Not Without A Few Bumps

Rhinebeck was... an adventure.

I was able to finish Jack's sweater in record time. 

I gave it a nice relaxing bath, laid it on the deck in the sun to dry, and felt confident that it would enjoy it's sunbath as much as it's water bath.

You may have noticed that I don't have a photo of Jack wearing this sweater.  Let me tell you a story.

The sweaters didn't dry.  I had to coax the Owl sweater into drying as well.  They were stubborn and determined to stay wet for days.  I tried to rush them, which only angered the yarn gods.  I put them in the dryer, on low heat, and did my best to coax them into being wearable.

They were tumbling away the morning of Rhinebeck.  Everyone was waiting to leave and the sweaters were still damp, but I thought maybe they were dry enough to wear anyway.  So I took them out, and handed Jack's to him, and that's when we noticed it.

His sweater retaliated.  It felted.  Not so terribly that it's ruined, but just enough that the neck is too small for any human head.  I didn't want to be wearing my new Rhinebeck sweater while Jack couldn't wear his, so I ran upstairs and grabbed an old sweater from years ago for myself. 

You may remember that Jack didn't get a Christmas sweater last year.  It was a hot winter, and not sweatery, so I didn't finish it.  I thought I could finish it in the car as it only needed one sleeve.  I grabbed it, headed out the door, and thought we would be all set.

We loaded into the car, Michael driving so I could knit, he put the car into reverse...

...and proceeded to backup directly into my cousin's car.

We composed ourselves, took deep breaths, and pulled out of the driveway all silently hoping there would be no more carnage for the day.

I knit furiously.  I knit with intent and determination.  I begged for traffic or red lights or a highway closure.  I did not get my wish.  We arrived at the fairgrounds with an incomplete sweater.  Sometimes you can't out-knit the fates.

We made the best of it.  We went full lamb.

And when we bought all the yarn and fudge and pickles that we could handle, we headed back to the car.

We did not hit anything or anyone on the way out.

We stopped at Fishkill Farms, as has also become tradition.

We picked apples.  But we did not get donuts.  The line was approaching 2 hours long.  I love donuts, but not that much.

We picked so many apples I will be baking for weeks.  And I'm not complaining.

I got a good haul of yarn, too.  And more memories than I can handle. 

I'm off to rip out a semi-felted neck and attempt to make it wearable.  Bright side:  Jack will have TWO sweaters this year.