We're Back!

Hello Everyone,

Well, we're back after a bit of a blog break. I'm your co-host, Spike Gillespie. If you read earlier posts, you'll see that I was lucky enough to have attended last September's Monhegan Island Knitting and Yoga Retreat with Knitting and Yoga Adventures and I kept a daily online journal of all the fun we had. That was the trip of a lifetime and I can't wait to go again next September. We're heading out on September 20, 2009 and will knit and stretch to our hearts' content for a week. You really, really ought to join us. The yarn, the food, the company, and the view are all exquisite.

Lisa has already cooked up some excellent plans for us. And the cool thing is, you can do as much or as little as you like. I still think one of my favorite moments was, during our get acquainted session, when Lisa reminded us that we do NOT have to make our beds or clean our rooms. Not that I had any plans to do that, but still, it was nice to be officially  let off the hook. And that's the cool thing about the retreat-- you can, if you choose to, pack your days with hiking and knitting and yoga and massage. Or you can just sit on the big porch and stare out at the water. There's no pressure, just a lovely time where you can indulge in your knitting passion without having to stop and explain yourself. Everyone's on the same page. Boy did we make some beautiful stuff last year.

Here's some of what's in store for this year's retreat:

Susan will teach… two classes in textured and lace knitting featuring yarns from her Nashua Handknits line of yarns. Her classes take basic techniques and teach how to use them in new and an infinite variety of combinations to create your own unique project.

Lisa will lead… a workshop on Intarsia color knitting. She will lead you through this seemingly difficult technique step-by-step with a simple project.

Melora will lead… two daily yoga sessions, suitable for all levels of students. The morning class will flow with a theme woven through the postures, helping us understand movement and alignment, enjoying the freedom and radiance generated by an active practice.  Afternoon class will include therapeutic yoga to help those with injuries, stretches to relieve fatigue from hiking or knitting, and deeply restorative poses to relax and de-stress.

Mary Alice will… treat every one of us to an hour long full body massage. As only a truly experienced and intuitive body worker can, she will relieve you of tension, aches and pains with sensitivity and care.

Patty will… lead our daily island walks guided by the experience, abilities, and desires of those joining her. Her enthusiasm, humor, and smile are contagious!

Sure hope you can make it. Registration information is right here. And remember-- Early Bird registrants and members of Rowan International get a discount.

Alas-- We Couldn't Stay Forever

Posted by Spike Gillespie

And so it came to pass (sigh) that it was time to pack up our needles and our mats and head back home. Though let me backtrack and say that on Friday night, post-lobster, we had a great surprise Awards Event thanks to Louise, Gina and Brenda and everyone was a winner and we all won the same thing—a lovely ball of yarn. Then, post awards, we had a great Show & Tell, where we demonstrated what a skilled and speedy bunch we are. And then some of us, because we could not resist, broke off and went into the knitting room (which the birders had referred to as, “Oh look! They have a children’s room!”) to watch the first presidential debate.

I stayed up very late, bound and determined to finish my bag, which I did. I can no longer remember for certain, but I do think I broke down and packed Friday night, even though I wanted to put it off til Saturday morning. How I managed to cram in all my new acquisitions—even with the help of my new bag—is beyond me. Boy did I accumulate a lot on this trip, every single bit of it most welcome.

Saturday morning found us contemplating what breakfast items might be most likely to stay down on the predicted-bumpy-ferry-ride-back. Or at least would look the least unattractive down the fronts of ourselves, should hurling become unavoidable. My waitress recommended the raspberry muffin, and I concurred. To my great joy, I looked up and noted Alarmist Bird Man, yes, back in the lobby and, yes, back on the phone.

Feigning Important Business out by the front desk, I went to eavesdrop, eager to hear his latest prediction that we were all heading to Davy Jones’ locker in short order. Then, talk about luck, I discovered he’d actually be on the Laura B. with us as we headed back.

Our beloved Holden hauled our not insignificant mountain of collected luggage down to the dock in his truck, as we hoofed it behind him. We waited for the boat to unload sundry supplies for the islanders and then—all aboard.

