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So it's the New Year. Hooray. And maybe like us you opened up that closet to put back the decorations and thought, "Do we need all of this? What's in these boxes anyway?" Perhaps your thoughts have now turned to your stash--not your drug stash, or a stash of stolen goods, the word's original meaning when it first entered English usage in 1914. We're talking about your yarn stash. Is it a source of inspiration to you, or an albatross? We are here to help. In typical Bootie and Bossy fashion, we decided the best way to tackle this was first to read about it, and then to talk about it, because you don't want to be too hasty and spring into action too quickly here. So we read A Stash of One's Own: Knitters on Loving, Living with, and Letting Go of Yarn, a wonderful collection of essays edited by Clara Parkes. Because a yarn stash is not just a pile of random string, as Parkes explains, "Yarn holds energy (literally twist), but it also holds energy in the form of memories . . . Every knitter will be able to pick up skein from her stash--any skein--and tell you a complete and compelling story about it" (p. 109). This might be why Stephanie Pearl-McPhee cannot get rid of the ball of yarn her daughters gifted her, even though it’s so pink and shiny it looks exactly like “what you’d get if Barbie and My Little Pony dropped acid and tried to come up with a colorway” (p. 32). As much as your yarn stash is a kind of fiber scrapbook—especially that vacation yarn that’s “all larded up with sentiment and emotion and meaning to the point where you weep slightly when recalling the now defunct yarn shop where you bought it" (Ann Shayne, p. 46)—it’s also connects you to the future. At its core, a stash is a repository of hope, as Anna Maltz explains: "There is a deep optimism in how much we acquire and keep around, and in our belief that we can make and learn from that vast quantity in a single lifetime. Anna Maltz, “Moving Yarn/Portable Stories,” in A Stash of One’s Own, p. 79. For Debbie Stoller, having a stash is also an empowering feminist act: "[A] yarn stash makes a pretty large statement to the world that a woman is planning to spend hours—nay, years—of her life engaging in something that doesn’t promise to make her skinnier or look younger or give her a tighter butt. Something that won’t make her a better mother, or a better wife . . . It announces to the world that she has decided to do something just for herself in pursuit of only one thing: pleasure.” Debbie Stoller, "A Stash of One's Own: Yarn as a Feminist Issue," A Stash of One's Own, p. 180. If your stash inspires and empowers you, great—keep doing what you are doing. If it starts to feel like an albatross, then there’s help for that too. As knitter and social worker Sue Shankle explains, “People have a hard enough time understanding themselves. Expecting others to ‘get’ you (or your love of beautiful yarn) is not always realistic. That’s why you need a posse. People who understand it all, no explanation necessary” (91-2). So make a nice, warm batch of healthy Instant Pot Curry with Chickpeas, Spinach and Tomatoes, and as you contemplate your stash, know that it’s much more than just yarn in a bin—it’s your past and your future, your statement to the world of how you want to spend your time, and we understand that because we are your posse!

What's so great about 1950s America? We admit this is a trick question. It might have been great for men, but at least according to Anne Macdonald in No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, for many women, particularly young mothers, it felt like being "trapped in a squirrel cage" of modern appliance-packed houses that feminist writer Betty Friedan would later describe as "comfortable concentration camps" (p. 323). More women dropped out of college to get the coveted "Mrs" degree and then devoted themselves to cleaning their houses and popping out kids. And they succeeded--the birth rate at the time was close to India's. But they also struggled to meet impossible and opposing expectations, as one woman memorably described it: "I've been married ten years and I still feel my husband expects me to be a combination of Fanny Farmer and Marilyn Monroe." --Quoted in Anne Macdonald, No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, p. 323. With little time and mounting resentment, the 1960s and 70s unsurprisingly ushered in Women's Lib and the era of "Jiffy Knits" with giant needles. No one is knitting for thrift anymore, but knitting still offers cures for the following ailments: nail biting; arthritis (dubbed by one woman as "Mr. Arthur," whom she successfully banished from her hands with knitting every morning); anxiety; agoraphobia; overeating; smoking; impatience and finally boredom, as many knit while waiting in the long lines during the gas shortage. But out of this period emerge the three graces of the knitting world: Mary Walker Phillips, Elizabeth Zimmerman and Barbara Walker. They bring their expertise to the masses, and we all owe them a tremendous debt. As we approach the holiday season, we are grateful to Anne Macdonald for writing No Idle Hands, which has given us so much to talk about and stories to share. So take a moment to make a batch of biscotti, then grab your pointed sticks and settle in for some good stories about finding the bright side of things, stories that have made us smile many times over the years. And join us in declaring this the season of "Cookies for Everyone!"

