Telling Yarns

What with his enthusiasm for scarves, Croft might want to check out Food & Friends, a knitters group that meets Tuesday evenings in Fort Totten. Food & Friends is actually the name of a Washington agency that home delivers fresh meals and groceries to people with HIV, cancer and other life-challenging illnesses. The privately funded organization serves about 2,000 people annually in the District, Maryland and Virginia. Although the agency has a full-time professional staff, including four chefs, it depends on the good work of skilled volunteers who cook, deliver food, tend to administrative duties -- and knit scarves and other winter items as gifts for clients.

"It's the 'Friends' part of Food & Friends," said Ron Wilder, development coordinator for the agency. "That's always been a part of our mission, not only to nurture with food, but to nurture with care. . . . Giving scarves to these people reminds them that we want them to be warm and they are in our hearts."

"The majority of our clients aren't homebound but are at home most of the time," explained Charnay Henderson, Food & Friends program manager. "They go out for doctors appointments, and in the winter, it's really too cold for them to go out. . . . The scarves are great so that when they do go out, they can wrap up!" While practical, the scarves are also a morale booster. "We've had client remarks come back to us saying, 'I wear my scarf around the house during they day, knowing that it came from you,' " Wilder interjected.

The need for a warm scarf to combat the D.C. winter was evident the night I visited. Food & Friends is only two blocks from the Fort Totten Metro station, but by 6, it was already dark and cold with a mean wind whipping down the streets. Though I didn't know it at the time, Food & Friends has a van that shuttles volunteers and clients to and from the agency during the evening. Built in 2004, the building has a sleek, modernist design that looks like a cross between a Ramada Inn and a factory, accommodating both offices and an industrial-size kitchen. From the parking lot, visitors circle the building through a landscaped area and then buzz the front door for admittance.

The Food & Friends knitters meet in a bright red workroom just off the reception area. Michelle Strange, one of the project's coordinators and instructors, arrived with a grocery bag full of knitted scarves and hats. "A couple of co-workers knitted these and asked friends in their condo, and some I knit. . . . Once I put the word out there it seems to take on a life of its own!" she said. Strange's collection signals a wider trend. "We started this project about four years ago, and it's just snowballed," Wilder said. "People who don't necessarily attend the knitters groups will send scarves through friends or through the mail. We've even gotten some from Hawaii!" Last year Food & Friends distributed more than a thousand scarves to its clients. To make such a number, the knitting group meets from June to December and offers basic instruction to newcomers.

Evelyn Bourne-Gould also serves as a knitting instructor for Food & Friends. She arrived with a bunch of tricornered children's caps finished off with knots and pompoms. "It's from a pattern I found online. They're quick," she said with a modest shrug. "I have a thing about seeing a little kid without a hat -- drives me crazy." According to Henderson, 18 percent of Food & Friends clients are younger than 18. A mother herself, Bourne-Gould said, "I think knitting is intrinsically a nurturing activity -- Food & Friends is a natural outgrowth of that."

Many Food & Friends participants attend to improve rudimentary knitting skills or to learn to knit. "I'm a beginner," Blair Copeland said.

"I came to help but also to get instruction. This is my first attempt," she said, holding up a pink scarf cast on a pair of wooden needles. "It's not going very well.

"Are you an instructor?" she asked Strange. "I'll come sit next to you then." The two sat together as Strange reviewed the basic knit stitch, proving once again that learning to knit requires one-on-one instruction. "They can describe, they can draw," said Strange, referring to various instruction sources, "but in the end, you've got to see it in person."

Others come to Food & Friends to learn how to knit outright, such as Tom Vogel, who appeared with an armload of blue wool. "I'm trying to knit a lap blanket for my girlfriend," he explained. "She's in the Air Force, and she's moving to North Dakota for training so this is part of a 'warm themed' care package." (All together now -- Awwww!) An intern on Capitol Hill, Vogel also plans to knit mittens, provided he can get through the blanket first. "My biggest constraint is time. She leaves in January."

Vogel knit a few experimental rows to determine the gauge for his project under Bourne-Gould's tutelage: "Don't be tight -- beginners always knit too tight. Think even tension. Give it a slight tug -- perfect!" Awkwardly holding his knitting needles parallel to each other, Vogel twisted the yarn around the back needle and pulled it through a knot. "Once you get the muscle memory down, it's not too hard," he said with a grin.