Okay, okay, much as I hate to admit it here, Alarmist Bird Man was, if not entirely correct, somewhat accurate in his predictions that we were going to be riding rough waves on the way in. I suppose we could call it a Swell Time, but really, I prefer the word “swell” when it is used as an adjective, not a noun. Up we rode and back down again. Everyone got very quiet—even ABM. I kept telling myself something along the lines of what I told myself that time I rode a horse along a dangerous mountain cliff in Mexico. South of the Border my mantra to stave off fear had been: This horse wants to get home. This horse will get me home. Up north in the Atlantic, I reminded myself the boat wants to get back. The boat will get back.

[The Patty Duke Show 2008]
And get back, it did, living up to the title of the newspaper article I saw hanging on the cabin wall: The Venerable Laura B (though I confess at one point I thought it said The Vulnerable Laura B). Only one of us tossed cookies (I’m not saying who). And I don’t know about the rest of the gang, but my stomach was wobbly much of the rest of the day.


[This place needs to be outlawed.]
I did find some calm when we stopped at Halcyon Yarn in Bath, where I loaded up on notions, a pair of needles, and some irresistible Noro sock yarn. I also, despite my stomach’s poor attitude, filled up on a crab roll from Day’s, a shack on the way back to Portland. Oh that was a fine, fine meal. (And for the record, I did gain five pounds on the trip—Damn you, Holden and your whoopee pies, too!)


[Day's Shack-o-Crab-and-Lobster-Rolls]

Those of us who hadn’t parted ways in Port Clyde said our farewells and went our separate ways. For my part, I rented a car at the airport and headed a couple of hours north to visit an old boyfriend I’d dated for about five minutes back in the eighties. His wife is a serious knitter and she’s getting ready to teach her two little kids to knit, too. The kids were so cute, and so fascinated with my stitch markers and mini-Chaka-Chaka that we invented a little math game: use the clicker to count the markers. This is the kind of homeschooling I can get behind. [I can't believe I at the whole thing.]

I’m writing this on Friday, just about a week after my return. I just got back from my personal den of sin, Hill Country Weavers (don’t let the name fool you—the place is packed with yarn) where I found myself breathlessly telling Suzanne, the owner, all about our most unforgettable journey. I’ve been on countless trips in my life, and to roughly eighty bazillion parties and I have to say that the knitting and yoga adventure easily lands at the top of the list. Can’t wait to see you all next year.

Anyplace is Walking Distance (If You Have the Time)

Posted by Spike Gillespie

I’m a bit late posting about days four and five, for which I apologize. I was so busy having fun and finishing up my Fair Isle bag that the blogging got waylaid and then, lo, it was already time to head back to the Maine-land. And then home. And then, as is always the case post-vacation, I had to hit the ground running hard to try to catch up with work. But a week on Monhegan was totally worth the mountain of tasks I found waiting for me.

A brief recap of Thursday and Friday then, and some more great pictures.

Thursday, our fourth full day, we started out with a short hike and then just sat and watched the water. I’ve sat many times in my life contemplating many bodies of water. I have seen the glorious sun dance every which way off of the surface of oceans, rivers and lakes. And still, I have to say I have never seen such a spectacular performance as the one provided Thursday morning by thousands of flashes of light chasing each other all over the place. Reminded me of nature’s version of some neon sign in Vegas, where the bulbs light up in rows and give the effect of mesmerizing motion. I could’ve sat there all day.

Except…

Except for the fact that more yoga with Melora awaited us back at Monhegan house. And then more Fair Isle and intarsia lessons (I confess I continued to avoid intarsia, but I swear I’ll learn it soon). Oh, and there was the thirty minute boat ride around the island, some lessons in Monhegan history, and more breathtaking views.


[cemetery]

For my alone time—I squeezed in a little—I walked up to the cemetery and noted (or at least thought I noted) that an awful lot of the folks buried there had lived a very long time, even by today’s standards, but most especially considering some were born in the 1700’s and 1800’s. I wondered if island life promoted longevity or if the truth was that only the most stubborn, death-defying residents stuck around on the island til the end while the younger, weaker ones went back to the mainland. Another theory someone suggested later to me was simply that it was the headstones of the very oldest that caught my eye by virtue of the fact they’d lived so long. I’m sticking with my theory that island life makes one want to hang around longer.

