First Person
Life With Wool: The Great Textiles Transhumance
Greetings from Maine!
It’s a beautiful, cloudy October afternoon. I’m perched at my desk. OK, one of my desks. I tend to migrate from room to room, like a goose.
This particular desk sits in a loft I carved out of the barn, and it offers an ideal perch from which to survey the changing seasons outside.
The days are getting shorter now, the shadows shifting in shape and intensity and location. There’s no denying that change is afoot. Sweater weather—I mean true sweater weather—is within sight.
For several weeks now, Mother Nature has already been busy swapping her seasonal wardrobe. The perky summer cottons and linens have faded, replaced by trusty tweeds and corduroys.
It’s a crisp and crunchy woolen-spun landscape, with brushed mohair making an appearance on misty mornings.
Our colorway has shifted from jubilant pastels to muted greens and yellows and oranges and golds, tans and burgundies and browns, with an occasional pop of red from the rosehips and sumac leaves. Only the cosmos and zinnias still manage to produce splotches of youthful pink.
Autumn is a landscape you wish you could wear, and I know many knitters have tried, myself included. Every year, I spot a brilliant patch of trees and think, ahhh, if only I could knit that before those leaves lose their color and drop to the ground.
The closest I ever got to knitting autumn was a cranberry red brushed mohair cardigan.
You know how some sweaters seem to take forever? They begin easily enough, but things stall around the second sleeve, and eventually the whole project gets stuffed into a Tote Bag of Obscurity.
But that cranberry red cardigan came off the needles so quickly, it almost seemed to knit itself—as if even it knew it had to hurry up or the leaves would be gone.
Watching the natural world’s costume change reminds me that it’ll soon be time for me to do the same. I put it off as long as possible, not because I don’t like to do it, but because doing so puts an official end to summer.
Inevitably, there comes an October morning when I step outside to refill the bird feeders and am hit with a shock of cold that no amount of linen can protect against. Suddenly the evaporative cooling in those cellulose fibers is not what my body wants.
It wants warmth.
That’s my cue to head upstairs and begin a ritual that takes place in many New England homes about now: transhumance.
While the ancient pastoral practice involves the seasonal movement of livestock, my textiles transhumance is a seasonal movement of textiles. There are two flocks, the summer and winter clothing. During textiles transhumance, they must trade places.
The linens and cottons are gathered and herded up into the highlands of my upper closet shelves, where the heavier woolens have been resting all summer. Now the beloved woolens wake up and clatter down the valley and back to shelves and hangers that are within easy grabbing distance.
Because I am a conscientious shepherd, I perform a welfare check of all my summer clothing, inspecting for stains and tears and loose buttons. Necessary repairs are made, and then everyone gets treated to a nice warm bath.
Once they’re dry, they are lovingly folded and slipped into giant Ziploc bags for safekeeping. “Sweet dreams,” I whisper before pinching each bag shut.
How I hate the plastic. But I’ve had too many surprises to trust my luck to the open air anymore. The bags are my insurance against the slings and arrows of coexisting with creatures who long to host picnics in my clothing, whether wool or cellulose.
To live with natural fibers is to live with everyone else who likes living with, and feasting on, natural fibers.
One bag becomes two becomes three, until they’re all full and lined up by the closet door. I glance up into the closet highlands, where four equally large plastic bags of the heavy woolens have been patiently snoozing all summer.
It’s time for them to awaken from their slumber and make the journey south, back into my arms. One by one, down they come.
It’s a joyous moment, being reunited with my old friends like this. They’re all right where I left them, those thick wool tops and tunics and leggings and skirts and dresses and cardigans and pullovers I haven’t seen in such a long time. I see colors and textures that match the landscape. I even see…can it be? Yes! That cranberry red brushed mohair cardigan, my wearable autumn.
“Ahem,” comes a voice from the floor. My bags of summer are impatient to make their final push. I apologize and hoist them, one by one, high up into the closet highlands, into the very space vacated just moments ago. With a sigh, they relax into place and are soon sound asleep.
