Indian Summer

Recently harvested hand-knitted, hand-washed socks line-drying, late afternoon, today.

Socks and Natural Selection

Like many of you, I love to knit socks. Behold a recently-completed pair, modeled by my Companion in Life:

These socks are entirely typical of my repertoire, consisting of about three variations of an archetypally basic pattern, the brainchild of my friend and local Langworthy Librarian, Jane Green. It has served me well during the first three years of my sock-knitting mania (life total to date: 40 completed pairs). A pattern like this is a great teacher of sock knitting, and an excellent way to showcase variegated or printed yarn, being, as it were, a blank canvas.

Almost two years ago I started a complicated pattern, with faux cables and lacy bits. It looks great, but I cannot knit it unless I'm in isolation, so I save it for when I have hours on Amtrak ahead of me. This Sterling Lace pattern, while beautiful, has furthered my resolve to simplify, simplify, simplify, as HDT says.

A free download,  Lace Sterling is designed by Clara Masessa for Kraemer Yarns.

Frankly, though, I am getting a wee bit bored by knitting the same old same old, so have been searching for a subtle variation. I found a much-touted pattern on Ravelry that looked like just the ticket, a classic rib with nice detail over two stitches:  SKYP; but I should have known something was wacko when I saw the sizing chart offered the following options only:  Men's X-Small [Small, Medium, Large].  OMG, I wondered.  Where would my women's size 8 feetsies fit into this? Regardless of all warning signs and alarm clocks, I dove right in.

This beautiful yarn is from Dirty Water Dyeworks, a New England hand-dyeing atelier.

It took me until the heel, when I tried it on, that I realized continuance was futile. The gauge and size were enough off to be tacitly annoying for the rest of my life, and suddenly, like a big blurp of water down the drain, the entire pattern lost its allure. I felt annoyed at all the hours I'd wasted, until I thought of how to adapt the herringbone pattern formed by the designer's SKYP (slip 1 purlwise, knit 1, yarn over, pass slipped stitch over).  Then this seemed to me a useful rehearsal for the next iteration, which I will share with you before too long, I hope.

Up close and personal so you can see the SKYP.

So ultimately, the time spent seemed more like a good practice, and possibly an evolutionary stage.

Ripped and ready to roll.

Travelry

Do you know that memory game, played during long, boring car rides, where one person says, "I'm going on a trip and I'm taking my [fill in the blank]"? Then the second person says "I'm going on a trip and I'm taking [the thing first mentioned] and [another thing]."  Etcetera, ad nauseam. That was my life today trying to figure out which knitting project to bring with me to Long Island, where I'll be visiting my aunt.

I kept telling myself, "I'm going on a trip and I'm going to bring the brown fair-isle socks."  Then, playing the part of the next participant:  "I'm going on a trip and I'm going to bring the brown fair-isle socks and the evolving sweater." Then, a while later, "I'm going on a trip and I'm going to take the brown fair-isle socks, the evolving sweater, and the blue  variegated socks."

Because if I didn't have enough knitting along, I might run out of things to knit. OMG!

Then Ted said, "Get a grip.  You're only gone for two-and-a-half days."

So, I'm just taking two pairs of socks.  I'll be spending some significant hours on Amtrak and the LIRR; maybe I'll finish them both!

Meanwhile, the Evolving Sweater has once again regressed owing to another cable needle tragedy--this time the plastic cable separated from the metal screw-post.  I am starting to hate circular needles.

The malevolent needle is hanging out on the right.

As you perhaps know, we are having an unseasonably warm winter. Today, the first of February, the temperature in Westerly, Rhode Island was almost 60F, and the ambient flora are behaving accordingly. There are already snowdrops blooming in the garden!

Friends and their FOs, or A Tale of Two Knitters from Massachusetts

Sometimes knitters actually fulfill their New Year's resolutions.

Margaret's 40+ year-old diamond-lace handknitted socks are finally put to use.

Joan's Colinette-kit afghan is complete!

Brava, ladies!

Sock of Ages

Observe, if you will, these lovely diamond-lace hand-knitted socks. By any reasonable standard of measurement, they would be considered beautifully executed. Suppose, gentle readers, that I told you these were made by my friend Margaret M. in the 1960s, when she was an eleven-year-old stripling? Would you not agree that this is a truly awesome accomplishment?

She brought them by today. I urged her to wear them, now that they've been knocking around for 40-odd years. "It's time," I said. (They still fit.)

Margaret M. artfully drapes the socks across Alfie.

Mice in the library

Jane Green, librarian and sock knitter par excellence (check out her Spirit Sisters website), brought these little guys to the library last week:

They are a wonderful Ysolda Teague pattern, "Mousie,"available through Ysolda's website or Ravelry.

And above are two of Jane's latest sock creations--an olive green tweed hiking sock, and elegant blue cabled socks with Jane's signature "fizz" at top.  The mice are about to leave for Louisville, KY, where Jane's heading for a week's visit with her daughter and grand-cat.  (Guess who's getting the mice?)

Why Socks?  An Existential Disquisition, Part 1

Recently I've come across more than a few manifestos, online and in knitting magazines, arguing in favor of knitted socks. The Langworthy Library Knitting Association, perhaps as a reflection of Jane's proclivities, cleaves to socks more than to anything else.  Denise tells me, "They're instant gratification." She favors them over more time-consuming projects, as do many other proponents, both in-library and outside.

I'm in the early stages of my sock-knitting career, and consider myself a convert to the beauty and general superiority of hand-knitted socks. They are warmer, lighter, and softer than any machine-made sock I've ever worn, including machine-made cashmere and angora. Plus, they're mine--original, unique, and custom-fitted!

Below a small gallery of hand-knitted socks made by the Langworthians:

Judy's socks

Denise's socks

Anne's socks

Socks I made for HC's birthday in November!

Here's a question:  Why do you or don't you knit socks?  (Responses will appear in a future post.)

Sox on the beach...

I'm beginning to understand why so many knitters focus exclusively on socks.  They offer a lot in one little package. The patterns are three-dimensional and require no sewing, the work is easily portable, and within small parameters there are interesting technical challenges. If you knit socks with variegated, self-striping, or self-fair-isling yarn, it's thrilling to watch the colors unfurl.  If you knit socks that are cabled, argyled, or lacy, your socks will be lovely beyond description.  Hand-knit woolen socks feel better on your feet than any machine-made sock you can buy (except maybe for cashmere).

Socks may always be fun to knit, but in the summer they're really pleasant because, unlike the back of a sweater or an afghan, they don't cover your lap with a lot of thick material.  And you can easily knit en route to any destination--assuming, of course, you're a passenger.

Our destination, the Charlestown, Rhode Island beach--a.k.a. "Blue Shutters"--was beautiful today. It was our first trip of the season to the ocean.

We were surprised to see a new sign with a list of no-nos, including "rough and injurious activities," "nude sunbathing," "alcoholic beverages" and "glass containers." I infer that tobacco, drugs, loud radios, sandcastle smashing, and working with sharp pointed sticks are all ok.

(Fortunately, I saw only one person wielding sharp pointed sticks, and I wasn't about to report her to the authorities.)