What Farm & Fiber Knits Couldn’t Fit Into My Article

Photo by Gale Zucker for Farm & Fiber Knits

When I sat down to write “Rooted in Place: Designing with Small-Farm Yarn” for Farm & Fiber Knits, I quickly realized something: telling the story behind the Field Lines Shawl in 1,200 words was going to be nearly impossible.

There are always pieces of a magazine design that never make it into the final article, not because they aren’t important, but because every publication has limited space (even digital ones). So today I thought I’d invite you behind the scenes and share a few of those moments with you.

It Started With a Drive

One of my favorite things my husband and I do together is simply go for a drive.

We’ve done it ever since we started dating in high school. We’ll leave town, roll the windows down if the weather is nice, and wander the back roads with no real destination. There is something incredibly peaceful about watching the countryside pass by... the changing light, the fence lines, the gentle rise and fall of the hills, and the patchwork of fields stretching toward the horizon.

It was on one of those drives that the first spark for Field Lines appeared.

I wasn’t thinking about designing a shawl. I was simply paying attention.

Sometimes that’s where the best ideas begin.

A Memory I Didn’t Realize I Was Carrying

As I started pulling colors together for the project, another memory quietly resurfaced.

When I was a teenager, I spent several summers at horse camp. I loved waking before everyone else, and walking out into the field beside the bunkhouse.

The world felt completely still.

I would sit in the grass and watch the sun rise over the surrounding farmland while the horses grazed nearby.

Years later, standing in my studio with skeins of naturally dyed yarn spread across the table, I realized those mornings had never really left me.

The soft green reminded me of spring fields.

The pale yellow became the first warm light touching the horizon.

The gentle peach was that fleeting moment just before the sun fully clears the landscape.

Without intending to, I’d recreated one of my favorite memories in wool.

The Swatches Tell Their Own Story

If you’ve ever designed a knitting pattern, you know the finished sample rarely tells the whole story.

Before Field Lines became a shawl, it was pages of sketches, tiny swatches, crossed-out notes, and lots of experimentation.

One of my earliest sketches already contained the idea of creating rolling sections with short rows, but the stitch patterns changed several times before I found the rhythm that felt right.

I wanted each texture to be simple enough to knit comfortably while still creating the feeling of distant fields seen from above.

Some swatches were too busy.

Some disappeared entirely once the colors were marled together.

Others looked beautiful on the needles but lost their definition after blocking.

Design has a funny way of asking you to let go of good ideas until you discover the right one.

Learning From the Yarn

One thing I didn’t fully appreciate until I began knitting was just how much the yarn itself would influence the design.

The Cormo wool from Dresow Family Farm has a beautiful softness with enough elasticity to create crisp stitch definition without sacrificing drape.

Holding the fingering-weight yarn double created gentle marling throughout the shawl, allowing one color to quietly fade into another instead of changing abruptly.

Rather than fighting the yarn, I found myself following its lead.

The design became less about controlling every detail and more about paying attention to what the yarn wanted to become.

Looking Back

Seeing Field Lines published by Farm & Fiber Knits has been incredibly meaningful.

I’m grateful to Debbie Blair, Kate Larson, and the entire editorial team for believing in both the pattern and the story behind it.

I’m equally grateful to Stacy Dresow and Dresow Family Farm for producing yarn that carries such a deep sense of place. Every skein reflects thoughtful stewardship, careful craftsmanship, and a genuine love for the land.

Most of all, I’m thankful for the quiet moments that made this project possible... the country drives, the early mornings, the notebook sketches, the false starts, and the willingness to slow down long enough to notice beauty in familiar places.

I think that’s one of the greatest gifts knitting gives us.

It teaches us to pay attention.

And sometimes, that’s where the best stories begin.

⸻

Have you read the article in Farm & Fiber Knits yet? I’d love to know what resonated with you most. And if you cast on your own Field Lines Shawl, I’d be honored to see it. Tag me on Instagram @YumiYarns so I can follow along with your journey.