I bought a new bag at The Black Duck Emporium, because as all knitters know, knitting is merely an excuse to be a bag addict. All those sweaters, scarves, hats, shawls, mittens, and socks knitted? Just a front for what we really crave: more bags! More bags in which to carry more yarn and notions and half-finished projects! I got one of those heavy-duty vinyl jobbies with a lady from the fifties on it and the slogan: My Garden Kicks Ass.


[sunset at Lobster Cove]

Holden, in his ongoing quest to train us to eat too much at tea time, busted out two more heaping platters of homemade treats, this time: biscotti, lemon bars, and still more whoopie pies (including pumpkin). We had a sunset picnic at Lobster Cove, loving the view and lamenting that the end was near. I even contemplated packing that night, but instead said to hell with that, I’d rather be at the Evening Knitting and Comedy Hour.

Friday we were blessed with weather just inclement enough to coax most to stay inside all day and knit. And knit. And knit. I knitted my fingers off and by midnight managed to finish my Fair Isle bag, perhaps my greatest knitting achievement to date both due to how tricky it was and the fact I finished a project so quickly. I would like to make fifty more, only maybe in solids or stripes. But the fact that I learned how to read charts was, to me, more spectacular than if, say, I had figured out physics and chemistry.

Alarmist Bird Man entered our lives at some point—was it Thursday or Friday? A birder in need of a phone, he chose the Monhegan House as headquarters for his countless phone calls out to check the weather. A rare hurricane-landing-in-Maine was predicted for the weekend—the first hurricane warning in seventeen years. Alarmist Bird Man loudly yelled into the horn that if we all didn’t hop the ferry back immediately we’d wind up singing the theme song from Poseidon Adventure together. Initially, I started to buy into his panic and wondered if I should leave right away. Then I thought better of it—so what if I got stuck on the island for another week of cookies and yarn?

Friday dinner was lobster and a group of birders—oh there were so many on the island—came to Monhegan House to eat. At one point, they were in the common area and I was on the staircase and they didn’t see me so they felt fine going on about what geeks we knitters were and how we were going to get all rowdy. This they said very sarcastically, seeing as they clearly hadn’t heard about our nighttime knits and thus could not know that we were, in fact, the definition of rowdy. Ha. Nothing like two groups of clashing aficionados in one building—Knit Knerds vs. Beak Geeks!

And before I forget, let me say the title of this post comes courtesy of Bob, who was our lovely, rusty-haired waiter both in the Monhegan House dining room and over at the Novelty. A lot of folks on the island seem to work multiple jobs (or else they all have identical twins) so we ran into them in various capacities. Turns out Bob is also a chef, and a fine one at that. He summers on Monhegan and winters in Belize and he was the one to let me know that if I could just figure out how to slow down then really, I could get anywhere in good time. Lovely advice, but nothing I could apply to that Fair Isle bag—I just had to get it finished.

Here are some pics:

[Three Cheers for our Fearless Leader!]


[knitting with a view]


[better on the rocker than off the rocker]


[Isle Of View-- say that fast, out loud, three times. Hint: I love you, too!]


[collective creativity]

Take a Hike

[Lunch at the Novelty]

Posted by Spike Gillespie

Day Three: Wednesday, September 24, 2008

The one-two knitting/yoga combo was plenty enough to draw me to Monhegan Island. Because I’m one of those travelers who rarely researches my destination in advance, I had no idea how wonderful the hiking would be here. The trails are abundant (relatively speaking—this is just a speck of an island) and there is no such thing as a bad view.

On Wednesday, those of us interested in hiking around the entire island were invited to join our beloved Benevolent Alpha, Patty, as we set out for a three-hour tour (sounds like Gilligan’s Island, right?). Seven of us decided that sounded like an excellent idea and off we went.

I have no sense of direction. I mean none. I recently got lost in a Home Depot. I also have a surgically restructured foot I have to be vigilant about. So for me a long hike means, among other things, trusting others to guide me as I spend most of the time looking down to avoid rocks and roots. Which means I miss all landmarks (and some nice views). The nice part about being so clueless is that I am politely left out of decision-making—do we turn this way or that?