Listen to this episode and you will never look at handspun yarn in quite the same way. A bold claim, we know, but that’s just one of the many things that Natasha Darius taught us in this interview. We met Natasha at Woolworks, Ltd., in Putnam, Connecticut, where she manages the volunteer-run store, teaches spinning, knits and does 10,000 other things. Growing up Haitian in Scotland, Connecticut, she did not come from a knitting family, but being a self-described old soul with an insatiable curiosity to “know all the things,” she was fascinated by the Afghans made by her friends’ mothers and grandmothers. So she went to the local library (imagine!) and checked out every book on the fiber arts. Thus began her odyssey that would lead to learning to knit and then spin at Yarns with a Twist, a local yarn store in Chaplin, CT. Eventually, she would join “Fleece to Shawl” competitions at local fairs and help others with their knitting projects at Woolworks. But it was her philosophy of spinning that most captivated us, as she explained that every fiber has a personality, an idea of what it wants to be, and each of her 28 spinning wheels has a personality and a story waiting to unfold too. Mix in Natasha’s own personality, and, well, that’s a lot of personality spinning around: "If you are going to pick up spinning, you have to realize that there are moments where your will will not be done. If you want to enjoy the process sometimes you just have to listen to the fiber and let the fiber tell you what it wants to be . . . you can’t control everything. You are not meant to control everything. You do not get the final say of what is a good instinct. You are not the final decision maker on what’s considered beautiful or perfect. Let it do what it wants to do." We can see that philosophy at work in how she approaches teaching spinning too, as she explained that every student has their own language for learning. The teacher’s job is to figure out what that language is by listening and observing. Her favorite part of teaching? Seeing the flicker of understanding that happens right behind her students’ eyes when they get it and all the complexity of spinning falls into place for them. Perhaps most of all, spinning brings Natasha joy—the joy of interacting with the unique personality of each fiber and spinning wheel, and the pride and satisfaction that comes from making something from start to finish: “If you can spin it, you can make something beautiful out of anything . . . I surprise myself all the time.” And then there’s the joy of sharing it with the magical community at Woolworks. As we enter the holiday season, we think sharing Natasha’s story about the joys of learning, making and teaching “all the things” with her local community is what we all need.

Let's go back about 85 years. It's November, 1941, and America is about to enter World War II, when once again we will discover that we are a cold-footed, sockless nation. We have been here before. Think Revolutionary War, then the Civil War, and then World War I. But coming out of the Depression when there was not much money, we have evolved. We are now a nation of knitters--10 million knitters strong according to estimates from the National Dry Goods Association. So when the men pick up their guns, women pick up their needles once again, according to Anne Macdonald in No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting. What's different? This time we have more music to knit by, like Glenn Miller's "Knit One, Purl Two" (you can ask Alexa to play it for you). Emily Post also decides on some rules of etiquette for knitting in public like "Do not wave long or shiny needles about in the air" (Macdonald, p. 304), so if you are doing that, stop it. But more than anything, accounts of knitting at the time speak to how it keeps us calm and connected, and in that way, it's good for everybody, knitters and wearers alike. Handknit garments helped the men at the front because they were "visible evidence that someone at home has been thinking about him--a lot. ... Nothing warms the hearts of the boys away from home like articles knitted by the loving hands of those they hold near and dear." Quoted in Anne L. Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting (New York: Ballantine Books, 1988), p. 294. Knitting also helped the knitter, as writer Jane Cobb explained: Knitters "get satisfaction from the orderly row of stitches falling into patterns of accomplishment. In times like these there are few occupations that have that sort of effect. It is quite possible that women in wartime knit as much for the knitting as for what their knitting accomplished" (quoted in Macdonald, p. 298). So as we enter the season of thanks and perhaps some panic knitting for holiday gifts, stop waving your needles, ask Alexa to play "Knit One, Purl Two," and then take a breath and a moment to enjoy the "orderly row of stitches falling into patterns of accomplishment." Then make our Pecan Pie, and we have no doubt that many hearts will be warmed.

