My Investment Pieces

 
Image description: a yellow couch covered in pillows and blankets and quilts. In front of it is a small stool with a glass and a hat on it, to its right is a woven basket filled with knitting.

Image description: a yellow couch covered in pillows and blankets and quilts. In front of it is a small stool with a glass and a hat on it, to its right is a woven basket filled with knitting.

 
 
Image description: a hand coming out of a black knitting sleeve holds a pair of knittings needles. Hanging off the needles is a lot of red and orange and brown garterstitch. Underneath the knitting is a quilt in blues and greens.

Image description: a hand coming out of a black knitting sleeve holds a pair of knittings needles. Hanging off the needles is a lot of red and orange and brown garterstitch. Underneath the knitting is a quilt in blues and greens.

 
 
Image description: A tired and smiling human in a black sweater with wooden buttons lies on a yellow couch propped up by pillows. In their hands is a pile of red and brown knitting. Behind their head is a pile of unfinished projects and in front of …

Image description: A tired and smiling human in a black sweater with wooden buttons lies on a yellow couch propped up by pillows. In their hands is a pile of red and brown knitting. Behind their head is a pile of unfinished projects and in front of them is a small stool with a water glass, a hat and a cell phone.

 

On Friday I got my second covid vaccine shot and was pretty quickly laid flat. As I fevered on the couch I admired the textiles around me and the comfort they were giving me. It’s so rare that I take the time to just be in this space without work.

Wrapped around me was my very favorite sweater, knit in wool I reclaimed from a sweater my own mother made. I thought of its old form, densely knit and cabled and perfect for keeping me warm as I labored on the farm through Michigan winters. I thought of my Momma, younger than I am now, knitting that first sweater before I came along. The buttons down the front once belonged to a plum tree in Scotland- now they belong to a different kind of stonefruit (Me! I am the stonefruit!).

In my hands was a blanket being knit from scraps, reclaimed from another blanket knit from scraps and clutched more for comfort than productivity. Most of these small lengths of yarn are on a third life, some a fourth. A couple I bought new when I was young and yarn hungry. Some are dyed with koolaid and indigo, stained from wear, faded from time spent spread across different beds and bods. I haven’t worked these strands with my hands in ten years but they have held me regularly so that knitting them again now feels different than it did back then.

Tucked under my knitting and over my achy body was a quilt I made. Looking at it I could see the cigarette burn holes I trimmed around when I reclaimed the fabric from old old Sears work shirts. I see the woman who gave me most of the cloth that became this quilt and imagine her head dreaming on the pillowcases that I tore to strips. The slippery weight of all that cool, old fabric felt good on my hot/cold legs and aching ankles.

None of these textiles cost me a dime besides the work to create them, but their worth to me inches closer to the moon with each year of use and each new iteration they take. I’m filled with gratitude for their comfort and durability.

Last photo by Tavi, whose comfort and care I am also deeply grateful for.

Grace Rother