The seven of us eventually drifted into three smaller groups—the power hikers, the mid-speed hikers, and the take-it-easy hikers. I was with Louise and Sandra, two very seasoned trekkers so I could just cheerfully plod along like a little kid. We’d stop and check the map from time to time to be certain we were still on the trail. I took their word for it and they did not lead me astray.

Still more glorious cliff views awaited us. There were a couple of bumpy patches along the way—not exactly strenuous but enough to make you feel like you were hiking rather than simply taking a long walk. At one point, we sat upon some rocks and looked out at the still Atlantic. And then—me and my knitting obsession—I looked down at the mitten I’d brought along to work on and heard a splash and, too late, looked up to see an enormous splash ring but no whale, though from the size of that ring it had to have been.


[No, really, there was a WHALE there a minute ago!]

Or maybe it was a shark! Because a little while later, we encountered some folks who swore they’d seen an enormous basking shark. We never spotted Jaws, but we did see a pod of dolphin surface a couple of times. In the end, we made it almost but not quite around the entire perimeter of Monhegan. We had to take a last minute shortcut back to Monhegan House when we realized not heading back would mean being late for lace class.

And you do not want to be late for lace class. I think what has been most satisfying of all on this trip filled with dawn-to-dusk satisfying experiences is how much I’m learning in knitting. When I read the excellent book, The Knitting Sutra, I wanted to become a master knitter. I fantasized about going off to some school in Scotland and scrubbing floors in exchange for learning intricate techniques. Then the book ended and I went back to stockinette sweaters and hats in the round, usually letting variegated yarn suggest to the uninitiated that somehow I had incorporated something complex into my needlework.


[Charting our future.]

I just found charts too daunting. But Lisa and Susan have this attitude—they come into the room assuming that of course we’ll be able to do this or that. Then, without over-explanation, they give us just enough to get going and then answer questions as they arrive. This is a teaching technique I really appreciate since, left to my own devices, I have a tendency to over-analyze and ask way too many questions upfront, instead of simply trying out an assignment.

So, as much as a loudmouth like me can be quiet, I got quiet and settled in to figuring out how to follow a lace pattern. And I got it. I really, really got it. Do I think I’ll be making a lot of lace from here on out? Considering my fashion sense is on par with a truck driver most days, probably not. But to me, learning these techniques is akin to knowing some extra fancy vocabulary words you can whip out now and then either at cocktail parties or during Scrabble: nice to have at one’s disposal.


[Homemade S'mores!]
Holden brought us homemade s’mores (I mean, they made the marshmallows for crying out loud), and jam filled pinwheels to tide us over until our pizza buffet dinner, which we concluded with ginger ice cream that I think should probably be outlawed.
[All Hail Holden-- Manservant and Cookie God!]

Then we settled into a nightly routine we established whereby Eva and I—who are sort of like Patty Duke and her “identical cousin” (you know, the one she is polar opposite of)—hurt the others simply by innocently sharing accounts of our families and careers. By “hurt” I mean the laughter of disbelief reaches a point where people pull muscles and Melora has her work cut out for her for the next day’s restorative yoga sessions.

Evening knit is such a fun part of the week. In my day job back in Austin, I work for LaunchPad Coworking where we promote the idea that independent workers that work around each other work more productively and get great ideas from collaborating. That’s how it is for us here on the island, too. So far, we’ve come up with numerous entrepreneurial ideas and a whole array of movie titles and bumper sticker slogans: The Termiknitter (starring Eva as a knitter who can do intarsia with one hand behind her back); Nobody Said Life Was Going to be Fair Isle!; and a new kind of retreat: Knitting and Synchronized Swimming, which Lisa has yet to fully commit to. But we’re working on her.

Oh Marmee! This Trip is The Very Best!

[Fairy House in Cathedral Woods photo by Patty Bright]
Posted by Spike Gillespie

Day Two: Tuesday, September 23, 2008

As I was saying in my first post, coming to Monhegan Island has far exceeded any expectations I had and, I confess, though I strive to have no/low expectations in general—come on: how not to get excited at the prospect of an island getaway?