Unfortunately, the night I visited turned out to be the last meeting of the year. The Food & Friends knitting group will reassemble in June, meeting every Tuesday night through August. Then in September, the group will meet the second Tuesday of each month through December. All are encouraged to knit at Food & Friends, even the night security guard, Lamont Creamer. "Michelle tried to show me, and while she was standing there, I was going pretty good, but later -- " he shook his head. "I stumbled on my own." Though knitting isn't his thing, Creamer admires the effort. "There was a pretty good turnout last time, about 10 or 12 people. They have a good time in there. The energy is good."

That a security guard was willing to try knitting and another man is determined to knit a lap blanket for his girlfriend would gladden the heart of Witt Pratt, a D.C. textile artist who specializes in knitting. You would think that inhabitants of a sophisticated urban center like Washington couldn't care less about a knitter's gender. "Oh, but they do," Pratt said warily. "When I was little and knitted, I was a sissy; well now I'm a 6-foot-8 sissy with a sharp instrument." Still drawing the occasional stare when he knits in public, Pratt is philosophical. "I've gotten to where I assume it's just innocent curiosity. . . . If I'm on the subway, I'm probably working on one of my little, intricate projects that involves more needles than [people] are accustomed to seeing with a Fair Isle pattern coming off of it, and their minds are just short-circuiting that people can even make something like that. . . . And in some cases I think what is probably going through their minds is 'I didn't know guys knit.' "

Pratt coordinates the Logan Circle Knit & Crochet group, an all-men's organization that meets the second and fourth Wednesdays of each month. The textile artist warmly describes the men's knitting group as an "uncommonly bright, loving, kind, educated, sweet group of people." For the time being, there is a commitment to maintain this knitting circle as a single-sex group, not out of an exclusive sensibility but to encourage participation. "A man . . . has to be willing to cross certain barriers just to knit, and then there may be for some a sort of 'coming out' process that determines if they are willing to knit in public," Pratt said. Yet, he said, "I long for the day that it's not a big deal."

The repetitiveness of knitting takes on the quality of meditation in that you are simultaneously engaged with what you are doing and detached from the rest of the world. An exten sion of this quiet pleasure can be found Monday nights at Knit and Crochet Teaism. The Penn Quarter restaurant's atmosphere has a certain Buddhist calm with subdued colors, simple wooden furniture and even a carp- filled pond. Plus the food is outrageously healthful and tasty. Claire Feinson, the group's coordinator, ordered a veggie burger, while I contemplated ginger scones and a cup of green tea. "They like us here because we all eat something," she said with a matter-of-fact grin.

Bourne-Gould had arrived early as she works nearby. Sitting alone, she was absorbed in what to me seems like an impossible feat -- knitting while reading. "My knitting was cutting into my reading time," she explained. "So I said, 'There's gotta be a way' -- so I put a book on a table and knit in my lap." Conversation picked up as others arrived, but low-key seemed to be the theme here. Evette Brown, a records administrator at Catholic University prefers to crochet at Teaism; wearing a purple cardigan she'd made, she started another in blue and black that evening. "Crocheting helps me relax after work," she said of her project. "It's comforting."

Needlework's meditative qualities aren't lost on Feinson, who incorporates crafts into her own faith practice. One of her projects is a crocheted kepa -- a small cap worn by Jews during worship -- with a skyline of white buildings against a starry blue sky. This is her imagination's vision of biblical Jerusalem. She passed around another kepa she'd completed, this one with a dark purple center with concentric circles of color fading into lilac. "It's a mystical abstraction of the first day of creation," she explained, "the light coming out of darkness." For Feinson, a health care grants writer, such projects are "soothing and simple, but I've got to think about what I'm doing. I like practical results."

Spending a quiet evening with these women, knitting, chatting and sipping tea, struck me as an odd pocket of "doing nothing while doing something" between my usual rounds of work and home life. "I describe it as 'The Triangle,' " said Strange of DC Knitters. "I go to work and come home, go to church and go home, and if I don't watch it, that's all I'm doing. It's so easy, especially this time of year, to get into that habit." In response, knitting groups provide a creative outlet and a means to form connections with others in a city that, despite its constant activity, can seem so isolating.

Hetty Lipscomb is a local freelance writer and regular contributor to Weekend. She still likes to knit at home watching reruns of "Law & Order."