mavericks beach is on the OTHER side of the golf ball.
However, the pristine path was so beautiful…
… and the roar of the huge waves so invigorating along the bluffs, I just called on my own Olympic muse and decided I would ride through any discomfort. Besides, nothing was hurting yet.
Aside from weaving through insanely disorganized gaggles of oblivious pedestrians (stay tuned for another rant on this topic in the near future) and steaming horse poopy…
… the ride was incredible.
In true Northern California fashion, the scenery was simply stunning at every turn.
Truly. Stunning.
We made it as far as the harbor, where we overheard multiple conversations about how no one was being allowed around Pillar Point due to dangerous conditions. As in, people, dogs, speakers, leader boards, etc. being washed into the surf.
Still, while we didn’t actually see THE surf competition, we saw some pretty spectacular moves.
We also saw some spectacular other stuff, but those photos will have to wait for another day.
However, I am a rabid Olympics fan, and this addiction involves many, many hours of sitting in front of a TV screen. I don’t sit still well, so twenty-four years ago, I discovered that knitting is a great way to not sit still while sitting still.
So, every four years during the Winter Olympics, I knit something.
So many options, so few hours of Olympic TV.
It doesn’t always end well–I’m thinking of that hideous brown pull-over that seemed like a good idea at the time– but it’s always a marvelous exercise at the anticipation and planning stages.
One of the best parts is the trip to buy yarn. The math is pretty simple: in Canada, it was always the dead of winter, the world desaturated and, except for the distinction between slush, ice, and snow, pretty much texture neutral. The chance to wander aisles of hue and heft and soft fuzzy balls of potential loveliness was just irresistible to color-starved eyes.
And this year, I celebrated Happy Olympics Day by stopping in at fengari fiber arts in Half Moon Bay. Amazing little shop, but more on that in a future post.
For now, the trick is to choose the project based on how fat the wool is.
Fine gauge is the rage…
… but thicker is quicker.
I’m in big trouble.
And that’s all I’m going to say for now because I need to get the junk food organized for the opening ceremonies. But stay tuned… the Saga of the Knot begins tonight.
You know how sometimes you’re minding your own business, whacking away at tree limbs, when all of a sudden a deranged woman will come whistling around the corner of the farmhouse yelling, “Quick!! Come and check this out!!”?
And the lighting on the mountains that surround your property on three sides are lit up by the earliest rays of sunset in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up?
And you stand with your mouth hanging open as you watch God start finger-painting in the sky right on top of your head?
And everywhere you look, it just gets more colorful and wild, and you don’t know which direction to watch because everything is so spectacular and is changing so quickly you feel like if you blink, you’re going to miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
And then it gets SO amazing you get a little nervous, like Dorothy and Toto are about to come whipping down from the clouds and land in a cranky heap beside the old propane tank at the back of the garage?
But then, all of a sudden the color changes from intense yellow to peach to pink so quickly that you think this must be what clouds do when they dress up as northern lights?
And everyone is running around the property hollering “Hey, look at it from HERE!”?
And then you just get overwhelmed and have to sit down on the north porch and settle in to enjoy the end of the show?
And you don’t know whether to pray or weep or laugh out loud, so you just keep taking photos?
Yah… that. Can’t wait to see what comes through the skylights this year.