Meanwhile, the woolens, now wide awake, have been restored to their rightful place on the hangers and shelves. Another year, another successful transhumance.
Now, sufficiently wrapped in autumn, I’m ready to greet the world—and fill those birdfeeders.
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I’m a big admirer of Clara Parkes and her daily emails and other publications. “The Daily Respite” is right up there with MDK as my first good experiences of the new day. There are times I claim to “hate” email, but I wouldn’t want to live without these two wonderful daily guides. Many thanks, Clara and MDK!
I am in total agreement with you.
Such a calming way to begin each day.
Here in the Midwest we are experiencing an amazingly warm autumn.
Linen can still be worn most of the day, maybe a sweater in the early morning and evening.
Goodness, thank you Ginny. ❤️
Wow, your seasons must be so neat and predictable! It’s not like that here in Scotland. Thin cotton dresses and thick woollies can both be needed at any time of year.
I suspect that is true for the whole of the UK. Although I have put away the linen clothes until next year.
Your writing prose is magnificent. I can SEE and HEAR and FEEL your descriptions. Thank you ❤️
That was supposed to be… THANK YOU!
Just lovely!
Every morning I wake to find a daily respite message with photo/quote from Clara Parkes along with a little nugget of joy from MDK…a daily ritual that makes me smile and sparks inspiration. Thank you!
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for giving me the name for switching out clothing. I just started this myself. Always enjoy your writing. You give me joy on a daily basis.
Thank you Ruth!
All of my woolens are saying “I HERD you calling my name with cooler weather.” And they are all clamoring to climb out of their boxes and onto the hangers. I love greeting my old friends who keep me snuggly all winter long.
❤️
Love this woman!
I love this. Such a beautiful description of humanly tasks that so many of us do twice yearly, delightful Clara! I so enjoy being a member of your Flock talk group and look forward to the meetings; fun, funny and so much to learn.
Thank you so much, Beth!
What sparkling descriptions and I feel a little better about my collection of zip plastic bags. Thank you.
I had that thought as well.
Those dastardly plastic bags are the seatbelts for our woolens, right?
Thanks, Clara.
What a lovely piece of writing. I really love the ritual you describe of taking care of the repairs of the last season before they go to sleep. At my house I have called it The Switching of the Bins. Until now! And my collected special leaves, the ones I had saved to make a watercolor palette but didn’t, fall out of books whenever I read.
Switching of the Bins, I love it!
Great piece. I just did that. And your first picture of the green and red leaves got me to rush to my knitting basket to take a picture of a color block sweater I am knitting with those exact colors – only I didn’t realize why I loved them together so much. I wish I could send you the photo.
I can totally see it in my mind’s eye!
I just want to curl up with my mid-fifties children and read them this perfect bedtime story tonight, kiss them goodnight, turn out the light.
Can I listen too? ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for such a delightful read. You captured the changing of seasons perfectly.
What a beautiful journey and thanks for the name! I too have lived by this ritual for years, not only with clothing but textiles as I am also a seamstress. So, the joy of reuniting with old friends is compounded with the thrill and wonder of “Will this be the year your yardage takes shape into something fabulous?” Thanks again, Clara.
I’ve been doing this switch for several years, and I live in Los Angeles! I could almost wear the same clothes, with proper layering, all year round, but where’s the fun in that. Or a sense of the change in seasons. I moved to LA when I was 13 and never stopped loving a real autumn best. Plus they are my favorite colors. We’ll have some 80 degree weather this week so I may hold off till mid-week to make the switch. Thank you for giving a name to the ritual. Lovely writing.
Absolutely stunning. Such beautiful writing.
It’s lovely and a bit humorous to have this romantic take on what I see as a dreary seasonal chore: switching summer and winter clothes. O, if only I had the large beshelved closet Clara uses for storage!
Alas, I have only large black plastic garbage bags of woolens and fleece to haul out of the depths of my one bedroom closet, only to be replaced by this year’s large black plastic garbage bags of cottons and linens. (I, too, learned the value of plastic after I found a cache of spider eggs lurking in the folds of a cotton sweatshirt left too long on a shelf.)
