My interest in knitting has been kept alive over the years by the almost infinite variety of color, pattern, and texture that is found in collections of knitters and museums around the world. Although I love the smooth, quiet repetition of knitting a rectangular scarf in garter stitch using a luxurious yarn, it is the endless diversity of technique and style that keeps me interested in knitting as more than a way to keep my hands busy while watching TV.

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
--from The Lord of The Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

I'm sad to announce that this will be my last regularly-scheduled column for Knitty. Although I plan to continue to submit stories and patterns to Knitty, I'm not able to commit to having something ready for every single issue. I've been honored to be a part of the Knitty community for the past several years and to be able to share my stories, essays, dreams, and designs with you every season. For my last official Ethnic Knitting Adventures column, I'd like to leave you with an essay about one of my favorite places in the world: Lithuania.

As many of you know, my family comes from this part of the world, nestled between Poland, Belarus, and Latvia in Eastern Europe. I visit "the old country" as often as I can. After my first trip, I fell in love with Lithuania and have been doing research about the history and styles of knitting there since 2007. During this time, I've written about Lithuania here ("Lithuanian Riesines (Wristers)") and "Made in the USA", as well as for other magazines, I have put out a video course about knitting socks using Lithuanian techniques and colorwork designs, and I have been working on a book that is -- knock on wood -- going to the printer next month!

One of the best things I discovered in Lithuania is linen. Although my favorite fiber, wool, is hugely popular for knitting in America and many other places, it isn't appropriate for every project. Some people are allergic to wool. Some prefer not to wear fibers made from animal fur. Some live in warm climates where wool is uncomfortably hot. Others enjoy knitting with and wearing different kinds of fibers for different projects and situations. Still others, myself included, have hot flashes and find that they can't wear their favorite wool sweaters any more, except during the dead of winter.

I fell in love with linen when I bought a swingy hot-pink machine-knitted top at a linen shop in Vilnius a few years ago. I found myself shopping in the middle of a humid summer when I could not go anywhere without handkerchiefs to wipe the perspiration from my forehead, and the cool, lightweight linen clothes on the racks of so many stores were just what I needed to spruce up my travel wardrobe. At home, this top has become a key part of my teaching wardrobe. I love linen, but it's hard to find in American department stores—at least at prices I can afford. Because flax is grown and linen yarn and fabrics are manufactured in Eastern Europe, and Lithuania was not yet on the Euro, the prices were often much lower than I could find at home. I also found fine linen yarn in many of the local shops, and on every trip I've carried home a cone or two.

Linen is -- and has been throughout history -- very popular and held in very regard in Lithuania. Although wool was undoubtedly important for making warm winter clothing in past centuries, its production was less culturally important to the Lithuanians than that of flax. There are many folk tales and songs about flax and linen, but very few about sheep and wool. The wool of Lithuanian sheep is comparatively coarse, and was spun into relatively thick yarns used for socks, mittens, and gloves. Linen, on the other hand, was spun into fine thread for weaving clothing, towels, and bed sheets, and for use as sewing thread. Many more hours of a woman's life were spent with linen than with wool. Flax growing and linen production touched every part of life in the Lithuanian countryside. Spinning flax and weaving with linen are recognized as important elements in Lithuanian culture and are featured prominently in museum exhibits around the country, as well as in live demonstrations at craft festivals year round.

Linen, because it is so difficult to process and took up so much of women's time, became a central part of Lithuanian culture, rural society, and mythology. The "suffering of the flax" is a common theme in folk- tales and songs, and rituals surrounding the cultivation and harvesting of flax and the production of linen were built into the annual cycle of life. Even the laumės, the mythological fairy-witches of the Lithuanian countryside, were said to spin and weave with linen, and they took a special interest in this area of women's work in the community. If a woman who is spinning calls the laumės, they may come to help her, but they may end up spinning her guts and veins in addition to the flax. These magical stories rarely have happy endings. The realm of the laumės is dangerous, as is the land of the faerie in Ireland.

The magic of the Lithuanian lands and the fine linen products fill my dreams when I am home. And wherever and whenever I travel in Lithuania I find wonderful examples of spinning, weaving, and knitting. And I always keep my eyes open for beautiful linen products.
Thank you again for following along on my Ethnic Knitting Adventures over the past few years. I look forward to meeting you again here and around the knitting world. Don't stop knitting or having your own adventures!

Resources
Lino Laikas: Linen Times (booklet and DVD), Jonas Trinkūnas, Leidykla Kronta, 2008
Reflections From A Flaxen Past: For Love of Lithuanian Weaving, Kati Reeder Meek, Penannular Press International, 2001
Lino Namai (House of Linen), shops in Vilnius, Lithuania, http://www.linonamai.lt