Maniacal Harlot Poncho

Modeled on "Long Island" in Lake George with my beloved girl Caia

Maniacal Harlot Poncho, Yarn Harlot Free Pattern,
designed by Stephanie Pearl McPhee
Knit with 7 skeins (120 yards/skein) of Berroco Suede (100% Nylon) in Zorro! (Black - 3729) on Clover bamboo circulars in size US 10 (6.0 mm), 24" and 32" and Addi Turbo brass-plated circulars in size US8 (5.0 mm), 16", at a guage of 4 sts per inch.

Pattern Notes:
This fun little knit is available for free on the Yarn Harlot's site. If you haven't come across it yet, you must live under a rock! Nonetheless, here's the link.

My poncho is a little different from the original - different yarn, different guage, and slightly different neckline. If you want to do the poncho in Suede, or another yarn that gets the same guage, cast on 100 stitches and follow the Harlot's pattern for 92 rows. For the neckline, I simply picked up and knit 100 stitches on needles two sizes smaller than those used for the body and used paired decreases with a knit stitch in between them at the front and back V's. Voila! This would have been a very simple and quick project if I hadn't taken a little detour. I had fun anyway. I was on vacation and had plenty of time to experiment. But for this detour, I was going to dub it the traveling harlot poncho - it was knit in 8 states - California, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Kansas, Illinois, New York and Vermont. I'm pretty sure that's a record for me. I've crossed the country five times, but I've always driven, so it takes effort to wrack up the knitting states. On this trip, I made use of lunch breaks. In the end, the poncho became maniacal, despite the traveling, for obvious reasons.

The Harlot Poncho is a great pattern. Easy, fun, flowing. Maniacal is optional. I wear the poncho a lot. In Suede, it's more of a fall/spring piece than a winter one, but the slinkiness of the suede transcends the season. On hot days in Lake George (hard to believe those were 6 weeks ago), I wore it as a cover-up on the boat, and I'm guessing if I put a hardy enough sweater on under it, I can take it into most of the winter. It models particuarly well in an enchanted forest on a magical lake island. It's also an excellent housecoat. Not, perhaps, the most attractive thing in the world - sweats, bunny slippers, hair in a bun, glasses, and poncho - but ooooh! comfy! My own traveling fort. Who says I can't camp in my living room?

Impressions of Berroco Suede:
Love it! (I feel like I'm saying this a lot lately. Do I choose well or do I just frog it if the yarn isn't smokin'?) If my desert island needs a nylon yarn, this is it. Springy, squooshy, fun to use. If you are looking for a soft yarn with loft and stretchiness, look no further. Light and luscious describes Suede perfectly. To get a very suedey effect, one of the other heathery colors is a better bet, but I liked the black just fine. That's the other great thing about this yarn. The colors have wonderful names. Black is Zorro! Blue is Wrangler! Green is Maverick! Get me my boots!

Possible substitute yarns:
GGH makes a suede called "Velour". 100% nylon, also. The yardage is substantially less (around 60 yards, I think) and the yarn isn't as squooshy. It should work just fine as a substitute, but for most things I'd prefer the Berroco. (I say this despite never having worked with the Velour, it's merely a gut reaction.) Try the Velour if you want a finer knit.

Tips for Others Making the Harlot Poncho:
There's not too much to say in the way of tips as this should be a pretty fool-proof pattern. (It is not maniac proof!) Check out Stephanie's extra help post if you're confused by the yarnovers. Avoid seams, steeks and inserts at all costs! Have fun.

More cool photos...

On the boat...

In the forest with the Pup and the Kiddo...(the sister-in-law's kiddo)

To Purl or Not to Purl? (The overly long story of a very simple poncho)

Pants? Who needs pants?

PART I: The Purl

Every few months I seem to go through a rotation with the knit blogs out there and find a new favorite. For the most part, my list of blogs changes very little, but the favorite, for one reason or another, seems to shift. Lately I've found myself glued to the Yarn Harlot's site. I've been drawn to this particular blog partially for the wonderful projects and great writing that Ms. Pearl-McPhee is known for, but also because I like the way that she takes random knit-musings and crafts them into a post. Several of my favorite blogs do this. They take a knitting thought or philosophy that we all have strong subconscious feelings about and put it out there for discussion. And discuss we do. (I think Stephanie had about 80 comments to her most recent post.) It stimulates us out here in blogland (lurkers too!) to think about our craft and what it says about us. We get to know the knit and the person a little better. I like it.

