Samhain Bunting

It's so hard to stick to working on one crochet project at a time.

Or any project, really.

I'm trying to focus on working my way through my Wheel of the Year bunting series before veering back into whatever other madness my eclectic stash can support. And it's going pretty well so far, although there's a moss-themed scrumble rotting beside my television and an abandoned bag of thrifted goblin-colored skeins intended for my technically first-ever cardigan resting in a corner.

Technically, I started knitting a cardigan in high school using scratchy Red Heart Super Saver in a variegated brown colorway evocative of deserts. At the time, I hadn't yet realized I was completing every purl stitch incorrectly, resulting in undesirably twisted stockinette V shapes. Happily, I was as bad at finishing projects then as I am now.

But I'm trying to see this bunting project through.

With the Autumn Equinox piece behind me, Samhain was the next natural one to work on. I hung it up one day late, having been behind in getting it blocked and strung together.

My cat was no help on the blocking front. As a personal rule, I block as seldom as possible (I'm just gonna use it anyway!), and so am very lazy when I actually feel compelled to have something sit flat for a while. This takes the form of wetting a piece under my faucet, gently squeezing out the water from the fibers, and then patting it into place on a bath towel lying on my kitchen floor. So pro. Madame decided that the 13 little roundels made the perfect rests for her derriere, and also took to diving at them and batting them about. Wonderful. (Though a little annoying, I wouldn't have it any other way, truly).

Both it and the Autumn Equinox bunting have nice, autumnal colorways, and in fact do mark a transition from brilliant fall foliage to the final leafy stragglers on increasingly bare branches. We had a few surprising good weeks of color from our trees here in Southeastern Ohio. The leaves started changing as early as mid-August, but gave their last fantastic fireworks show around mid-November.

Now, in late December, we just have a few certain oak trees with leaves still intact. They're some kind of pretty shade of between velvety mauve and muddy chestnut. I don't have a good name for it, but wish I did.

I've got my completed Yule bunting hanging above my altar now, but I'll save that one for a later blog post.

Speaking of altars and Samhain, every year I think about creating an ofrenda for Día de los Muertos. But then I remember that 1) I am not actually Mexican or the progeny of celebrants from other areas and so don't wish to appropriate their cultural practices so flagrantly 2) my own flavor of honoring ancestors takes the form of daily observances.

I display knickknacks, glassware, and jewelry owned by grandmothers around my home. I have two crocheted afghans made by my paternal grandmother and a maternal great-great aunt hung on a quilt rack my paternal grandfather made. Also on the rack is a baby blanket I knitted for a nephew who died in utero.

When I notice a clock displaying repeat numbers (like 3:33), rather than looking up which angelic correspondence the hour and minute are supposed to signify, I greet my paternal grandmother. When I see one leaf waving more vigorously than its neighbors or watch ants for any amount of time, I greet my maternal grandmother (she was afraid of being forgotten, so I won't let that happen). I think of my paternal grandfather when I see an American kestrel (and then wonder if I should loop in more common birds as I don't see tiny raptors often). I think of my paternal great-grandmother when playing board or card games (she was a notorious cheater), my paternal great uncle when I see butterflies (he would decoratively arrange dead ones in acrylic cases for sale by museums), and my sister-in-law's father when I see pet rabbits (he let me hold a very soft rex once). I think of my childhood best friend most days, and especially when hiking.

So, all of these sainted souls and more get carried around in my head on an ongoing basis, no shrines based in exoticism required.

That's one thing I like about this crocheted bunting project, too, is the thread (ha) of mostly female handicrafts linking my work back to the creativity of my forebears, and maybe even into the future in indirect ripples (I don't expect my niblings will remember me as much more than a weird crocheting cat lady, but that's okay).

Time being a flat circle and all that.