New Sock

I'm still plugging away on St. Enda and the Lace Ribbon Scarf, but neither of those are good social knitting projects. I needed something to take to knitting group that I won't screw up while trying to hold up my end of a conversation.

This was going to be two socks knit at once on two circs, since the yardage was stingy and I had to buy two skeins, and I've been wanting to try that technique for a while. I think I was almost finished casting on when I decided to rip it out and cast on for just one sock. A sock is great for knitting group not just because it's uncomplicated, but also because it's portable. But if I have to take two socks instead of one, and two skeins of yarn instead of one, it's not quite so portable. I'm actually pretty sure I won't like the technique, but I'd like to prove it to myself. Maybe next time.

This is the first yarn I've used from the trip to Webs back in May. It's Artyarns Ultramerino and it's so soft and vibrant and wonderful and I almost didn't buy it. I decided to pass, but then talked about it all through lunch and finally, under intense peer pressure, went back to the store and bought it. Thank goodness for enablers!

Beaded Rib Socks

Or, the Socks that Would Not End.



The socks are nice. (Wish I could say as much for my floors. Ugh!)

I really love this colorway of Tofutsies. It's a combination of off-white, tan, and grey that overall looks very pebbly. I used the Beaded Rib Pattern from Sensational Knitted Socks. It's rather similar to the pattern for another pair I made recently, which I think is why this pair felt like it took so long. I just got bored, and it didn't help that my other project is off-white. I need to knit something colorful now!

This is only my second pair of toe-up socks and I think I can definitively say that I don't like that method. Short-row shaping is so awkward and messy, and look how terrible the heel looks:



Definitely not the neat orderly sock heels that I love. No! Big gaps and loose stitches on both sides of both heels. I still like the socks though. I'm wearing them now and they are quite comfy, which I suppose is the most important thing.

Tiptoe Through the Tulips

Lovely, impractical socks! I do not like this thing called intarsia, nor do I think it's a good choice for sock heels. But they are cute, no?

The pattern is from Knitty and designed by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, aka the Yarn Harlot. Unfortunately, it's a bit sloppily written but if you have sock experience it's not too bad. The sizes are very unclear; while the pattern lists sizes S, M, L it actually only includes one set of instructions with a note that if you want to make the larger size, use larger needles. What if you want to make medium? Or maybe I made medium and it is small that is missing. We will never know, because the pattern doesn't include any measurements to help define S, M, or L. The instructions also neglect to tell you to work in stockinette or switch to white for the toe, but you can tell from the pictures. But mostly it was a fun project and really, I enjoy make anything that is turquoise. And they are very springlike.

But what is this wayward stitch marring the otherwise orderly gusset?

Your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea what happened there.

I made these for the February Sockdown on Ravelry. The theme was to make socks with a heel that is new to you; cast on anytime during the month of February and finish by the end of March. There are fantastic prizes for some lucky winners, which is what it's all about. Or maybe it's about having yet another pair of fabulous handmade socks?

Intarsia!

This can't be right, can it? Can you even see that there is a sock under all those bobbins?

This is my first real intarsia and I'm a bit flummoxed. I checked a few knitting books for instructions, but the intarsia patterns they show are all very clearly defined blocks of color - just squares, really - not an actual picture like you would encounter in a real pattern. There was no mention of patterns with parts where it may be best to carry the yarn instead of starting yet another bobbin, but I'm assuming it's ok. Because that's what I did. This design has several rows wherein there are two colors, alternating every couple of stitches, so I just carried for those parts and then everything became nice and blobby and intarsia-like again and I went back to using a bobbin for each section of color.

Also, my unhelpful books didn't mention how to keep the bobbins straight so you are sure to use the correct one. I have a vague memory of reading something about putting all the bobbins in a bag or a box with little holes all in a row for the yarn to come through, to keep them all in order. This seemed like too much work for just a sock heel. Ha. Not nearly as much work, I suspect, as untangling about 12 bobbins every five minutes. But despite my problems, it has come out quite well.