What is it about Rhinebeck?! It's hard to believe that a modest gathering of local shepherds and 4-H Clubs to trade fleece and auction small livestock in 1980 is now a booming event attracting 30,000 people from all over the world. We met so many fascinating fiber folks, including Ting who owns a knitting store in Taiwan and three different knitting groups from Kansas City, in addition to seeing some of our favorite knitting celebs like Adele and Jimmy of Lolabean Yarn, designers Caitlin Hunter, Safiyyah Talley and Zanete, knitting gurus Patty Lyons and Carson Demers, and Gigi in all of her orange glory. We also reconnected with our friend Christina Kading and enjoyed watching her dad demonstrate how to shear a sheep. There's just a great sense of community that magically happens when a bunch of people sporting their handknit sweaters (Andrea Mowry's Ooey Gooey was well represented!) gather on a beautiful fall day on the Dutchess County Fair Grounds. Perhaps Alice Seeger, founder of Belfast Fiber Arts, said it best: "You can make a lot of things when you spin, dye, weave, knit, or crochet . . . But the most important things are the friendships.” Quoted in Laura Bannister's article, "Counting Sheep in Rhinebeck, New York," Vogue, October 24, 2022.

It's the Depression--the Great Depression. The economy is in the toilet, and birth rates, marriage rates, divorce rates are down, but guess what's up? Knitting! This is truly the Renaissance period for knitting according to Anne Macdonald in No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting. The National Dry Goods Association estimated that 1/12th of the population knit, or about 10 million people. Between thrifty necessity, clever yarn companies sponsoring contests and stars like Joan Crawford and Katherine Hepburn taking up the needles on set, "the knitting craze" was the upside to the economic downside of the Depression. But does knitting shut men out? Humorist Ogden Nash devoted some rhymes to the claim that knitting wives left their husbands in a world of bitter silence: "Life will teach you many things, chief of which is that every man who talks to himself isn't necessarily out of his wits; He may have a wife who knits. . . Ah, my inquiring offspring, you must learn that life can be very bitter, But never quite so much so as when trying to pry a word out of a knitter." Ogden Nash, Not Many Years Ago, quoted in Anne Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, p. 277. So we wanted to know, does knitting shut men out? We did extensive research--okay, we asked one man--Bossy's husband. His answer? "I think knitting allows women to tolerate men." He gets a piece of Oreo cake for this answer, specifically Jevin's Victory Oreo Cake. Who says you can't inspire academic achievement with the promise of a special cake? So make this Oreo cake and always remember the power of knitting, as the 1932 Spring issue of McCall's Decorative Arts and Needlework proclaimed, "a gaily becoming sweater blouse always makes us feel like conquering the world."

Bootie and Bossy are popping in to remind you that the deadline of October 7, 2025 for our 50th episode giveaway is fast approaching! We are giving away two Skellie kits (two winners) from the fabulous www.serialknitters.com All you need to do to enter is to sign up for our newsletter on our website: www.bootieandbossy.com That's it! Don't miss out on your chance to win!

We made it to our 50th episode, so what keeps us going? In a word, YOU. From our listeners to invited guests, to family members who helped with tech and made suggestions--to everyone who graced us with their time, support and expertise, we want to say THANK YOU. And that's why we are offering a great giveaway--two of Debie Frable's Skellie Kits will be awarded to two randomly selected subscribers to our newsletter--if you don't subscribe, it's easy to sign up through our website bootieandbossy.com. Please subscribe by October 7th, 2025 to be entered into the drawing. Thank you, Debie, for providing the fabulous Skellie kits! "What is the meaning of life? That was all--a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one." Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse When we first embarked on this great podcast adventure, we had no idea how meaningful it would become, offering us a series of "little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck in the dark," as Virginia Woolf wrote in her novel, To the Lighthouse. Woolf herself was an avid knitter and wrote to her husband in 1912 that "Knitting is the saving of life." Her sister Vanessa Bell even painted a portrait of her knitting quietly in a chair. The opportunity to connect with others, hear their stories and learn tidbits of history (like the whereabouts of Napoleon's penis . . . ) and share our mistakes and missteps as well as those little daily miracles, has propelled us through 50 episodes. Along the way listeners in 44 of the 50 states (time to step up, you knitters in Utah, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Wyoming, Montana and North Dakota!) and in 17 countries abroad have joined us. And a good drink has helped too--try our celebratory Kir Royal--a nice glass of sparkling white wine with a splash of liquor. And then grab your pointed sticks and tune in to hear us reminisce because, well, like Mom setting off to marry Dad, we "thought that would be fun," and frankly, that's as good a reason as any to do anything.