There are certain places I’ve been in my vast and random travels that evoke what I like to refer to as “memories of other people’s happy childhoods.” By which I mean there is some fantasy element realized, as if you really did walk into and become a character in a favorite book. So, for instance, in my case, walking into an old house and finding a fire in the fireplace might trigger such a strong visceral reaction steeped in deja vu that I wouldn’t just be thinking, “Wow, this reminds me of Marmee and the girls knitting socks for Father and the other soldiers!” Instead, I’d feel like I was actually there, chatting with Jo and Meg and Amy and, if she wasn’t feeling too weak, little Beth, too.

Whoa, wait. Stop. Rewind. I’m realizing that trying to describe being here is a bit like trying to describe a dream to some reluctant, captive audience breakfast companion before she’s had her coffee. Forgive me for fumblingly trying to put into words my ongoing delighted awe, but so much of this trip is about feelings, and so many of those feelings run along the spectrum of GOOD: I feel happy! I feel calm! I feel content! I feel I could sit on the porch of Monhegan House and knit for the rest of my life!

So of course I want to share.

I have an idea: how about a brief written recap of the actual events of the day and then I’ll fall back on the old picture-paints-a-thousand-words routine. I’ll post some of the many pictures taken by our fearless co-leader, Patty Bright, who has been shepherding us around all week, leading hikes, and counting heads to make sure none of us have run off with a merman. I call Patty the Benevolent Alpha. No detail escapes her—right down to the lobster cookies she had waiting for us on the van from the airport to the ferry. She’s a great shot with a camera, too, as you shall soon see.

So, okay, the written recap for Tuesday:
Wake up. Eat more delicious food. Head off to the Cathedral Woods, this gorgeous little forest famous for its Fairy Houses. Yes, Fairy Houses. Fans of Andy Goldsworthy already know about the amazing art one can build with found bits of nature. For those of you new to the concept—islanders and tourists alike gather pinecones and needles, twigs, shells, and bits of bark and construct itty-bitty domiciles for the fairies. Some structures are magnificent and Frank Llloyd Wrightish. Others look like they’d more likely be occupied by your slummin’ cousin fairies. As we looked at them, we contemplated fairy strip malls, big box stores, and pre-fab possibilities. But then we set those evil thoughts aside and marched on.

[Sneak Peak Photo: Hiking in Cathedral Woods:]


Then: More breathtaking views of the water at Squeaker Cove. And still more breathtaking views. And then… you get the idea.

Back at Monhegan House we undertook the start of a cool bag project, which involves one of Lisa’s designs (a liner and top trim with drawstring) for which we are knitting the actual bag. We can do either intarsia or Fair Isle. Just looking at the charts made me nervous—I don’t know how to read charts and I only took one Fair Isle class once before and made a bag about the size of a fairy mattress. But I kept telling myself to be quiet, listen, and just take it one stitch at a time. It worked. I actually can (sort of) read a Fair Isle pattern now. I hope to have the bag finished by 2012.


[Mary Alice, our secret relaxation weapon!]

I also had a massage with Mary Alice who—oh lord you know how some people just are natural healers and all you have to do is hear their name and you start feeling better? Well, Mary Alice is like that, only to the nth degree. I hopped right up on the table and struggled to stay awake—I usually sleep through massages—because this felt so extraordinary, so not-of-the-planet, that I wanted to memorize it. Instead, I drifted, and when I came to I felt a bit like Scrooge did when he wakes up on Christmas morning. I felt purged of so much old baggage and ecstatically grateful to be alive. I wanted to throw coins out of my third story window to passing beggar children and tell them to go buy fat ducks or creamy ice cream or whatever they wanted. I tried to express my gratitude to Mary Alice. Much drool came out instead.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention: Holden fed us poppy seed raspberry thumbprint cookies and fresh ginger scones for teatime. We love Holden.

And now, for a bunch of pictures:


[Monhegan Island's "MySpace Page" -- old school style. Community info board.]


[Three year round islanders cross road, refuse to reveal why.]


[Cool Rock Sculpture.]


[Susan using her design skills in the forest being assisted by Lisa and her Landscape Architect background.]


[Lisa "Domi-Knit-Trix" Evans preparing to kick our butts with intarsia.]



[Wait, I did tell you the views were breathtaking, didn't I?