Not romantic and annoyingly labor-intensive, the annual shift finally arrives as Texas prolongs its summer yet another week.
Lovely article. I am just about to embark on the same journey of switching summer/winter clothes and I will think of you. And I will begin following your Daily Respite writing as well.
How picturesque! Today I am in thr woods and see all of these colors.
Clara, your writing captures the exact essence and mood of the seasons. I enjoy it each morning as an introduction to my morning meditation. Thank you!!!
Thank you Ginger!
I live in San Francisco where our summers are notoriously cold so I keep my woolies out all year, missing this seasonal ritual. Your writing makes me long for those transitions which I experienced growing up in the Midwest. I just signed up for your daily respite, desperately needing relief from the troubling news.
Thanks for a lovely column that resonates perfectly with those of us who tolerate the end of summer only because it allows us to resume our passionate affair with Wooly Things.
And thank you especially for adding a perfect new phrase and acronym to this knitter’s vocabulary — the Tote Bag of Obscurity!!
My TOBOO overfloweth, but at least it now has a name.
I love your writing, Clara – thank you!
Wish I could do that. But alas, days here, right now, swing from the low 50s to the high 80s. You never know when the short sleeves will need to come back out! It is time, though, for the annual breaking out of the small neckwarmy knits – perfect for keeping the back of the neck toasty when it’s chilly.
What a fun and enjoyable read! I’ll never look at my annual clothing swap the same way.
I, too, enjoy the Daily Respite along with MDK every morning.
I have not completed my transhumance, but I need to get on it as we have snow in northern Alberta as of last night! Fall is always such a busy time getting the outdoors ready that I am sometimes late with the indoor readiness, and this fall we inadvertently scared away a feral mother cat (we didn’t know she was there) while moving hay bales, so I am raising 5 kittens! Thank goodness we have an extra bedroom for them (my daughter’s, who left for university just 10 days before we found them) (she’s happy to share). An exhausting, time consuming, but completely wonderful experience! I’m sorry for the mama, but we have raised them all successfully and they are very busy, happy, healthy little boy kitties 🙂 Living in the north, I never put all my woolies away anyway 🙂
How lovely of you
The days of winter mornings and summer afternoons are here so it will be a few weeks before a total switch over to warmer clothes!
What a lovely article! I did The Switch yesterday and am glad it is done. Now the temps are predicted to rise again; I live in southern Ontario and fall is a beautiful season but unpredictable too. Funnily enough, it is reassuring to see that even Clara Parkes uses ziplock bags to protect woollens.
Yes, we must all live together! On another note, can anyone identify that lovely green yarn in the first photo? The minute I saw it, I thought, “I must have a sweater in that color!”
Although we never switch our clothing here in San Diego, CA, and rarely need or use wool, other than a cardigan, I very much enjoyed reading this lovely piece of writing. Your biannual ritual came alive for me and reminded me that, while we don’t have true cold here, cooler sweater days are coming. Looking forward to wearing my cardigans again!
I’m also a Clara fan, I’ve read all of your books and subscribe to your Wool newsletter and your daily respite. Always love your writing, thank you and thank you for giving us a daily smile during the pandemic!
Goodness – thanks for being along for the journey, Cheryl!
I also do a transhumance. Except I call it “the big clothing switcheroo.” I used to love doing it not only for myself, but for my children. My children are almost grown now, so there is no longer an element of seeing what hand-me-downs from older sibs may fit, or what things that seemed to have plenty of growing room last season they have spurted right past, leaving them ready for the donation pile. We do have a bit of fun deciding which items they don’t plan to wear again -and I’m a bit more liberal with saying goodbye now that so much of what they wear is thrifted. The youth are very into thrifting these days- and if we’ve paid by the pound for something that they no longer want – it can travel on its path to circularity without much of a pang.
Thrilled to now have a term for my ‘from top of the cupboard and from under the bed” changeover!
