Birdie Business

I’ve been writing this post for about three years now. I’m happy to let it out of its coop, finally.

There are dog people and there are cat people, but I - we - are bird people. Birds have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I was raised with a series of budgies and finches, flirted for a few years with a pair of very naughty lovebirds and enjoyed a very deep 25 year-long bond with Pookie, my cockatiel buddy. When we lost him a few years ago I was at a loss in more ways than one. There was suddenly a gaping, bird-shaped hole in my life. I allowed myself the time to grieve and left the question unanswered: could I live happily without sharing my life with a bird?

After months of gawping at wild birds (which I normally would’ve done anyway), considering their birdie shapes and their sheer, wonderful…birdiness I decided I couldn’t. It hit me hard one day - in the shower I just started sobbing. I needed feathers in my life. I needed claws and scratches and birdie kisses and fluff wafting around the house. Moreover, I need a buddy. I decided then and there that no matter the cost (well, I did have a budget of $2000), no matter the inconvenience and the mess, I was going to adopt a parrot.

A few months later (though it felt like forever at the time), I was stood in front of a shallow tray holding a clutch of four nearly fully-fledged African Grey parrot chicks. “Okay,” I said, “who wants to come live with us? There’s going to be lots of books and knitting and tea.” Perhaps this was a bit twee of me, but you’ve gotta let a guy know what he’s getting into, right? No sooner were the words out of my mouth than one of the chicks looked up and made a somewhat shaky beeline (birdline?) directly towards me, his black eyes shining. He had made his choice. And that was the first time I met Earl.
Three years on, life with Earl is many things, but one thing it isn’t is boring. He continues to hold me to my “books and knitting and tea” pledge every single day by diligently inspecting and/or getting involved with all of the above. Just yesterday he took the time to ensure that my knitting was up to his high standards.
Perhaps you’ve been keeping up with his (mis-)adventures on my Twitter, and if not, please feel free to start. Earl actually has his own Twitter, so if you like you can follow him as well.  He is, after all, a professional tweeter. Regardless, you can expect more Earl content to turn up here in the future.

Gnome Spores

Some people have warts, spoon collections, or small dogs. I have gnomes. Gnomes which, I should add, are uniquely fond of all of the above (weirdos.)*

I keep my gnomes (or rather, attempt to keep my gnomes) outside in a prepared garden that I dug especially for them. It's nestled beneath a Norway Maple that someone should've ripped out, but didn't about 25 years ago. I've kept it suitably woodsy and wild for them out there and as I've had no complaints from the wee bastards I assume that they're pleased with it. Nothing like urinating beneath a nice stand of lily-of-the-valley to get a gnome's blood flowing in his gnome-veins. Makes them feel alive.

Sometimes they like to do a bit of decorating of their own (and not just with their own bodily fluids!) Sometimes they coax mushrooms to grow. The other morning I looked out the window to see this going down: a classic, gnome-instigated mushroom party. I had to go out and investigate.

Gnomes have a lot in common with mushrooms, and not just because some (most?) of them are sort of damp, smelly, and fairly toxic if ingested. We know that mushrooms (and other fungus) spread via spores, and I strongly suspect that gnomes reproduce in the very same way, and just as quickly, too. One minute there's nothing and then poof, there's a whole mess of the little darlings all over the garden, running the show. I mean, how can one otherwise explain either mushrooms or gnomes?**
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go investigate a suspicious clang that I just heard downstairs. I thought that I had kicked them all outside this morning.***

*N.B.: My gnomes may not be representative of all gnomes. Maybe you're lucky. Maybe yours are the polite kind. Maybe your gnomes aren't gross little nutjobs who like to do the two-step in jam and then go smear their sticky feet on the good carpet. Mine find this to be a inexhaustible source of amusement (weirdos.)