During my recent hiatus, I did some thinking about the direction that I want to take with my blog. I am still pretty self-conscious about posting and am struggling to find my "voice". This may sound silly and overly dramatic for a knitting blog, but if you write one, you know that no matter what the subject, it is part blog and part journal, and though perhaps one-dimensional, it is a representation of yourself, out there in cyberspace, for all to see. Personally, I want my blog to be the kind of blog that I would like to read. I have these random knit thoughts all the time, and write about them in my head, but I rarely post about them because they lack a certain polish and perfection that I have recently realized I am all too attached to. I like people who are imperfect and I am a person who is imperfect, so I have determined that when random things come up, I am going to write about them.

Hence to purl or not to purl... The other day, the Yarn Harlot gave us her two cents about the best way to teach beginners to knit. (Go ahead, read the whole thing, including comments, and get totally engrossed. Just don't forget to come back!) The short story, if you're not up to following the link to read the long one, is that Stephanie taught her 13-year-old daughter's friend to knit on straight needles so that she would go back and forth and learn to purl right out of the gate and not be afraid of the dreaded purl stitch in the way that people who learn it later sometimes are. She wanted to instill fearless knitting in this intrepid young knitter from Day One, so that she would go forth and cable someday soon without worry. The controversy, (and I believe that it was a controversy of one) was whether this was the best idea given that the girl's first project was a pair of legwarmers, usually done seamlessly, in the round on circular needles.

Despite the fact that I have taught many, many beginners to knit, I have never really given the approach much thought. I teach people to knit the way my grandmother taught me - garter stitch on straight size US8 needles. I throw in the purl stitch after the person has gained a certain level of comfort. The theory behind this is that few people have good short-term memory for mechanical movements and that it's best to get one stitch movement to the point where it is automatic before introducing a second concept. I also think that it is easier to keep an even tension during the oh-so-crucial cast-on phase on straights. (Me of little faith...)

Although I hadn't given this much thought previously, I found myself to be very opinionated about the subject when it was brought to my attention. Here's why: I am drawn to the Yarn Harlot's explanation for why she teaches on straight needles. I don't think it really matters whether you teach someone to purl on Day One or not. I learned to purl about a decade after I learned to knit and it didn't affect my feelings about the stitch. Knit or purl, it's all the same to me. I don't favor one over the other. More importantly, I doubt it will affect too many new knitters to learn to purl, earlier or later, either. (Though hearing from other knitters that one is easier than the other might - ah, the power of suggestion!) BUT! I like to think of myself as a similarly intrepid knitter. I fear no stitch, no fiber, no construction! Onward! It shall be knit!

In contrast, I was also drawn to the controverter's plea that legwarmers should not have seams and are properly knit in the round. The idea that there is a better way to knit certain things also holds great cache for me, and in this case, had I given it much thought I would have been on the fence as to whether to have Meg's friend learn the purl stitch or do the legwarmers seamlessly. It is a knitting conundrum if I ever saw one.

For me, the importance of a teaching approach may be what it imparts about the teacher. We are fearless, and if we can teach fearlessly, our students will be, too. If we teach better ways to do things, our students will learn to search for the better method in each situation. Great thoughts, and ones that I will spend some time ruminating and blogging on, as I prepare to teach my next beginner class.

PART II: The Poncho

Which brings me to the not-so-clearly related second part of my post. This is where I illustrate why it is important to know both the out-of-the-box way and the better way to do something and be discerning enough to choose which method to follow in a given situation. As an extra-special treat in line with my new policy of showing imperfections, I will illustrate by telling you all about one of my own recent knitting misadventures.

Enter, the poncho. Interestingly, this garment was also inspired by Ms. Pearl McPhee, and mimics her Very Harlot Poncho in everything but yarn, guage, and neckline. I'm changing the name to the Maniacal Harlot Poncho, and here's why:

Right before leaving California I became totally enchanted with some black Berocco Suede yarn. Suede is fabulous stuff. It contains not an ounce of natural fiber, yet has a wonderful, springy feel to it and manages to pretty well approximate actual suede in it's feel. I had exactly 7 skeins of Suede and knew that its perfect use was a slinky, stretchy poncho. I also knew that ponchos can take up quite a bit of yarn, and that fringe can easily eat up a skein or two all on its own. You can tell where I'm going with this, yes? I was concerned about yardage.

To assuage my fears, I sat down, shoved the Chevron Tank aside, and knit an entire skein of yarn in one sitting. (This is impressive for me. I am not a fast knitter.) I then figured out exactly how many square inches of fabric one skein of suede produced. (Sadly, I did not write this down and have since forgotten the number.) I then set about trying to figure out exactly how many square inches of fabric I would need.

This was not something I could do precisely. I could not find a single poncho pattern in my collection (stunted collection - we were traveling and didn't have much) that gave a finished schematic or dimensions. I think the thought is that a poncho is a sack and how long you make your sack is really up to you - no schematic needed. This is all fine and well for those of you with an overabundance of yarn in a single dyelot. For me, it sucked.

