the sweater

Ruby giggled when I asked her to teach me how to knit. Living in Red Bay, South Labrador for the summer, I needed an evening project. By day I was a volunteer for the Quebec Labrador Foundation running a day camp for the children in this small fishing village. In the evening I’d sit in the kitchen with my hosts Ruby and Bob and wait for visitors. The wooden door would swing open, no knock, and neighbors would enter and sit. I glanced up to admire the hand knit sweaters worn by the men. The sweaters that kept them warm in their open boats, out salmon fishing all day. Although women never wore them, I wanted one.

So Ruby got me started, not sure why I would want a man’s sweater. Perhaps her choice of deep pink hand dyed wool for the yoke pattern was her effort to make it feminine. All summer I sat and knit in the kitchen as visitors came and went, Ruby watching proudly and leaning over to correct any flaws. Her large hands, rough from laying out salted herring to dry in the sun and keeping the smoke house going, made the shiny needles fly.

On the eve of my departure, the sweater was not finished. I had completed all the major sections but the hard part was putting them all together. I rolled the pieces up, said good night to Ruby and Bob and went to bed. When I woke in the morning, Ruby looked pleased as she made the breakfast. There, folded neatly on the bench was my completed sweater. She must have been up all night working on it. I slipped it over my head and gave her a hug. It fit perfectly.

Over the next few years, I rarely took it off. This sweater that was infused with the friendship between two women and the smell of fog and salt. It reminded me of my summer on the coast, the view of the Strait of Belle Isle dotted with ice bergs and the smiling faces of the children who waited outside my door each morning.