**Not a rhetorical question. You can't. Don't try.

***I had. They came back.

Pheasants and Fords

Whenever we are heading west towards home on Riverside Drive I always make sure to look toward the river when we pass the former Ford property near Drouillard Road. The site of the first Ford plant in Canada from 1904 to 1953, is now a naturalized area along the Detroit River. The place where thousands of Model Ts and other cars were built is now home to native plants and wildlife, including a colony of pheasants, which is what I am looking for every time we pass by. The wild pheasants are notoriously furtive and tricky to photograph, so here is a picture of Phil, the pheasant who lives in my parlour, instead.
With so many major Ford landmarks just a stone’s throw from home it’s become something of a pastime for us to visit them each in turn. This weekend saw us finally make the trip to the original purpose-built Ford property, the Piquette Avenue Plant, where the iconic Model T was born.  And a fun fact: a Ford logo with “wings” on either side means that that vehicle was produced at the Piquette Plant.
 The Plant does not (and never did) have air conditioning but they did have festive cardboard hand fans available for visitors’ use.  Handy, should one “get a case of the vapours.” I thought briefly of the generations of workers who had to toil here in the steamy Great Lakes summer heat without the luxury of a free hand with which to fan themselves.
Built in 1904, the Plant really is a remarkable space, and one can tell that the building’s restoration must have been an incredible undertaking. I’ve always had a soft spot of long banks of tiny-paned factory windows.
All those windows mean lots and lots of beautiful, bright light. Good for the workers to assemble cars by; great for the 21st century visitor to admire the colour and texture of the contents within.

This 21st century visitor, however, rather fancied looking out of those windows for the tasty vistas they offered. I’ve always loved Detroit’s industrial landscapes ever since I first connected with them as a teenager. Big old water towers were always my favourite.

Shifting my gaze back inside, there were plenty of other visual treats to admire. There were plenty of cars on hand, looking more like properly manufactured machines than the ones I’m used to seeing…

…as well as this specimen, which out docent told us was made at the plant in Walkerville - now the field where my pheasants now live. It’s always nice to run into a neighbour!
The tires and their various tread patterns are always a delight for the uncommonly observant. I especially enjoy the clever use of the words “Non Skid” in the one design.

The old automotive company logos are fascinating, ranging style-wise as they do from somewhere in Rococo and Art Nouveau…

…right through to Art Deco with its stylized reworking of mythological and esoteric themes: Egyptian, Greek, and even Alchemical ideas all coming into play.*

Coming back down to Earth, I spotted this hood ornament/mascot which again reminded me of my pheasant buddies. I could be mistaken, but I think it's a grouse. Still a nice field-dwelling bird!
Henry Ford’s personal office at the Plant was a particular highlight. Here he is seated in it in a contemporary photograph:
…and here is the actual room, recreated to look as it would have done the day that photograph was made:
Naturally what caught my eye was the floor.
Oh, that FLOOR!

And if you find yourself fancying that floor as much as I do, and if you like working with WOOL, and knitting mittens, please do watch this space. (Ahem - say no more!)


*No, the six-pointed star in that Dodge Brothers logo is not a religious symbol. Instead it is two entwined triangles, one light, one dark, and each stands for one of the two Dodge brothers themselves. Some of you might recognize those triangles as representing both Male and Female forces; the Light and the Dark; Fire and Water as in Alchemical pursuits; or as a symbolic representation of the esoteric tenet “As above, so below.” Whichever it is, they ultimately represent two necessary, differing forces coming together to create something greater than the sum of their parts, which is the same whether we’re discussing the nature of the soul of running a successful automotive empire.

The Dodge Brothers themselves have always seemed like peculiar characters to me in their own right, most likely because they died relatively young, both in the the same year and of their elaborate Egyptian Revival mausoleum in Detroit’s Woodlawn Cemetery. I fully intend to investigate them more deeply in the near future.

On Sizeable Shawls

I am currently knitting a shawl.  I have already sunk nearly two full skeins of Briggs & Little Regal (colour: Light Grey) into this shawl; am debating on whether I should end it here or crack into the third. Hm.
Reasons to go on: the pattern is simple, enjoyable and a classic.  I've got the chart happily memorized.  It's not irritating me in the least, and I've only been working on the thing for about a week.  The yarn is one of my favourites and is an absolute dream to work with.  And really, what am I going to do with one odd skein of the stuff (plenty of things, actually - at 272 yarns a skein its mileage is impressive).
I've just compared it to another shawl that I've recently turned out, and as it stands I could reasonably stop knitting this new one now.  It's completely functional at its current size and there's no shame in presently heading into the endgame.
But I do enjoy big shawls - shawls that you can wrap around yourself for days.  But this begs the question: can a shawl ever be too big?  At what point does it stop being a shawl and start being a blanket?

