The Sweater Lady

Last 4^th of July, I was walking the busier-than-normal streets of Crested Butte, Colorado, an otherwise sleepy, hard to reach mountain town. I was perusing the store fronts, each painted a decadent color, when I came across an elderly woman, alone at a table full of sweatshirts. The sweatshirts were as brightly colored as the store fronts – and just as unique. Each garment said CRESTED BUTTE across the front of the chest, and above the letters was a cut out of The Butte, with a full moon rising behind it. Some of the sweaters were bright blue with light blue lettering. Some were yellow with pink lettering. No two were alike. All of the letters were comprised of funky patterns.

I struck up a conversation with the woman selling the sweaters. She proudly told me that they were all, indeed handmade. Not only this, but she was from my hometown of Wichita, had lived in Crested Butte since the 1970s, and was generally just a free spirited individual. I gingerly touched a few sweatshirts, lifting them up to my body to feel the soft fabric. They were a little out of my budget at $35 a pop, and she only took cash. I looked longingly as my girlfriend made a purchase, and was envious of her sweatshirt for the entirety of the following winter.

I returned to Crested Butte a year later, only last week, and I was on a mission to find The Sweater Lady, as I'd come to call her. There are many reasons Crested Butte is my favorite mountain town, and aside from the stunning views, the reason the actual town is at the top of my list is because it hasn't lost the small town, old-Colorado feel. It isn't riddled with chain stores – in fact it has none. Not even a Starbucks, not even a Safeway. It's Camp 4 Coffee, Clark's Market, Secret Stash Pizza, a ton of Croatian history, and of course, The Sweater Lady, that make Crested Butte the gem it is. It's hard to reach, it's tucked away. I've picked up Frommer's Colorado guides and there is nary a mention of Crested Butte (let's keep it that way). All of these factors make it my favorite place on the planet. No joke. I've traveled a lot, and there are too many reasons to not give Crested Butte that honor. Just another reason I needed a sweatshirt that had the name of my decidedly favorite place on Earth.

My dad was a little confused by my obsession. “Now why do you want to find this lady so bad?” I said because she's just an awesome old lady who sells friggin' sweaters on the side of the road. She doesn't Tweet. She doesn't email blast. She doesn't Facebook and she damn sure doesn't give Visa a cut of her profits. She just makes sweatshirts, and they sell because they are of good quality. They are special because, besides being hand made, you can't just get one at a shitty tourist store. You kinda have to work for it. And I was prepared to do just that. Pictured: At the sweater lady's table, my dad chats with Karen and I make the hardest decision of my young life.

On our first day in Crested Butte, I peaked around a few corners, including the one I had seen her on a year ago. I couldn't find her. I decided to start asking around. “Excuse me,” I asked a hat shop owner, “Do you know where that Sweater Lady is?” “Oh, you mean Karen,” the woman answered. “Of course. Actually, I need to call her back about something anyway.” She picked up the phone and chatted with Karen for a few minutes about something, and then proceeded to tell her that a girl was trying to track her down for a sweatshirt. I said, “Tell her I'm a Kansas Jayhawk.” The woman told Karen, and then said, “She wants to talk to you.”

Before I knew it, I was feeling like a celebrity, because I was talking to The Sweater Lady, Karen. She told me she was working near The Avalanche (a bar) on the mountain, and gave me her hours, and then her phone number. I was ecstatic. I was going to meet The Sweater Lady.

The next morning, I went with my parents to the place where The Sweater Lady said she'd be – and she was there, with her table and a gazillion sweatshirts to choose from. I was in heaven. Blue, green, pink, salmon, yellow, purple – how was I ever going to choose? I introduced myself and we all started chatting. Turns out her sister lives only 3 blocks from my parents in Wichita. She told me that she'd been making sweatshirts “Since 1976. There are many times someone comes to my table, gasps and says, 'I had one of those as a kid!' and then buys it for their child, or their grandchild. People remember. I've been doing this for more than 30 years.”

I paid more attention to selecting my sweatshirt than selecting the college I attended. I narrowed it down to a sunny, yellow number, or a salmon colored beauty. I went with the salmon. I decided I'd save the yellow one for next time, because every time I come to Crested Butte from now on, I'm getting a sweatshirt from The Sweater Lady.

The Sweater Lady – Karen – is someone I'm intrigued by for very random reasons. I don't know her at all, really, but I admire her simplicity. All she wants to do is sell some lovely, handcrafted sweatshirts on the side of a mountain. She didn't want to build a huge ass franchise and turn her retro looking sweatshirts into the American Apparel of mountain inspired gifts. She gets up every morning and does something she's successful at with meticulous attention to detail. She had a cool idea and went with it, using an old school, unconventional method - and that takes courage.

I sort of wanted to keep The Sweater Lady a secret, because by writing about it, maybe other people will find her, and I wanted to selfishly keep her to myself. But it's just too cool not to share. So if you go to Crested Butte, you've gotta meet Karen. You can't look her up in the phone book or pinpoint her on your smart phone. But, with a little asking around and some luck, you just might find yourself donning a soft, hand made sweatshirt with a pasley patterned mountain and moon to match.