If nothing else, it is great practice for colorwork. And I'm beginning to suspect that is all it will be is practice. Because as cute as these socks will be...Intarsia? Not such a good idea for sock heels. Every one of those bobbins pictured above represents TWO ends to be woven in, creating a messy, bumpy heel. (I just typed that in as "hell," an apt description of the two hours I spent trying to weave in all 482 yarn ends without distorting the stitches.)

Oh, and also? I will have to do this all again on the second sock.
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P.S. Apparently Grumperina shares my love of a fine heel gusset.

Retro Rib Socks

These are from Interweave Knits, Winter 2004 issue (I guess I'm a little behind!) I used Zwerger Garn Opal, which is quite lovely yarn and comes in generous skeins of 465 yards.

This is a very enjoyable pattern to knit because it's so simple - just knits and purls - but creates a nice texture. It's also easy to memorize.

I'm so glad these socks are done because I've been very antsy to wear them! Once you start wearing hand knits socks, there is no going back, and right now I don't have nearly enough pairs to get me through the week.

Gusset, a love story

My favorite part of knitting socks is creating the gusset, that little triangular space that connects the leg and foot near your ankle.

In traditional cuff-down socks, once the leg is complete half the stitches are set aside while knitting back and forth to create a heel flap, and decreases are then used to form the heel shape. To create the gusset, stitches are picked up along the edge of the heel flap, perpendicular to the leg.


They look so neat and orderly!

This is done on the other side as well, until it is all connected in a tube shape again, but now the tube is turned in a new direction to create the foot.


Seeing the little rows marching on away from the heel is so satisfying! This new larger tube is now decreased through the ankle area until it is the right size for the foot, and those decreases create the lovely triangular final gusset shape.


So neat, so perfect, and so little left before my sock is complete!

Retro Rib Socks: a preview

Just a little peek at my socks-in-progress. I actually finished the first one and have started the second. I can't wait for them to be finished. It's cold outside!

Hey hey we're the monkeys!

Why yes, actually, I do realize that I'm a lame-o dork. But look at how fantastic my new Monkey socks are!


Aren't they so...stripey? Honestly, I had no idea it was a striping yarn until I was totally done. But then again, I've never been accused of being particularly observant. I have to admit, though, that I find it very strange that many sock yarns do not state on the label whether they are striping or just variegated. There is no way of knowing until you knit with it.

These are made of Tofutsies yarn, my new favorite sock yarn. I may have mentioned previously that it is machine washable and dryable which I think are very important qualities to have in a sock.

I never understood those crazy people who wasted all their knitting time on socks. Now I seem to have become one of them. It is extremely satisfying to knit something and have it fit excellently when you are done, which is SO much more likely with a pair of socks than a sweater.

Baby Cable Rib Socks

I finished these a while back, but they were a gift so I couldn't post a picture until now. Sorry it's not an action shot, but I wasn't sure the recipient would appreciate me wearing them before giving them to her.

The pattern is from Sensational Knitted Socks by Charlene Schurch, which is quite a fantastic sock book. The patterns include instructions for many different sizes, and the book is divided into sections based on the number of stitches in each pattern repeat. For example, the Baby Cable Rib are in the 4-stitch repeat section, along with several other patterns. So you choose the chapter, and follow the pattern, inserting the stitch pattern of your choice. You can potentially make many many pairs of socks from this book of varying construction (cuff-down or toe-up) and level of difficulty.

I used Tofutsies yarn which, if you're not familiar, is made from a blend of wool, cotton, soy, and chitin (which comes from crab and shrimp shells). It's practically a meal. The yarn is a little splitty to work with, but I like it quite a bit anyhow (and got more for Christmas, yay!) The color, which you can't really tell from the picture is a heathered combination of white and pink (or is it lavender?)

They are quite lovely, if I do say so myself, and I'd recommend both the book and the yarn.

Log Cabin Socks

The pattern is from Holiday Knitting by Melanie Falick, a book worth buying just to look at the gorgeous photos. I used Plymouth Tweed, which isn't as soft as I was hoping for, but apparently is pretty comfy. I do love the rustic tweediness of the yarn and would probably use it again. I actually found little bits of twig in it (which I have to assume was placed there intentionally for the effect, because doesn't yarn involve lots of processing?)

These were a Christmas present for Eric, so had to hold off posting a picture for obvious reasons. I'm glad to report that they fit!