And then this image popped into my mind's eye:
Wear the shawl.  Don't give it the chance to wear you.

(And be sure to cast on another right away!)

Meet the KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook

Earlier this year, I took part in Felicity Ford's blog tour to promote her happily crowdfunded KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook.  Now that the book is out (and currently available,) I had the chance to ask her a few more questions about both the work and her process.  Here's what we talked about this time around.

I am blown away by the detailed analysis you present of your swatches!  When I work I take similar steps but here you detail them all so it's clear to the newbie where you've come from and where you're going. Did you find it difficult to break down and so meticulously record and replicate your creative process?

It took time and it was unfamiliar. I know my own way of doing things but knowing what you do and being able to explain what you do are two different things! Talking through the system with Kate and Tom was vital and it was only after going through it all with them that I was able to sit down and write out my own creative process, step by step. Once I could see that, it got a little bit easier to think about how to share it with a reader. Nic also really helped with finding clever ways to visually present the process once I had written it all down.

Do you now see the Things you've turned into knitted patterns with new eyes?  Has your connection with them deepened?

Absolutely. I have an extra special love for the EDIROL digital recorder now. As an object it was already special to me, but you would never think that just from looking at it. It's black, plastic, boxy... the buttons are all worn down and half of it is held together with gaffer tape! Yet when you see it with the swatch which it inspired, it is instantly apparent that the two things are connected. The vibrant knitting patterns somehow bring the recorder to life. Together they seem to me to be a very complete expression of an object that I love and a piece of knitting that describes that feeling.
I also know my walnut tree so much better now than I did at the start of the year after documenting its leaves, bark, dyeing properties and resident birds, and now when I walk past places in Reading that I have used as inspiration for the Reading brickwork swatch I have a feeling of connection and celebration. I wonder what people would think if they knew that tiny details of their houses have now been seen by knitters all over the world...
...and I feel compelled to keep checking up on the Art Deco factory to see whether demolition has begun yet. I worry about the day when I will round the corner and find the pink building is gone. The security guys keep saying "this month" but they've been saying that since August! After all the new memories I have created with that building - knitting from it, going there with Fergus (my brother and the book's photographer) to photograph it at first light - I will be sadder than ever when it is finally taken down. 

Which of all the lovely swatches in the book is your favourite and why?

I love the EDIROL swatch the best because it expresses so many really personal things about that recorder. I love that the grey transport buttons in my swatch are not always really clear because of the way I shaded them; in real life they are not that clear either as I have worn them down with use! And I really love that one of the patterns on that swatch is based on the settings on the back of the recorder. It's this silly nerdy detail which I like; knowing that the pattern came from where I have the sliders positioned when I record. The idea that you can create a visual pattern in knitting from a pattern of habit and use is one I really like.

I do something very similar to this but when I look at your book I don't see my work, I see something that is completely KNITSONIK. Are you interested in seeing the results that other people produce using your methods?

Yes! I think it's fascinating that we all see the world in completely unique ways; I love that if you and I sat at a table with the same yarn and the same needles and the same inspiration source we would produce completely different ideas because we would notice and be drawn to different things. 

I was thinking about that in Shetland and wondering about developing some workshops based on that very idea because I think it would be amazing! Then a discussion started up in the KNITSONIK Ravelry group and now we are doing exactly that: an online swatch-a-long based on a single inspiration source with a big reveal at the end of February. Anyone is welcome to join in and the only rule is that you have to use a pomegranate as the starting point! I can't wait to see all the different ways that the pomegranate will be translated into stranded colourwork by all the different knitters participating... 
The other swatches people have made using The KNITSONIK System have blown my mind. I especially like seeing how people come up with their palettes and document their process... everyone is so different and that's what makes it fascinating. I have the same feeling as you - I don't look at other people's swatches and see KNITSONIK; I see the hand of the knitter who made the swatch at work, and what they noticed in their inspiration source. I think that is beautiful. 

It is like how in my favourite field recordings I feel like I can hear the sounds that are being recorded, but also something of the recordist and their listening, how they have angled the microphones or positioned themselves in relation to the sound... something to do with personal taste and individual style, like handwriting.