Of course, down here in Tasmania I’m about to pack away (most of) the woolies and bring out the warmer weather clothing. After 40 years of knitting and minimal discarding, I give myself the challenge of wearing at least once during winter all of my woolies. Alas I failed again – like your cranberry cardigan, a few favourites dominate (Kaffe, Brandon, Tincan …. ).
The good news is I’ve now also been knitting summer cotton and linen tops, so I can set myself to succeed on rotating through them!
Oh Clara, this is lovely. I’m not quite ready for the transhumance of the closet, but I do have a large stash of plastic bags at the ready. I bought a box of 2 gallon zip bags from my LYS when they closed. All knits live in plastic, inside plastic bins. We’re not messing around.
Someday when there is just not much to say, I would love to see a snapshot of your oft worn sweaters, please.
Clara, do you have a transhumance practice for the twist flavor ice cream cones?
Just when I’m ready to do the same things you did, we got an 82° day…
This is the most amazing piece of writing I have read in a long time and perfectly describes the transition from summer to winter. Changing over wardrobe contents is a job I hate and I always mean to pass on some clothes, but the number that leave me for another home are never as many as I had planned. And I am knitting all year round so the sweaters and scarves and shawls all multiply anyway. Enjoy the winter rest experience, everyone, and be grateful for the changing seasons as they put life into perspective. The renewal of Spring will soon be with us.
I started to read this and after a few paragraphs went back to the beginning and read it aloud (to myself). You are an inspiration and also the kick in the pants I needed to properly switch my summer/winter clothes. In Southern Ontario we have had a mix of weather to say the least. I brought the sweater bins down from the attic (are bins enough? Or should they also be in plastic bags inside the bins?) and left them in the hallway, where I dip into them as needed. Now I want to do a proper transhumance! Thank you Clara!
Beautiful essay and a gentle reminder that despite the crazy world we live in, the seasons change and all around us life does go on. I needed these thoughts today.
Clara, I live in a 700 sq ft condo in the NW part of the US. I loved reading your article because it was a complete echo of my own life – right down to the dreadful plastic bags. I am an ardent reuser so my plastic is saved t-paper bags from the Costco rolls. It means my closet bags don’t look as sweet as yours but nevertheless transmucence happens!
Oh my goodness! There’s a name for this ritual? Good to know. I’ve been planning my clothing migration for a few weeks, but here in Southern California it’s still in the 80s this week. Sheesh. We had a lovely chilly week in the 60s and then BOOM! back into the 80s. My winter clothes are patiently waiting in large bins to be moved back to cupboards, closets and drawers. Thanks for giving a name to my twice a year ritual. It makes it more fun!! In the meantime, I’m looking forward to my first day in a sweater this fall. Sigh…
I LOVE this! I do the same thing every fall, albeit much later that you since I live in the south. Even though the tasks take most of the day, it is something I look forward to once a year. I love seeing my winter and warm clothes come out of hibernation. Thank you for reminding me it’s almost time!
I do the same thing, but call my process OCC–“Operation: Closet Converson”. Mine involve all the summer wear–t-shirts, lightweight pants. I have no summer sweaters, but out come all the long sleeves, corduroy and heavier pants! I love this time of year. During the days of some cool-some warm, I’ll troll my tote for Team Spirit day at work. I’ll leave 1 or 2 t-shirts out for the occasional warm day or for layering, but I love having the flannel and long sleeves out! Happy fall, y’all!
I, too, do this twice a year. This year, I’ve lost a lot of weight, so the summer clothes had to be gone through to get rid of things that no longer fit. And I took the time to get rid of some of the winter clothes that no longer fit. The good thing is that now everything fits in drawers and on hangers (in my closet and not in the other 3 I have in the house!).
Huge Clara fan (and fellow Respiteer!) here – so lovely to have found these pieces on MDK also! This one made me smile because I just went through my own transhumance a few weeks ago (here in the Pacific NW we went from summer to autumn in what felt like a VERY quick transition!) But I confess that while I do love summer, autumn IS my favorite season (however brief it feels!) and it’s wonderful to say hello to wools and cashmeres again. Happy autumn, all!