Undecided

I can't decide whether or not I like how this is coming out.


It doesn't really look like the picture, but I knew it wouldn't because it's acrylic and just behaves differently. Do I keep going and hope that it will turn out fine and I will want to wear it? Do I rip it out and go with plan #2 which is the hoodie from Stitch n' Bitch, even though I don't need any more hoodies and don't look forward to miles of stockinette, but which looks like it will be snuggly enough to wear frequently? No magic answers are coming to me in dreams while I sleep.

So, I've done what any girl would do and started knitting myself a pair of socks.


I'm using the Monkey pattern from Knitty, just like every other sock knitter on the planet. I swapped something from my stash for this Tofutsies yarn. I believe the colorway is called "Those Drinks Tasted Festive Last Night." No, actually I like it, I really do. But I don't love it and I don't love the pattern, so somehow they seemed right for each other.

I'm not sure how I got so interested in socks. I think I may have inspired myself by composing this essay for my writing class. None of my other socks are so wonderful and luxurious though. I think the secret is the yarn. (If you are listening, Santa, Windsor Button sells Cherry Tree Hill sock yarn in a variety of variegated and solid colors for $20 a skein. It is expensive, but makes a fine pair of socks.)

Doctor Who Gloves non-update: the button-buying trip revealed that Eric and I have different ideas about how the mitten tops should be constructed and I don't know if what he wants is possible (at least by me), so that project is on hold pending an epiphany.

FO: Baudelaire Socks

I don't know why I didn't start knitting socks sooner. Wool is perfect for my perpetually cold feet, and these are far more comfortable than any other socks I own (except possibly my Jaywalkers).

Here's a shot of the lace pattern on the top of the foot.


And one more look, just because.


This yarn is really fantastic. I have a hard time finding sock yarn that I like, probably because I usually shop at Windsor Button and, much as I love that store, they don't have a great selection of sock yarn. In particular, I have a hard time finding appealing solid colors, which really are the best for intricate lace or cable patterns. Last winter I stopped by A Good Yarn in Brookline and found this yarn - beautiful, solid colors in a skein with more than enough yardage for two socks (very important!) I was so excited, I bought two skeins. The other one is a lovely, deep brown and I'm still looking for the perfect pattern for it.

Pattern: Baudelaire from Knitty, designed by Cookie A.
Yarn: ZwergerGarn Opal
Needles: Addi Turbos, size 2

Baudelaire socks: one down

I'm pleased with my sock. My plan was to immediately cast on for the second sock before losing momentum, but alas, Satan intervened and instead I cast on for a cardigan. Who knows when - or, I shudder to think, if - the second sock will materialize.

This is my first toe-up sock. I like to learn something new with most projects, and though I hate to admit it, it seems like this is how all the cool kids knit their socks. Thus, my toe-up sock.

I have discovered that I do not like knitting socks from the toe up. The figure eight cast-on is messy and imprecise, unlike the lovely neatness of the kitchener cast-off for cuff down socks. There are other ways to cast on for toe-ups of course, and perhaps I will try them, but this method has still another strike against it.

When beginning from the toe, you start with the toe shaping, then move on to the foot increases, then the always-interesting heel, after which - just when you are getting a little burned out with this tiny-needled project - you are faced with the straight, boring neverending leg of darkness and misery. I think I prefer the boring part at the beginning and more complicated parts later on to hold my interest.

I'm not sure how to reconcile this with my newfound love of the top-down sweater, however. Those also start with the more interesting parts, end with the long body and then the sleeves which are boring and unpleasant no matter when you make them. Why do I enjoy this method so much more than the traditional bottom up sweater? I just don't know. As the scientists are fond of saying, additional studies are needed.

Baudelaire Sock Progress

Since I'm the only knitter in the world who doesn't bring projects on vacation I missed over a week of knitting, but I'm still happy with my progress. The end is in sight. Except for the second sock, but we shall not speak of that.

Yarn Harlot

Since becoming a knitter, I’ve had the vague knowledge that there was a well-known knitting personality known as the Yarn Harlot, but was unsure what this person did or was known for. I didn’t think she was a designer…I even subscribed to her blog for a little while but didn’t see anything special about it. Finally, after reading a comment online recommending her book Knitting Rules, I grabbed a copy from the library. It was time to read something by this Yarn Harlot person and figure out what her deal was.

