Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing celebrates the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, introduces the art of knitting, and explains how wool is produced.
photo by ldyck
Lise McLeod, a fibre enthusiast, promotes wool production on Mayne Island. She invites all crafters to participate in Mayne Island's fall fair this August.
Grandma's Knitting Needles Sing
Pearl watched Grandma's knitting needles dance with the yarn,
weaving lines that bent and crossed over each other. The clicking
sounded like music. “Old McDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O. And on his
farm, he had a cow,” Pearl sang.
Grandma sang, “Moo. Moo. Moo.”
Pearl sang about pigs, chickens, horses, dogs, and cats, and then she
said, “Tell me a story, Grandma.”
So Grandma began, “Once upon a time a farmer had a farm.”
“E-I-E-I-O,” Pearl sang.
Grandma's needles went click, click, click. “But this farmer's
name wasn't Old McDonald. Her name was Young Ms. Willetts. And on her
farm, she had a flock of sheep.”
“Baa. Baa. Baa,” Pearl sang.
Grandma's needles went click, click, click.
“What did the sheep eat, Grandma?”
“Green grass.”
“And the green grass grew all around, all around. And the green
grass grew all around,” Pearl sang.
Grandma's needles went click, click, click. “The green grass grew,
and the sheep ate the grass.”
Pearl closed her eyes and saw sheep that looked like fluffy, white
clouds.
“But then the north wind blew,” Grandma said.
Pearl stretched her arms above her head and swayed back and forth.
“Oh-h-h.”
“Yes, just like that,” Grandma said, "and all the leaves on
the trees turned from green to red and yellow and gold.”
“Then all the leaves came tumbling down, tumbling down, tumbling
down. All the leaves came tumbling down. High-ho-the-dairy-oh,"
Pearl sang.
Grandma's needles went click, click, click. “The trees stood bare,
and snow came to cover the ground.”
“What did the sheep eat then, poor things?” Pearl looked
worried.
“Young Ms. Willetts fed them lots and lots of grain.”
“Were the sheep cold?”
“Oh, no. They had warm winter coats.”
Pearl closed her eyes and saw the sheep. Some of them wore purple
parkas; others wore blue snowsuits. One even had a pink toque and
four striped mittens. All of the sheep looked toasty warm.
“Winter didn't last long. Soon the birds started to sing and the
sun smiled on the farm.”
“And the sheep got warmer and warmer,” Pearl said.
“Until they got too warm. Then young Ms. Willetts phoned her
friend the sheep shearer. He came with big razors.”
“Like Daddy uses to shave?”
“Like your daddy uses to shave. And the sheep shearer shaved off
all the sheep's winter coats. And after their coats were picked clean
of grass, twigs, and dirt, they were washed and made into...”
“Into? Into what?”
The knitting needles stopped clicking, and Grandma whispered, “Into wool.”
“Into wool,” Pearl sang.
Grandma put her knitting on the coffee table. “I bought the wool.”
She dug through her knitting basket, pushing aside needles, yarn, and
other odds and ends. “I knit the wool.” Grandma smiled and hid
something in her hand. “And I made something special...” Grandma
slipped something into Pearl's hand. “For you.”
The something wasn't pink, blue, or purple. It had two black eyes,
one black nose, and two floppy brown ears.
Pearl hugged Grandma, put the something on her finger, and sang,
“Baa. Baa. Baa.”
Photo by Byron
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