Gwen Bjarnson recounts her journey to become a knitwear designer --the ups, the downs, the heartaches, the romance. This story was inspired by my eight-year career in knitwear design.
Chapter One
I lead my twenty-something visitor—what was her name... Oh, yes, Kyla. I lead Kyla up the stairs and into my attic craft room. Shelves held wicker baskets containing my yarn stash—organized by colour and fibre.
Kyla stopped in front of the bulletin board. “It’s so cute!” She said of a collection of sketches I’d done for a baby sweater.
“Thank you.” I left the hardwood floor, stepped onto the braided rug and eased into one of the cozy knitting chairs by the window. Snowdrops, crocus and a Yoshino cherry tree promised an early Spring. In the distance, bleating ewes called to their exploring lambs.
Under the window was a basket full of yarn. My sketchbook was on the table beside my chair. I picked up the book and a folded piece of paper tumbled out. Unfolded, it was a hard copy of Kyla’s email requesting an interview—not an uncommon request. I flipped to the notes I jotted down in preparation for the interview. My memory wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. Hopefully, the notes will help.
“I trust you had little trouble finding our farm.”
Still absorbed in the sketches, she answered without looking away. “No, I mean yes. I mean, I didn’t have any trouble. Your directions helped a lot. And thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mrs... Ms. Bar... Ms. Bara...”
My Icelandic surname rested awkwardly on some tongues. “B-jarn-son, but please call me Gwen.” I lifted the hand-painted ceramic teapot off the hotplate and poured myself a cup. “Would you like to join me in a cup? It’s a Peppermint blend.”
She sank into the other knitting chair. “Oh, my favourite. Thank you, Gwen.” She giggled, nervously and I wondered if she were star-struck as only a knitter could be.
I poured her a cup. In hopes of helping her relax, I told her about the twin lambs that had been born early one morning a couple of days ago. We continued to chat until she said, “I’m trying to get into the University. I want to take journalism. I want to work for a knitting magazine. You might not think that that’s smart because... Well, who reads magazines anymore? But they’re not gone. They’re just all online. I’ve had a blog for years. I love blogging and that’s why I thought—. Oh, I’m talking too much. That’s because I’m nervous. Not of you. You’ve been great—really trying to help me stay calm. But I can’t help it. I mean you’re you. Anyway... To get into university, into journalism... For my application, they want me to interview one of my heroes. I’m a knitter that’s what I love to do and well... Canadian knitwear designers are my heroes. And I don’t think you guys get enough credit. I mean what you do day after day is amazing. I mean all those ideas... Weaving straw into gold, like in the fairy tale. And of all the knitwear designers, you’re my favourite. I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’ve knit every one of your patterns. This is yours.”
That surprised me. Her cardigan didn’t look familiar and I hoped that I hadn’t forgotten it.
“It’s yours but I used a larger needle and added Stockinette stitch cuffs and I didn’t put the I-cord around the neck. I rolled the cord to make this button.” She unbuttoned and removed her cardigan so I could have a closer look. “And I even used your hand-dyed worsted weight lamb’s wool yarn. I hope you don’t mind me changing your pattern.”
Of course, I couldn’t tell her how relieved I was that I hadn’t had a senior moment. So I said, “Mind? Not in the slightest. Your cardigan is lovely.” I wanted to add that she should think about knitwear design as a career, but I didn’t want her to begin to doubt her plans. So instead I asked, “What’s your favourite knitting magazine?”
With a trembling hand, she reached into the worn leather satchel that she'd set beside her on the chair and pulled out an old copy of Needles and Yarn. “I’ve had this since I was a kid—ever since I knew that that’s where I wanted to work. Way back, I wanted to see my name in print, on a page. But now, they’re online. So my name will be on a screen, instead. Which is just as good. And I was thinking if I do a really good job. I mean if this interview is so good that I get into university then maybe I could send it to Needles and Yarn. You know let them know I’m coming.”
She was so charming, so full of life, that I couldn’t help myself. I got that feeling older women sometimes get when younger women request their assistance—perhaps it is kin to the mothering instinct. Just like that her goal became mine. I was determined to help her launch a career in journalism. “What questions would you like me to address?”
“Tell me everything. Like who taught you to knit, how you began to design, what influenced you, key people in your life, like that.”
And so I began my tale...
Have you been interviewed? What was the topic?
