Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Colors of Autumn

I found the quote below in one of those Victorian books that is all a jumble with little essays, poems, silly stories, and vignettes. Surprisingly, this woman sounds quite down-to-earth and approachable--somewhat contradictory to my notion of ladies during that era. I think she writes of the Berkshire Hills in Western Massachusetts, btw. Makes me want to learn how to knit in autumn. Perhaps while drinking hot cider on my front porch.

Although knitting lessons probably won't happen this year, I did recently bring home these balls of yarn and string in a grab-bag of vintage sewing miscellany. Photographing them was a reminder to me that even the most simple and humble of objects can be quite lovely and inspiring when I take a moment to really see them entirely--their color, texture, and other quirks and nuances. I'm trying to do that more these days.
"I told you I had been lying on the couch for weeks watching autumnal beauty and its changes--an almost idle time, since I occupied myself only with knitting--my latest and most fascinating accomplishment. I have learned to knit, because my eyes warn me their term of unassisted service is ending, and the charm of the occupation half reconciles me to its compulsoriness. That pile of children's stockings of such unbuyable scarlets and grays, have all been knitted in this golden autumn. While my fingers have been flying, I have watched the hills. If I live twenty years longer, and knit for my grandchildren, thanks to the mysterious power of association, I shall be able at any time to close my eyes and see what they look upon now, Berkshire glorified."

--from "Berkshire Glorified" in Appletons' journal of literature, science and art, Volume 1, 1870