Here is Erin, with the blue bit. In fact, this is the section of the blue bit with the error in it.

It is three rows down — or at least the beginning is. Three rows before this I made an error. I discovered it, of course, on the following row. I thought “hmm… this isn’t right.” But at that point it could have been some little thing, you know, so I continued.

On the next row, it was evident that I had made an error. But I figured I would fix it when I got back to the right side on the next row. It wasn’t that kind of error. So I thought about what to do — still knitting as I thought. So I had at this point something like 1,456 stitches done since I made the error. (I believe it is Lydia over at Lanam Facio who writes about her knitting in terms of thousands of stitches. I’ve always found it impressive. Not enough to actually calculate real numbers or anything, but enough to make some up.)

What to do? What to do? Because after all this is the blue part, which I might have to take out entirely once I see how it looks with the other colors. I don’t want to knit the whole thing twice and take it out twice.

No, in an unusual example of insouciance, I have just gone ahead. As you can see here, in this photograph, I have done another 1,763 stitches, and the error still isn’t particularly visible. I believe that this part of the sweater will be covering my bottom when I wear it, and no one is going to be studying my bottom if I have anything to say about it. I promise, if I make an error at any place that a person could decently study while I am wearing this sweater, I will correct it.

There are a number of teams for the Knitting Olympics — Norway, Canada, the U.S., California, and Luxembourg all have their own, with buttons. But you might want to join me on Team Wales.

One of my goals from last year was to continue with my family history. I have reached the point at which I no longer find new ancestors for my tree, but just little details of people’s lives (last year’s big breakthrough was coming up — with Kali Mama’s inspired assistance — with a possible career for a nineteenth century guy). So it is easy to give it up entirely. Which I did at some point last year. I had declared Tuesday Family History Day, but it got submerged under all the other things I had to do. I am taking it back up.

Today I will interfere in your family history. If you want to find a Welshman on your family tree, you might be able to. I will tell you where to look.

The first group of Welsh immigrants came as colonists in the 1600s and 1700s. I have one of these guys on my tree: Joseph Motley, indentured servant to a fishmonger. He went on to have offspring who fought in the Revolutionary War, an excellent way of ensuring that you will have lots of good records for your descendents’ genealogical research. If you have one of these guys, you may not know it at all, except by the possible Welshness of the name. These folks joined right in with the English, fighting in the war, signing the Declaration of Independence, and so on. If you have at this time depth a Davis, a Jones, or anyone with a suspicious number of w’s and y’s in their first name, you can join Team Wales.

The second group came in the 1800s. There was political unrest in Wales at the time, and hardship following the Napoleonic wars, and American mine owners were over there recruiting. Young men left from Liverpool in droves and came to New York and Pennsylvania and — if they were not inclined toward mining — thence down the canals to Ohio. I have one of these guys, too: William Lewis. He might as well have been named John Smith, or Lee Chang. I will never find this guy’s parents. The whole of the county he lived in was stuffed full of Lewises, none of them provably related to my William. Sigh.

The Welshmen of this vintage made themselves churches. Not because they wanted different denominations from the locals. They were mostly Baptists and Methodists. It was probably because they wanted to sing more lustily and with more harmonies than the other people. Even today, the church musicians of Wales write diatribes against the common practice of having the whole congregation sing melody. Or of course they might have wanted to sing in Welsh.

Anyway, if you have folks from the upper Midwest in the early 1800s, and particularly if your ancestor in this time and place is a single man engaged in mining, stonemasonry, or other physical labor, you are likely enough to have a Welsh ancestor that you can go ahead and join Team Wales. Especially if you love leeks.

I swatched for my Knitting Olympics project. I did a short-row module from lesson 5 or so of the Artyarns modular knitting tutorial that Dweezy told us all about last year. You can go subscribe, and they will email it to you for free. This particular module turns out to be essentially the same as the Tychus hat from Knitty — I don’t know why I didn’t notice that when I was making Tychus. And I realize that this invalidates my claim that I haven’t made anything modular before.

In any case, this poor little swatch was enough to show that adding elastic thread  to the module just makes the wedge misshapen, rather than adding useful stretchiness. I was afraid of that. I will therefore be knitting it with elastic only at the edges, or entirely without elastic and then sewing some in, or something.

My knitting may not be challenging enough for the Olympics, but if I add plenty of dithering, it should still be hard to finish on time.