Bare Female Shoulders, Oh My! Flapping through the 1920s in Bootie and Bossy's Episode 49! Why, why, why do men care so much about what women wear? Oh right, because they want to control women, but Irene Castle did not let the condemnation of Pope Pius and other religious leaders stop her from bobbing her hair and baring her shoulders. As a result, Castle was blamed for everything from broken engagements to wrecked homes, according to Anne Macdonald in No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting. But this was the roaring 20s, the era of the Flappers, when women emerged from World War I empowered by new economic opportunity, and they said hello to voting and goodbye to old fashion, especially the corset. Now women were finally free to breath and move, or in Irene Castle's case, dance. Despite the liberation, Flapper fashion had some downsides--like constant dieting to get the boyish figure that looked good in the new, clingy tube knits. With rising hemlines and plunging necklines, it also ushered in the practice of women shaving their armpits and legs. That practice is still with us. Thanks. Everyone was so tired of knitting socks for the war, many turned to more decorative needlework like embroidery, but wool companies fought hard to keep knitting on the national radar by sponsoring contests with top prizes running as high as $2000. And knitting was still known for calming the nerves, as First Lady Grace Coolidge explained while sailing on the Presidential yacht, the Mayflower: "Many a time when I have to hold myself firmly, I have taken up my needle. It might be a sewing needle, knitting needles, or a crochet hook—whatever its form or purposes, it often proved to be the needle of the compass, keeping me to the course." Grace Coolidge, quoted in Macdonald, No Idle Hands, p. 243. It’s not only the knitting that centers us though—the wearing of a beautiful, hand-knit garment brings a special joy, as Bossy recently discovered when wearing the Goldwing sweater that Bootie gifted her after three months of repeated badgering. It was worth it—this is just the best thing, and look, no bare shoulders! Certain popes might even approve--oh wait, we don't care. So join us for some good flapping about knitting then and now, and a great recipe for Vietnamese Chicken, compliments of Michele Lee Bernstein!

Let's set the scene: America at the beginning of the 20th Century, and despite their suffocating corsets that created the prized Gibson Girl physique, women are on the move, literally--they are fishing, biking, golfing, playing tennis and riding in those new automobiles. And there's a war raging between the Suffragists fighting for Women's rights, and the Anti-Suffragists who think it's enough that women are queens of the domestic sphere. What are their weapons? Pointed sticks--specifically knitting needles. According to Anne Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of Knitting, knitting for the Suffragists was exactly the kind of thing keeping women in chains, quiet, silent and occupied in the home. For Haryot Cahoon, a "forward woman" Suffragist, real women don't knit, and it's time to drop all those stitches and do something important: "A vast amount of drudgery is sugar coated with economy . . . If you wish to knit lace because you have more time on your hands than you know what to do with, you are the very one the world needs, with your youth and your energy and your industrious spirit . . . [Don't] puzzle your brain over 'knit one, skip one, purl one, drop one.' Drop them all! That's best!" Haryot Cahoon, quoted in Anne Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, p. 181. The "Antis" or Anti-Suffragists were quick to characterize their opponents as "a sisterhood of cranks who wear grey woolen underwear and number seven shoes and whose skirt and waist don't meet in the back" (Macdonald, p. 178). Knitting wasn't drudgery--it was magic for the Antis, "mysteriously 'feminine,' a bit of sorcery beyond the mere ken of males" (p. 182). The battle ended with a real war--World War I, where once again every woman, and yes, even man and child, picked up their pointed sticks to "Knit For Sammy" and save the world, or at least a lot of American feet. Even the "Rocky Mountain Knitter Boys" of Mapleton, Colorado stopped throwing spitballs for a while and declared "Knitting's the best thing ever to steady your nerves" (p. 235). We are glad to say goodbye to corsets, but we are grateful to the Suffragists for our rights and to the Anti-Suffragists who kept the magic of knitting alive--we'll take our rights with our knitting, thank you. We want the freedom to do what we want--whether that's knitting or making Michele Lee Bernstein's fabulous Lemon Orzo Pasta Salad, or something else. We say, do what you want! That's best!

