Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet—
You by the fire and we in the street—
Bidding you joy in the morning!

–Kenneth Grahame, from The Wind in the Willows

Advent is my favorite season. I didn’t know it was a season until I began choral singing for the Episcopalians — I knew the word only in the context of the many Advent calendars I made to count down to Christmas in my childhood (the tour de force being a rather intricate model castle for a young friend). But I could have told you that I liked the weeks of festive preparation, of secret gift-making, of gathering greens to decorate the house (my only horseback-riding accident was precipitated by finding myself unable, at full gallop, to untangle a branch of scarlet-berried hawthorn from my wooly glove and my mare’s mane), of tramping out into the damp fields to cut a spindly fir, of eggnog and satsumas and caroling in the cold, as much as the climactic morning with the stockings and presents under the tree. And in recent years, I’ve liked those weeks of anticipation more than the event itself, grinchy as it may sound to say so. (I get, quite frankly, a little overwhelmed under the deluge of generosity from our dear ones. If I could get everyone on board with thoughtfully choosing — or even making — a single gift per family member, I’d be vastly happy.)

Now I like the thought of this season as a time of beginnings, of preparation, of watchfulness and mindfulness that the winter earth is sheltering and nourishing the seeds that will thrust up and shake themselves free when the sun returns.

And so Advent feels like the right time to share that a little field-mouse has drawn himself — or herself — up by our fire to bide. In the way of little mice, this one didn’t wait for an invitation, but quietly established itself in the coziest way possible and made its own plans to appear in the outside world in June, when the world is warm and lively again. I haven’t knit him or her anything yet, but these summery little slippers are waiting to cover a set of tiny toes…

The thing I’d most love to make for this second babe is Leila Raabe’s Spire Blanket from the new LOFT Collection. In that wonderful Old World color, blue flecked with red, exactly as shown. I’m sure that later I’ll be seized by fits of inspiration to design anew for my little one, but Ms. Raabe has already crafted every detail of this blanket just as I’d wish. (And really, why put pressure on oneself to design as well when one is already contemplating knitting a big lace blanket involving 1600 yards of fingering-weight wool? Will the baby care? I expect not.) But I am determined that this child shall be no less thoroughly swathed in woolen handknits just because it wasn’t anyone’s firstborn. You’ll learn, little field-mouse, that this is how your mama shows she loves people.

Yes, joy shall be ours in the morning.

Right about the time I realized there was a month left until Christmas, I hatched one of my maddest gift-knitting plans ever. Measuring my progress against the calendar, I’m pretty sure it’s doomed to failure (although I believe the design idea is perfectly sound and I do intend to publish it), and I can’t say much here. A teaser, or perhaps a riddle:

snowbound
long johns
almanac
old world
faded quilt
plume
thistle

But the baby is asleep and knitting time’s a-wasting. Bye!

I’ve been waiting for the perfect setting and conditions (a non-work day during which there is no rain for a nice window between mealtimes so Ada’s clothes and hair won’t be covered in food, but not so far from a mealtime that she is hungry or tired, and shortly after a wash day so she won’t be wearing the haphazardly clashing dregs of her wardrobe) to photograph Minni, because it’s just about the cutest thing I’ve knit. Needless to say, between illnesses, November gloom, and the whims of She Who Toddles, those perfect conditions haven’t presented themselves. We made do.

Looking back at my notes, I see that I cast on for this jacket a scant twelve days before Ada was born. I did most of the knitting in the early months of her life, and if you’ve experienced the early months of someone else’s life first hand and full time, you’ll know that means I made a lot of mistakes. I can see some of them right on the front. This isn’t a simple pattern, despite being entirely garter or stockinet stitch, and it isn’t constructed like any sweater you’ve ever made. The instructions run to ten pages, and you’d better be willing to try your hand at short rows and provisional cast-ons and small needles if you want to attempt it. But if you’re a patient, thinking knitter, it’s rewarding. I mean, the cuteness!

It’s got clever shaping, too… look how the back of the coat is extra roomy to swing freely over that big cloth-diapered bum.

The back details alone were enough to suck me in. I love the way the design shows off yarns with long color changes (I chose Noro Kureyon Sock for Minni I and have already started Minni II with Crystal Palace’s Mini Mochi), although there are some darling solid versions out there, too. A word on the sizing: Ada is fifteen months old and is a medium-size baby — currently right at the 50th percentile for height. She’s wearing the 6-9-month size jacket, and as you can see she’s got plenty of room to grow into it some more. The designer, Lene Alve, does live in the Arctic Circle, and I suppose by the time I got a six-month-old into enough layers to stay cozy in that climate, she might just about fill up this jacket! But for the rest of us, I’d say multiply the suggested ages in the pattern by 2. It’s a good thing this jacket runs so large, though, even if you wind up having to tuck it away for a year. A pre-mobile baby couldn’t really do it justice, and a crawler would always be running aground on the fronts. (Ada still catches the fronts with her knees sometimes when she’s going up stairs.) You need a toddler to set that sweet hemline swaying, trust me.