What I did decide was that it was likely that I would be cutting it close. I also decided that I didn't want to knit the whole damn thing and then run out while I was fringing it. So I did some simple math. At a guage of 4 sts per inch, with 4 yarnovers every other row, my poncho would grow at a rate of 1 inch every 2 rows. That is a lot. It sounds practically exponential.

So, I got out my measuring tape and measured my circumference with my arms at my side. This is yet another number that I have failed to document since, but I think it was about 42-44". My goal was to figure out how much the poncho had to grow in order to accomodate my arm movements, so I added somewhere from 6-8" (the ease allowance of a really baggy sweater) for a total of 50" in circumference. This number, strangely enough, I do remember.

My plan was to go on my merry way, knitting and yarning-over until I hit the 25th row, which was the point where my poncho would be 50" in circumference. At that point I would introduce 2 pairs of decreases at each side down the midline of my arms to counteract the growth of the yarnovers exactly and keep the circumference at a steady 50" until the end. The result would be a trapezoidal shaped poncho. Somewhat closer-fitting but workable. Brilliant!

For those of you considering writing down this great wisdom or printing it out - DON'T! It doesn't work. 50" is way too small a circumference for anything other than a mummybag, as I can sadly attest. I have no finished pictures, but here is a picture, on the dock at Lake George after my third skein, showing the "seam" created by my funky decrease pairs:

Feel for me, for later I frogged all the way back to the top of this seam...

I continued past this point and knit another skein to finish my mummybag. Because I tried the poncho on when it was on circulars that were too short to give it full volume, I was totally unaware of the mummy quality until after I had cast off.

This is where things got really interesting. I knew that I could not leave the poncho as it was, and I was now fairly certain that I had at least very, very close to enough yarn to make it full-sized. I was also in a rather intrepid mood. I knew that the right thing to do would be to rip back to the 25th row and take it from there. I am not sure why I did not do this. I don't have any problems with a good frog if it's necessary (it was!), and I had plenty of time to rip and re-knit while sitting around at Lake George enjoying myself. Perhaps it was an overabundance of time that lead me to make my decision. I'm still not sure.

At any rate, I determined that rather than rip back my poncho, I would teach myself to steek on the diagonal with a crochet hook. (I doubt anyone will question that this plan was an intrepid one.) Armed with determination, a crochet hook, and a computer I set about to conquer the diagonal crochet steek.

As a starting point for my quest, I used a wonderful tutorial by BlogDogBlog on my steek's nicer cousin - the vertical crochet steek. This tutorial was indispensible, and if you ever wish to steek somthing that should be steeked (say a fairisle, or the front of a cardigan - NOT a poncho), I would highly recommend reading it.

All that remained after the steek tutorial was figuring out which stitches to bind together on a fabric with bias. (Again, no pictures - we had limited card space and were staying in a scenic area, so Moxie made it clear that an overabundance of knit photos was verboten.) The short story is that I did it. I steeked diagonally, I cut, the edges disappeared, and everything was beautiful in the world. The fabric held! (I promise to repeat this trick at some point, with photos to boot, for those who are interested. Just not now.) I was elated!

I then set about making a triangular insert which I planned to sew into the void that the steek had created. This, too, was a thing of beauty. Harmoniously designed with a row of double eyelets down the center to mirror the eyelets which run up the front and back of the poncho. I knit two inserts to make sure that I would have enough fabric before I cut the second steek. I did. (Here's where I made my first truly intelligent move. I didn't crochet and cut the second steek. I wanted to be sure that the first side gave the effect I wanted before cutting the yarn into ever smaller pieces.) I sewed the insert into the seam. My sewing was beautiful too. But the seam wasn't. It was just too honking big, and the poncho which should have draped instead clunked out at the side. I can't think of an analogy to let you know what it looked like. You'll just have to trust that it was unweildy and ugly.

My husband, who is often not quite as supportive as I would like when it comes to my knitting, chose this strange juncture to be unusually supportive. He thought that perhaps if both sides were steeked, it would look better. I should just try it and keep moving forward. Also strangely, I took the opportunity to resort to my better judgment. I ignored him completely, despite wanting to believe that he was right, and un-seamed my inserts, frogged my inserts, ripped out my beloved, perfect-except-for-being-too-clunky diagonal crochet steeks, and frogged back to round 25 of the poncho.

I then took the 2 full skeins of Suede that I had left and the longest pieces of yarn from my frogging adventure and knit the full poncho as intended. I used the remaining strands (and there were lots, from the steeking) to fringe it. It's a wonderful, maniacal, harlot poncho and I love it. I'll probably get more wear out of this one silly piece than from all my Alice Starmores put together.

The moral of the story? Ponchos shouldn't have seams, and sometimes intrepid knitting is overrated. How's that for random and imperfect? Project notes to follow.