Yarn Travelers – A subscription yarn club for the adventurous knitter or crocheter. We partnered with Yorkshire Yarns, BK Collective, and Island Style Crochet to bring you an amazing journey in fiber and colors all wrapped up in a one or three-delivery subscription.
THE JOURNEY BEGINS IN JUNE…
- Subscribe in person or on-line at Yorkshireyarns.com for the June delivery.
- Every other month receive a mystery project and a clue about the next project shipment!
- Projects include yarn and project materials like beads or ribbon that you will need for the project.
- Receive a code to download a crochet and/or knit pattern from the participating designers; choose the one you want to make.
- Projects will invoke a character, place, or time in history that will capture your imagination!
- Skill level for the intermediate needle crafter.
- Subscribe anytime, the deadline is the 10th of the month prior to delivery!
Cost: One delivery: $36 or Three deliveries: $96 ($12 Savings)
Click the link to purchase a subscription on yorkshireyarns.com:
Join the conversation on the Yorkshire Yarns Ravelry group:
June Delivery Clue
The Dowager Duchess felt an on-set of nerves. This was most unusual, as she was known to be a woman of substance, of gentility, and above all, presence of mind. Here she was, settled in the plush carriage of first class accommodations waiting for the train to depart the station towards London.
Around her shoulders and covering the bodice of her wool traveling dress was a shawl made of the finest wool her estate could offer, spun and knitted by the local women in the village. Her feet were warm in the January cold as they were safely enveloped in knit hose made by her personal maid. On her wrist, over finely sewed gloves, she carried her reticule stocked with a stout bottle of smelling salts. Not for fainting spells, though she thought she just might need them with these nerves.
“Margaret,” she said to herself, “it has been too long since you’ve traveled from home.” It would be her first London Season in years. She would attend the winter circuit of parties, feats, and balls indulged in by the nobility of the British Empire. She took a deep breath, clutching the bag of smelling salts for reassurance, knowing that swung just right the heavy bottle would leave a respectable bruise on anyone who dared to accost her during the journey. Her mouth twitched a little at the image.
If she was honest with herself she would admit she was also clutching the reticule because of a treasure it contained, a memento. A small silver box contained a lock of hair from the man who nearly swept her away from the Duke that long-ago night at the ball. “He had thick, wavy hair, as black as a raven, but soft to the touch,” she reminisced. He would be there in London knowing she was widowed. He would see her across the room at a ball or musicale. Their eyes would meet and they would know in an instant. The passage of time would mean nothing. Her hands shook slightly and she sighed heavily, startling her maid who sat across from her. She willed herself to be calm but the thought would not leave her.