Don't Look at the Clock-- Just Knit and Stretch (and EAT)

Posted by Spike Gillespie

Sunday night at dinner, one of my fellow knitting yogis was sharing a trick she’d learned about how to sleep better at night. Some people, such as myself, are big on checking the clock numerous times during the night, wondering if it’s time to get up yet. I was challenged to not give into that urge and, since I didn’t have to be anywhere too early on Monday, I thought I’d try it.

The technique worked. Monday morning, after resisting clock-checking fifty different times, I finally just got up when I really, truly felt like it. So, around 7 a.m., which meant I had about two hours more than my average seven-hours-per-night.

I trotted down to the dining room and joined a number of the others for some breakfast—I showed restraint and had the oatmeal. Then off we went on a hike out to the cliffs. Though this island is small, there’s no shortage of walking paths and gorgeous overlooks and stop-and-get-the-camera-out-right-this-second moments.

I spent a fairly good amount of time contemplating a seagull that flew down and sat on a rock very close to me. Some people think of seagulls as rodents with wings. Not me. Any encounter with a seagull reminds me of summers growing up on the Atlantic—I find the birds to be intriguing, hilarious and, especially regarding the guy I spent time with, sometimes very majestic.

Then, my time as the Seagull Whisperer drew to a close and we semi-hustled back to Monhegan House for our first yoga session with Melora, who is pinch-hitting for Suzanne on this trip. We’ve got students from all the way across the spectrum – super beginners to intermediates. So we went slow and did a lot of shoulder openers, something knitters can never get enough of.

I learned—or rather was reminded—something about myself in class. I just love being the teacher’s pet, no matter what it takes. So when Melora asked us to all stand the way we “usually” do, I knew she was expecting to see some bad posture. Not wanting to disappoint her, I got out my absolutely worst posture. It worked! I got singled out as Melora worried aloud about my spine and if maybe I had some permanent, chronic condition.

For lunch we were on our own. A number of us went to the Novelty, a great little place out back behind Mohegan House. I had a cup of chowder and split a tuna melt with Patty, our resident hike leader and photographer.

Then, knitting class. It’s crazy how hard we’re relaxing here, moving from chilled out activity A to chilled out activity B and so on until we collapse from relax-austion as I like to call it. Susan Mills, who is here as one of our teachers, is the Creative Director for Nashua Handknits and a totally great designer and she has red hair, which gets her extra bonus points from me. She got us quickly hooked on Nashua Creative Focus worsted-weight with a cool mix-and-match mitten pattern that allowed us to either knit in the round or flat, pointed or rounded tops, and gusseted or after thought thumbs. I had no idea there were so many ways to make a mitten. (I’m doing a periwinkle-for-main-color, no-ribbing, all stockinette, in-the-round pattern with a gusseted thumb and a round top and some splashes of contrasting color courtesy of some variegated Nashua. Oh I can’t believe I’m a smart enough knitter to write a sentence like that last one and ACTUALLY UNDERSTAND IT. Did I mention how much I am loving this trip?)

Post-knitting class, we broke up and scattered, some to more yoga, some for walks, me happily holed up with my keyboard to try to write some of this down. Then off to dinner, not that we needed it since, during knitting class, Monhegan House proprietor Holden had forced upon us about ninety-five different kinds of homemade cookies. Among these were Whoopie Pies, which tasted like a much better version of the Devil Dogs of my youth, and were shaped different and far moister. It was sort of a bad idea to put a Whoopie Pie in my mouth, since now I want to eat them constantly.

But there were no WP’s in sight at dinner. Instead, there was clam chowder—natch—and this salad with goat cheese and maple dressing and nuts and… well let’s just say it made one salad-averse blogger into a leafy convert. Then the entrée, Citrus Seared Salmon on a bed of sweet corn risotto and topped with avocado salsa and a side of dense, homemade bread. Dessert, which I was too Whoopied out to partake in (but which I can assure you, based on my reporting skills and observing my co-yogis was fabulous) was a Chocolate Espresso Pot De Crème.

Then, I am not kidding you, people, MORE knitting. Being here is like… well it’s like you spend 364 days a year vowing to make more time to knit and then, suddenly, here you are, and not only can you knit six hours per day (or more) but it’s highly encouraged and everyone’s doing it. Well, hello… I now know, with certainty, my personal Nirvana.

Welcome to Monhegan Island 2008!

