My man is a Gillette. One of the luminaries in his family tree is Mr. William Gillette, an actor rather well-known during the early 20th century for playing Sherlock Holmes—he even went on to coin the phrase that evolved into “Elementary, my dear Watson.” After our trip to the Adirondacks, we spent some time in CT with his family and decided to visit Gillette Castle, the home of Scott’s distant relative. It was the most handmade sort of mansion I’ve ever seen—the entire structure looked like a child’s attempts at creating a gingerbread house, bricks haphazardly jutting out from a white ‘frosting.’ But the humble, handspun aesthetic of the home is precisely what attracted me to it, reminding me of Scott’s own desire to make things by hand.
And since Scott’s mom is aware of my own penchant for the handmade, she sought out yarn stores in the vicinity of the castle. It happened that CT Yarn & Wool was fifteen minutes away from us, so we stopped in for a quick visit at what appeared to be the headquarters of Farmhouse Yarns. The store was housed inside an old home, with a hearth surrounded by chairs greeting you at the door. And every.single.room was packed to the brim with hand-dyed yarns. It was absolute heaven—yarn everywhere, in every colorway imaginable, and most of it completely unique and one-of-a-kind. I don’t feel that I got to spend enough time inside; I felt guilty that Scott’s parents had to sit and wait while I browsed. So I quickly found some Fannie’s Fingering in ‘Nautical Blue,’ which I will re-name Wedgewood blue, and use for a pair of socks for Scott’s mom for Christmas as a thank-you. I really, really hope that we can stop by again the next time we’re in Connecticut.
Forgive the ‘creative’ cropping, but I wanted to grant Scott’s family anonymity. They proposed a sunset riverboat cruise on the CT river, and I quickly obliged, fearing that I would otherwise be a downer. But the truth of the matter is, I have awful motion sickness. The car ride to get to the boat was troublesome enough for me; by the time we got to the docks, just watching the boat sway caused a bit of lurching in my throat. So while Scott got to enjoy the fresh air and sip on Sierra Nevadas for two hours, I spent the first hour of the trip chugging ginger ale and plotting how I could discreetly puke in front of my future in-laws. Once we moved to the front of the boat, where the air was cooler and rushed against my skin, I felt slightly better. Only slightly.
Live it up, love!
Of course, in the end, it was all worth it. And once I got home, I had a little package waiting for me, to knit myself a Milkweed for the fall semester…