I see you are a fan of somewhat tacky beer clip art and labelling. With the craft beer movement there are more creative beer labels around now that ever - do you think you'll ever immortalize another beer label/pump clip in knitting?

I'd say it is inevitable! I love beer and especially craft beer from small indie breweries, and the artwork on the labels just gets better and better. As a beer drinker I am quite drawn to some of the more minimalist labels; I adore the beer produced by the Kernel Brewery for instance, and they have wonderfully simple, unfussy labels with black ink printed on brown parcel paper. Their little bottles, so unpretentiously packaged, contain some of the finest ales in the land. However, as a knitter, I am oddly compelled to beers featuring fussier labels. In terms of offering inspiration for stranded colourwork, the loud and highly pictorial designs with ships and animals and hops and Gods and so on do offer a bit more to work with. That said, now I am thinking about what could be done to describe those fine plain bottles of Table beer from the Kernel Brewery... 

All photographs kindly supplied, once more, by Felicity Ford.  You can buy your own copy of The KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook here.  If you'd like to read the earlier interview I did with Felicity you can do so here.   Don't forget to check out her blog, The Domestic Soundscape

Now We Are Two

It's both the blessing and the curse of plants - they grow.  Take this specimen - a nice potted mandrake - for instance.

 This fine example of the knitter's - erm, gardener's - care clearly needs to be dealt with.  He's grown leafy and fine, but he might be getting a little too big for the pot that he currently calls home.  He either needs to be bumped up into a bigger pot or...

...he needs to be split in two, and each half provided with a pot of their own.  Trust your gardener's instinct - you'll know what to do.

Ahh...that feels so much better!


Hello, KNITSONIK Blog Tour!

My dear friend, the very talented and wonderful Felicity Ford has recently embarked on a campaign to produce a new knitting book unlike any knitting book that has ever come before.  Currently entitled The KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook, this tome aims to be the go-to resource for taking those everyday things and places that make up all our little worlds and turning them into colourwork knitting patterns.  Word of this project - as well as the Kickstarter campaign to fund it - has been making the rounds on social media as of late, and today I am honoured that TODAY my blog is the designated stop on the KNITSONIK Blog Tour!  

Earlier I had the chance to throw a few questions in Felix's direction about her VERY EXCITING colourwork sourcebook.  This is what we said.

I know that you do a lot of work with sounds – especially everyday sounds.  How does this influence your work / HOW (or) WILL you incorporate this into the book?

Listening gives you a new way of seeing things. Working with sounds deepens my appreciation for the distinctive character and texture of places. This is a general influence on the themes for The KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook: if I had not spent hours of my life leaning against walls and trees, listening, I doubt I'd have noticed the things I decided to knit in this book.

My good comrade in sound - Patrick McGinley - said the stranded knitting swatches are like "visual field recordings" and that is a pretty astute observation. To make a field recording you have to stand still, pay attention, be present, and open to noticing details in your environment. The woodpecker you hear on the way to work; snow melting in a drain and dripping in a beautiful way. Making field recordings of these moments turns them into something - a RECORD - that can be shared with the world! Knitted swatches can also document things and textures noticed in daily life, and - like working with audio - our knitting can be rooted in a slow, mindful process of noticing.

The book also contains some swatches rooted specifically in my soundwork. I'm making a swatch based on my EDIROL R-09 - my little digital recorder, for instance. This wonderful device has survived a fall into a pond, and is held together with duct tape; it's my favourite tool and poses particular challenges for colourwork because it is black, shiny, plasticky and not exactly picturesque! But I love this device and reckon most knitters own a tool which they treasure and would love to celebrate in the medium of stranded knitting, so I think it's a useful case study to include in the book. I'm also making a swatch based on my commute along the A4074 road which was the subject of a documentary radio show I made some years ago for the BBC. Many things I noticed in the process of recording traffic, wind in cropfields, night-birds and weather need to now be celebrated in colourwork!

Whilst working on this book, I am simultaneously producing an album - The KNITSONIK Audible Textures Resource - which knitters will be able to buy through iTunes when the book comes out, if they choose. This album will convey sounds from the places in Reading which have inspired the book, and also sounds from the specific landscape of Shetland, where the Jamieson & Smith 2 ply I'm using was grown. So you can listen to the source of the wool, and my sources of inspiration while you knit, if you like! Or you can just get the book. My 2-part KNITSONIK podcast - "Finding The Fabric of The Place" give a good sense of how these ideas fit together in sound!