Posted by Spike Gillespie
Hello, everyone. I’m Spike and I’m a knit-a-holic. I also love yoga. I’ve been knitting for about ten years now and I’ve been doing yoga for about nine.
Sometime over the course of the past decade, I transitioned from purple acrylic yarn worked on blue aluminum straight needles to lots of fancy yarn knitted on bamboo, often in the round. I even—after four years of purposefully avoiding it—learned how to purl. Which led me away from my ongoing series of garter-stitch-rectangles to trying knitting patterns. Which led me to knitting books. Which led to a Rowan membership. Which found me the thrilled owner of a Rowan Magazine subscription. Which is what landed a little postcard advertisement in my lap some time ago, one that waxed poetically about an upcoming Knitting and Yoga Adventure.

The first time I heard about Knitting and Yoga Adventures, I got very excited, but set the notion aside—my life was too busy. The next time, I got more excited and checked out the website. Every time I heard from Rowan, I heard about the retreats. I’d drool and wish with all my heart I could attend. Then, one day, through a series of events, I was put in touch with Lisa and Suzanne, who host these retreats. And I asked if they might ever want someone to come and document what goes on—you know, blog posts capturing the fun.

We chatted back and forth over the course of a month or two and decided it would be a good fit for me to join a dozen or so other knitting yogis on the trip to Monhegan Island, which is about ten miles off the coast of Maine. I was so excited for the chance my teeth nearly fell out. And so I began to prepare.

By which I mean, every chance I got, I worked into conversations with friends that I’M GOING TO MAINE FOR A WEEK TO KNIT AND DO YOGA!! My friends were already accustomed to a curious craft-driven travel schedule. I just spent the better part of this summer traveling the country with my photographer/partner Warren as we researched a book on quilting artists. But a week dedicated to stretch my own body and knitting my own projects in an idyllic setting? Everyone was super jealous. (As they should be.)

Finally, the eve of departure day arrived. Warren and I set about nineteen different alarms to be sure I would wake up by 3:30 a.m. My flight was scheduled to leave Austin at 5:30 a.m. Remarkably, I was on time and, even more remarkably, so was the flight. Except for a little power struggle over carry on bags in Atlanta, my connecting flight also went smoothly and was right on time. I landed in Portland, Maine, at 12:20 p.m. Sunday about eight hours after leaving Austin. I was met by several other knitting yogis and we all gathered on the Mermaid Van, driven by the affable Dan, who’s lived in Maine for forty years, and turned his New England accent on HIGH-yeh for our benefit.

Dan got us to Port Clyde in about two hours. At which point we hopped the Elizabeth Ann, a small ferry that took us out to Monhegan Island. Okay, let’s revisit: Up at 3:30. One plane. Another plan. A van. A ferry. And then…

We set foot upon Monhegan Island. Now, I’ll Googled this little isle a bit but mostly when I travel, I like to be surprised. Often I’ll take just a few details—real or imagined—as I embark on a journey and create a story in my head about what my destination will be like. Then, once I arrive, I’m surprised and, once in awhile, disappointed or at least realize my imagination and reality just don’t match up.

NOT true of Monhegan. Being here is one of those instances where everything you hoped for, you find, except it’s a hundred times better than you could’ve guessed. The breathtaking views, the stunning horizon, the chill in the air (enough to let me wear a lot of the 50,000 hand knitted items I brought with me because, being a Texan, usually I only get to look at these things, not wear them). The little houses with the sun and wind faded wood tiles. An itty-bitty library and a one room school house. Cliffs towering over the rocks below. Seagulls as big as lap dogs and nearly as friendly. And a group of fellow knitting enthusiasts who either don’t think I’m nuts for my yarn worship, or who at least recognize we’re all in it together and are happy for the company.

My face hurt from smiling as I sat down to dinner the first night. We’re staying at the Monhegan House a pensionne style hotel/boarding house—quaint little bedrooms with community baths and showers located down the hall. The Monhegan House also has a dining room, and our first dinner was, fittingly, a Thanksgiving Feast. It was a good chance to get to know each other a bit and, though I was tempted to, I did not fall asleep with my face on the plate.

I did sleep like a rock though, nine full hours my first night, nearly a record for me. Ready, as the morning of Day Two, our first full day together, dawned.