How do you eat Cheetos safely while knitting so everything is not covered with a fine neon orange dust? Chopsticks! How do you keep your balls of yarn from doing the Tango in your knitting bag while you are not looking? Yarn bras! How do you get yourself to do the things that you really don't want to do, like bookkeeping and managing your social media? Wear a tiara! How do fix your yarn after frogging a project so you can actually use it again? These are just some of the fun and helpful tips that Michele Lee Bernstein of PDXKnitterati shares with us here. Michele is a wonderful designer, teacher, blogger and author of Brioche Knit Love: 21 Skill Building Projects from Simple to Sublime, but her knitting journey began when she was 14 years old and too boy-crazy for her mother. So off she went to visit her Aunt Rose for a summer in Huntington Beach, California. We don't know what happened in the boy-crazy department, but her Aunt Rose taught her to knit, and she has never looked back. Her ambitious first project, a baby-blue pullover sweater with cables in front, also taught her that she has "a two-skein attention span" and her favorite three words are "Gauge not critical." She loves designing and teaching brioche knitting, but her knitting is always evolving--there's just so much to learn about knitting and food! Definitely try her recipe for Chocolate Chip Shortbread! She has recently added assigned pooling to her brioche repertoire, as shown in this design, "Scattered Petals." Unlike planned pooling, which requires a rock-steady gauge and careful calculations--not the best combination for a gauge-not-critical knitter!--assigned pooling is more random and free-form, with a pop of color conveyed through a special stitch every time a color occurs. She writes her patterns with the idea that they offer suggestions: "Assigned pooling is really fun, but just remember that you are the boss of the knitting, it's not the boss of you. . . Everything it tells you is a suggestion, but you are in charge!" --Michele Lee Bernstein This is the magical flow of knitting: the way we discover that we always have something more to learn from a whole new technique liked assigned pooling to a quick tip about making yarn bras from a mesh bath poof. Michele Lee Bernstein taught us a lot in this episode, and we are honored to share it with you!

Here's something we love: Hunter Hammersen's "quiet, everyday magic that's easy to overlook. But it's magic nonetheless." She is talking about her "Noteworthy" pattern for a little pouch that looks like a piece of paper because "paper is magic, and the right piece of paper can change the world." When Bootie knit this little gem, it brought her "a bit of happy distraction," and while that did not change the world, it did just what Hammersen promised: it made the world "a tiny bit more comfortable, for just one person, for just a moment. And that's a kind of magic too." This is the power of knitting to take us out of the present and into a timeless moment of making. Hammersen is right--look at the world through the frame of quiet, everyday magic, and you'll find all kinds of magic. And here's a bit of culinary magic: Strawberry Shortcake with a Lemon Curd Cream--an upgrade on the old family favorite that you just have to try. We also found some magic in Anne Macdonald's account of women knitting in the 19th Century in No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting. While we tend not to think of the Victorian era as particularly "sporty," this was when women started riding bicycles, playing tennis, golf and croquet; they were literally moving more and their clothing had to change to keep up. So they ditched their shawls, corsets and hoopskirts for sweaters and bloomers. Some regarded these new fashions as "ugly and eccentric," but thankfully, they persevered. The specter of a woman knitting was an assurance of womanliness that Mrs. Clorinda Nichols appropriated as she "tended strictly to her knitting" while she "duped male legislators into underestimating her crusade for more liberal property rights for women" at Kansas's first state constitutional convention (p. 143). Brilliant. But in the midst of all this moving and change, many women still found in knitting the space for creative transformation, as author Jane Croly expressed it: "The little work-tables of women's fingers, are the playgrounds of women's fancies, and their knitting needles are the fairy-wands by which they transform a whole room into a spirit isle of dreams." Jane Croly on her "view of knitting serenity," quoted in Anne L. Macdonald, No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, p. 142. So we hope we offer a little bit of quiet, everyday magic in this episode--it's not changing the world, we know, but if it makes you smile just once, or provides a bit of happy distraction, well, that's the kind of magic we aim to make.

Inquiring minds want to know: where is Napolean's penis these days? We will give you a hint: it's not with the rest of his body, but it's a cautionary tale for today's despots that we think should be more widely known. To be clear, the whereabouts of Napolean's penis is not discussed in Anne Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, but many other fascinating historical tidbits are. We are now up to the Civil War, and guess what both sides, Union and Confederate, need the most? Yup, you guessed it: SOCKS. "'Send socks!' pleaded Civil War soldiers, and when their heartrending stories of bleeding, frostbitten and blistered feet reached 'the womenfolk,' there followed an unprecedented fever of sock-knitting 'for the boys'" (p. 97). The dearth of socks even inspired Albert M. Hubbard to compose "The Knitting Song: Dedicated to the Patriotic Ladies of the North," "a zesty tribute that quickly became a great favorite with choral groups at fairs and parlor sing-alongs and accounted for even further acceleration of knitting" (p. 102). While the North had more resources and infrastructure thanks to the unfortunately named "United States Sanitary Commission," the women of South showed their devotion and ingenuity in other ways. Scarlet O'Hara's famous upcycling of the drawing room curtains into a dress had its roots in real events, and later made for great comedy on the Carol Burnett Show. And how can we not admire Lucy Nickolson Lindsay of Missouri for delivering vials of quinine and morphine hidden in the coiled locks of her hair and 22 pairs of socks tucked in the hems of her skirts to the frontline? Women on both sides sent notes to the troops in the socks and garments they made to inspire hope for better days: Brave Sentry, on your lonely beat May these blue stockings warm your feet And when from wars and camps you part May some fair knitter warm your heart." Quoted in Anne L. Macdonald, No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, p. 105. These are the tales from American history that warm our hearts! And if you want something tasty to warm your palate, may we suggest our recipe for roasted balsamic onions? A treat in salads or sandwiches--tune in and try it!