This book is rather concept-y, but I think it’s an easy concept for most knitters to “get.”  How will you make this book accessible to the knitter who is new to this concept?

The book is concept-y, but the general idea of finding inspiration in our lives is already present in the knitting world, so I'm hoping it's not such a radical jump to imagine a sourcebook which really unpacks that idea - and specifically which does that in relation to stranded knitting.  

In terms of communicating concepts, it's an old cliche, but a picture really does paint a thousand words. I knew from the start of this adventure that getting the images and design exactly right are key to the success of this book. My system for developing colourwork based on everyday life is largely based on seeing things in a certain way, and reams of words will not communicate this as clearly as meaningful images. For this reason, I have found the best designer in knit-publishing and the best photographer I know of to work with me on the book: Nic Blackmore and Fergus Ford.

I'm encouraged that even in the short time that the Kickstarter campaign has been live, the beautiful video that Fergus shot and editing and the promotional images I've made seem to be really speaking to people. Knitters are talking about their bricks, the new way they are looking at the world after watching the Kickstarter video, etc. This is all really encouraging and confirms my instinct that amazing production values and a precise focus for the pictures will make this book make sense!

In your podcasts and descriptions of this project you really deliver a strong sense of place regarding Oxford and Reading. I think it’s important to show knitters who aren’t used to thinking that way that their own cities and towns, and the weird little things that they love, are ready to be celebrated in their own right.  Do you think that this is an idea whose time has come?

Thanks so much for your kind words on my descriptions and podcast, I really do try to get a strong sense of place into my work. I am passionate about celebrating my everyday reality, and I love to transmit that enthusiasm wherever I can, because I think we need it!

I definitely do think that the time has come to celebrate - as you so nicely put it - "the weird little things" people love. That's one reason why the EDIROL R-09 is in the book! I wanted to show that whatever is personal and precious and special TO YOU can be embedded in your knitting, and deserves to be celebrated.

Giving my "Quotidian Colourwork" class at Shetland Wool Week last year consolidated my instinct that this idea really should become a book. What I loved about that class was how people held and spoke about the things they had bought in as inspirations - their photos, their pictures, their treasure. We had great conversations in the course of figuring out how to knit them. I am grateful for the energy and enthusiasm that knitters brought to that class, and want to infuse the book with the same sense of mutual respect, playing with colours, and valuing daily life that we enjoyed there!

Are you familiar with the term “psychogeography?”  I’ve heard you as much define it in your podcasts with your sticks-on-railings and field recordings in and around Oxford.  Psycho-geography – the added layers of personal experience and memory laid out upon the geographical plan of a place.  How much do you think that this has influenced your work and this book?

I've come across that term and am definitely inspired by the idea that we map concepts and memories over our environments, and that where we live is both a layer of physical geography, and mental geography. Recording sounds creates a special relationship with memory - you remember where you stood with the recorder, where exactly you were in relation to the sounds you were documenting, whether it was cold or there was a wind - and the recording can bring the whole sensation of being somewhere immediately into my mind. In the same way, knitting is a record of time. I can always remember where I was when I was knitting a sweater or a hat, and what was going on then... so I think there is a sort of KNITSONIK psychogeography that I am practicing; a mixing-up of places with sounds, knitting and memories.

For instance when I walk past St. Mary's Butts Church in Reading, I always remember harvesting black walnuts from the tree in the grounds, dyeing yarn with them in my kitchen, photographing the brickwork on the church, and then knitting that brickwork. Sounds, stitches, surfaces, places... they are all combined and after working on this book I am sure all of Reading will seem to me like a giant collection of KNIT and SONIK impressions, overlaid on the actual physicality of the streets. And I will feel closer to this place I think for creating those associations.

I think it’s important to celebrate and appreciate the things we are surrounded by each day – especially the little things that we are around so often we hardly notice them anymore.  To me it’s a natural urge to want to turn them into knitwear because that’s my medium of choice. We are material beings in a physical space. What do you make of our need to MAKE THINGS?

