This is a sock that I made for my son. It’s beginning to look a wee bit tired and old now (but on the other hand – still fresher than I look first thing…. ha ha bloody ha) but it’s proof, if it were needed, that knitting isn’t just about making something to wear.
I bought the yarn in Seattle here in this fabulous wool shop just a quick stroll from Pike Place market: we’d landed a few hours before and we were horribly jet-lagged but already in love with this Pacific North West City. We’d had a bowl of chips and a beer in a bar that looked out over Puget Sound, marvelled at the market and the busy to-ing and fro-ing going on all around us. Then we browsed the yarn and I selected a single skein and needles for the train journey north to Vancouver the next day.
I don’t know the name of the yarn, it’s colour, batch or composition but its deep blues and greens and touch of purple seemed to reflect the palette of the countryside, and I knew my son would love it. He was waiting to meet us in Canada and he loves his handmade socks. We rolled slowly north on the train and I knitted away on the socks and inch by inch, mile by mile they were made and handed over in due course. My son was spending 6 months in Vancouver and we’d treated ourselves to a holiday there to see him and spend a little time in the PNW. God, we loved it – great food, cities, scenery, friendly Canadians and Americans, a chilled out vibe and yarn shops everywhere.
So I look at this slightly shaggy sock with its thin sole and strangely twisted heel and I don’t see a sad old woolly thing I see, well, this……