Piety! Purity! Submissiveness! Domesticity! These are the four pillars of the "Cult of True Womanhood" in 19th-Century America according to Anne Macdonald in No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, and we say, "No thanks!" We also say "no thanks" to knitting in covered wagons, the long skirts that created clouds of dust, and the bloomers that replaced them. And then there's Brigham Young who bemoaned the sock problem that seems to have always plagued our country--never enough socks, and those they had were ill-fitting. Whose fault was it? The ladies are to blame, according to Young: "it is a fact that the art of knitting stockings is not near so generally understood among the ladies as it should be. I could tell you how it should be done had I time and knew how myself" (p. 92). Knit your own damn socks, Brigham! Oh wait--he can't because he doesn't know how. But we say "yes" to the Fragment Society, the longest continuously running women's sewing circle in the US (still going since 1812 and still supplying needy mothers and children with clothing and handknits). We say "yes" to the ingenuity of the pioneer woman who hooked up a butter churn to her wagon so her family had sweet butter every evening. We say "yes" to the incredible spirit and resilience of women like Aunt Becky Morris who crossed the Overland Trail in 1848 and remembered her experience at a 1918 reunion in the following terms: “We didn't come in automobiles ... We came by ox teams ... It was a hard, hard trip, hard work, slow progress, and not always dainties to eat. But we got here! We never gave up, never looked back, just kept on the move. And I guess that trip and the tough times we had after getting here were good for us ... Look at me! I will race anybody in the crowd who is under fifty if the race is at least four miles ... If you find anybody who wishes to take on such a race, just tell them to ask for Aunt Becky Morris." Quoted in Anne L. Macdonald, No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, p. 69. That's the kind of American pioneer spirit we celebrate here, and we hope it will carry us through these turbulent times, but it definitely helps to have a little dainty to eat, like Ina Garten's Spring Green Risotto--try it, it's springtime in a bowl and with that in your belly, you might just have a chance in racing Aunt Becky Morris!

If George Washington knew about Debie Frable's Killer Sangria, he probably would have wanted A LOT of it to help him get through the Revolutionary War because boy, is this good stuff! Make it TODAY. But at the time, Washington really just wanted socks--he never had enough socks, as we learned from reading Anne L. Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting. As much as knitting and needlework have been dismissed as the stuff of “Pots and Pans,” as the “prankish students” at Yale referred to their social history class in the 1930s, Macdonald reminds us that local women bearing clothing and food to the naked, starving soldiers at Valley Forge literally saved the day: “[T]here was no mistaking the joy of soldiers on the verge of open revolt when sentinels pacing the camp’s outer limits spotted an advancing cavalcade of ‘[t]en women in carts, each cart drawn by ten pairs of oxen, and bearing tons of meal and other supplies, [who] passed through the lines amid cheers that rent the air.’ Those devoted women . . . ‘preserved the army, and Independence from that day was assured.’” Anne L. Macdonald, No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting, pp. 36-7. The value of everyday things--adequate food and clothing--should never be underestimated. Macdonald reminds us that the war for American independence was fought on two fronts, the political and the economic. The burden of weaponizing the economy through the boycott of British goods fell mainly to women who were charged with making their own or doing without. As one Mrs. Troupe recounted Martha Washington explaining, “Whilst our husbands and brothers are examples of patriotism, we must be patterns of industry” (p. 39). Townships—which really meant local women—were charged with clothing their troops or risk being fined. Even children were expected to knit or spin a certain amount every day before going out to play. Can you imagine?! “Finish that row, buddy, because George Washington needs those socks!” As bad as we think it is now, we would not go back to those times, but reading about them reminds us of the sacrifices everyone—men, women and children—made in the fight for our nation’s political and economic independence. We owe it to them to preserve that. Enough said.