I love your celebrations of the everyday in knitting! ALL your designs are amazing, but my particular favourites include the Guardian Building Mittens, Circuit, and Polska; I gasped out loud when I saw Polska on Ravelry and it made me run to the cupboard to see if we still had a bit of crockery I remembered which had been painted in that style.

That's the thing: the effort and imagination invested in MAKING THINGS from the real world makes you look with fresh eyes back at that same world. I was re-enchanted with that style of pottery after seeing your fabulous knitted rendition of it, and - likewise - if I ever am lucky enough to see the Guardian Building I should like very much to visit with my mittens on, creating an imaginative and celebratory connection with the building which would massively enhance my experience of being there.

For me the need to MAKE THINGS based on daily life has a dual function. Firstly, the process of observing THE THING - whether it is the tilework of the Guardian building in your case or the crumbling old deco factory in mine - sort of impresses it into your mind. I've gone back and forth on the exact shades of pink for that swatch many times, and love to notice how the light changes the way that pink stucco glows whenever I pass it... so there is that thing where you just gain this lovely, complex appreciation for the world and its charms through the process of very closely observing it. Then if you KNIT those observations, you kind of embed them back into daily life? I love to paint and draw, but as soon as you frame a piece of paper and stick it on the wall it loses some of its connections to the mundane and to the everyday. But if it becomes socks or mittens, it continues to circulate there! The inspiration starts sneaking into your laundry basket, onto your radiator, into your sock drawer, and it's right there on your hands or your feet when you look down. I love that. For me, wanting to keep that rich cycle going of inspiration, daily life, inspiration, daily life, is at the very heart of my urge to MAKE THINGS.

I think it makes life better.

What would you say to someone who thinks that knitting buildings is silly?

I would probably give them my copy of "Knitting Architecture" by Tanis Gray and something super, super precious from my personal stash to make a project from it. Seriously, I would be very keen to win that person over, because I think they would be missing out on a lot of fun!  

Translating a big, public thing, like a building, into a small, personal item like a pair of woolly mittens, is something very close to my heart.  Moreover, it’s something that I simply CAN’T NOT do (if that makes sense.) What has drawn you towards this (some might say odd) way of seeing things?

I think it comes back to what I was saying before, which is that the whole process of observing something closely enough to turn it into a coherent, knit-able chart really causes you to appreciate its details. I am drawn to the process of deepening my connection with my environment, falling in love with the little things in life, and then putting my celebrations back into the everyday places which inspired them by making them wearable.

I could achieve the same sense of deep observation through drawing, but drawing and painting do not have the same provocative and exciting connections with clothing, social history and land-use that the medium of hand-knitting possesses. Knitting has associations with economies of dress; the history of labour (usually women's labour); and the politics of land use. Hand-knits are a site of meaning, and I am incredibly drawn to the richness of that site as a place to play and explore as a maker.

I also love that knitting is useful.

You incorporate a rather diverse collection of things into a colourwork patterning style that is clearly not Fair Isle but somehow evokes a sense of Fair Isle. It’s like a modern take on traditional patterns. How do you see your work fitting into the Grand Tradition of knitwear/knitting?

That is a super question. In simple terms, I love that Fair Isle knitting and the stranded colourwork of Estonia underline connections between knitters and where they are from. Looking at those Grand Traditions of knitwear - and listening to knitters from Shetland and Estonia speaking about their knitting - has made me long to create connections in my own knitting between where I live and where I come from in culture.  

Growing up in Croydon on the outskirts of London, with non-knitting parents, in the suburbs, and living now in Reading, 40 miles west of London, I can't really lay claim to any great textile traditions! But my little Felix-shaped place in the world is nevertheless full of references. I love the things that have shaped the texture of my life like A-roads and dandelions and crumbly old buildings at the edges of Britain's industrial estates. Since I do not have a specific textile tradition to draw on, why not draw on these sources and share what I discover through that process? And perhaps other knitters - similarly not born into specific, Grand Traditions - might enjoy an adventure with me, exploring what happens when we make up our own? That's a big theme for the KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook. 

All photographs kindly supplied by Felicity Ford.  Don't forget to check out her blog, The Domestic Soundscape.  You can support the KNITSONIK Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook via Kickstarter here. Get more info on the KNITSONIK Blog Tour and a list of all the previous and future stops here.