Her deal, as it turns out, is that she is really freaking funny. I know there is an anti-Yarn Harlot camp out there, but as I am a sucker for creative self-deprecating humor, I may now be a fan. This book isn’t super dense but it does have some great knitting information including some basic instructions for a number of items, including hats, scarves, shawls, and socks. But the real value of this book is that it is so fun to read, and that she acknowledges we are all less organized than we would like to be, and don’t want to swatch (but know we should), and she knows how to be a good knitter without taking it too seriously.

She sprinkles the book with amusing anecdotes about knitting projects gone wrong. When instructing how to avoid disasters she will add, “Ask me how I know.” In her list of “10 Reasons to Knit a Sweater” she writes: “You could spend a lifetime exploring all the variations on sweaters: raglan in pieces, raglan in the round, top-down seamless…the weird thing you invented when you thought you were doing a cap sleeve but got two pages of the pattern stuck together.”

She is convincing. I have never felt inclined to knit a shawl, but in her “10 Reasons to knit shawls” one of them is “I can toss a big woolen one about myself as I head to the grocery store and get a Wuthering Heights/Cathy-on-the-moors feel going, instead of my usual “I-forgot-to-buy-cat-food feeling.””

See, this I can relate to.

It’s not a reference book or a pattern book, but filled the time nicely while I was waiting for the last Harry Potter book to come out, and was too distracted by other things to read anything serious or dense.

She is not devoid of philosophical thoughts about knitting, however. Of particular relevance to one of my current projects, Yarn Harlot speaks thus:

“The truth about socks is that they’re humble and beautiful and noble, and in their lowness they’re the highest form of art.”

Yum.

Jaywalkers, a tribute

The sock, handmade, is not just a sock. One long piece of yarn looped into a fabric, a pattern of v’s that warms and protects, it is the result of hours of labor with tiny knitting needles. It belongs on display, framed perhaps, to be admired for its beauty and craftsmanship.

The pattern is simple enough, the rows of v’s forming larger v shapes nested together. The center stitch of each large v stands out in relief, creating long vertical stripes the length of the sock, stopping just an inch before the toe. It is shaped as you would expect a sock to be shaped, but the toe is unusual. The sides veer in towards the middle, but stop with a blunt end about an inch across so it is like a trapezoid, and with no visible seam. The top edge is ribbed –two knit stitches, two purled, all the way around the top - to hold it snugly in place.

Blending together like a chest of jewels, the colors are luxurious: turquoise, rich purple, vibrant blue, sea green, a little bit of sand. Like the precious stones, the colors have some shine, and the hues are similar enough not to jar, but to complement, as though they were meant for each other. The colors pool in a few areas, leaving, for example, an oblong shadow of purples trailing through a sea of turquoise. A small bit of red, not even an entire stitch, is just a small mark I tried to wipe off, thinking a rogue piece of fiber was stuck in the fabric. Perhaps a manufacturing error in the yarn, it is now hidden on the bottom of my foot.

Pulling on the sock is an experience best savored slowly. The thin fabric is deceivingly warm, a surprise every time. It’s almost a shame to put shoes on. The fine merino feels silky and expensive, maybe a waste for socks, but it feels so good I want all my socks to be like this. It would take years of knitting to fill my sock drawer with these. You may ask why I would bother: socks are cheaper bought from the store, an afterthought picked up on the way to the cash register. Clearly nobody has knit you a pair by hand; if you can’t enjoy simply wearing your socks, you have missed the true experience of sock wearing. It’s like grinding fresh Colombian beans to brew your own coffee compared to mixing up some of the instant powder.

Unexpectedly, the sock smells not of sheep or even of processed wool, but of something sweet, unidentifiable in this context, and much unlike the other, lesser, socks in my drawer. I can’t imagine intentionally smelling any other sock, except its sister. (Yes, there are two perfect socks!)

More a pashmina than a utilitarian foot covering, the sock lies useless in the summer months, waiting for cold weather when it is needed. For now it is not clothing but a piece of art to be looked at not for its usefulness, but for its beauty.