There are hats you make because you need a hat. And then there’s the Novemberist—a hat with a story behind it.

November 2018 felt like it held multiple lifetimes. That month, I had my first trunk show at a local yarn shop, where I picked up two yarns for a hat design I had brewing. Then my husband Cody, his little cousin, and I took our first trip to Victoria, British Columbia, to explore the city, catch live music, and enjoy great food. And after all that, I attempted something I'd never done before: stranded colorwork.

The design process was playful and exciting. I developed three chevron charts, swatched two, and chose one for this pattern—the other would later become my Kestra Hat. While making the very first hat in the colors I'd chosen at the LYS, I learned to keep my floats relaxed, to catch them properly, and to maintain the right color dominance. It was awkward and fun, using both my hands together in a way that was entirely new.

For the final sample, Cody helped me choose colors from my stash: a warm red with rust and strawberry undertones for the chevrons, paired with natural for the background. I made the brim doubly thick, both for warmth and because I loved how a pop of color would peek out from beneath it. I'd done something similar on another hat pattern called Corbin, and I really loved the look.

The hat that emerged from that memorable month became part of the Novemberist set, a hat and mitt pairing that’s waiting to become part of your story too. What will your November look like?

It all started during a dream weekend in Victoria, British Columbia—live music, incredible food, and an afternoon spent wandering through Victoria’s oldest yarn store, the Beehive Wool Shop (because obviously). I was there with one of my favorite people in the world—the kind of person who makes every moment brighter, every adventure more fun, and who appreciates handmade gifts like no one else.

That’s when she spotted it: a skein of rich, golden yarn, glowing like the late afternoon sun. She’s not a knitter, but I could see the way her eyes lit up, the way she held onto that skein just a little longer than necessary. That was all I needed. I just had to offer to make her something with it, and she excitedly said she’d love a hat. Something with an all-over, diamond-like stitch.

She also happens to love pineapples, and by pure coincidence the stitch pattern I chose for this hat actually made it look like one. So it was only fitting that this golden, textured beauty became affectionately known as her pineapple hat—a little bold, a little unexpected, and a whole lot of fun to wear.

Even to this day, she tells me when she's worn it and received compliments. People always ask where she got it, and she proudly tells them her cousin made it for her. And now? You can knit it for someone you love (or yourself) too.

Two years after designing the Novemberist set, I returned to colorwork. I’d spent the time knitting texture, cables, and lace—different ways to play with yarn and stitch patterns—but colorwork was calling, and I just wanted to create. I also wanted an easy project for on-the-go knitting.

I pulled out the second chevron chart I’d swatched before I made the Novemberist Hat, one of the two I hadn’t used. Then I borrowed the brim construction from Aslyn, a pattern I’d developed in those two years, and started playing with how they could work together. I found the yarns in my stash once again: a vibrant, speckled pink from Stitches West 2020 and a deep charcoal grey I’d also picked out at the local yarn shop where I held my first trunk show. They were unexpected together—nothing like the jewel tones I usually reach for. But knitting with that pink? Different colored speckles emerged with each strand, and every stitch had its own character. I couldn’t wait to get to the next one.

My favorite part though? That was designing the crown. As I was testing the shaping I’d charted, the stitch pattern surprisingly formed itself into a geometric star. It’s not obvious from the chart, or even while you’re knitting it. The fabric just condenses, each round gets faster, and then suddenly it’s there. Like a reward for your effort. That’s Kestra.