cwBlog

So this is actually my third attempt at starting a blog, and it's all the fault of those pesky Canadians, and possibly one Texan.

A few weeks back the Yarn Harlot came to my local yarn store -- Canadian the first. You can read about the adventures she had on that trip here. If you scroll down, you'll see a picture of me; I'm Charlton, knitting kilt hose of my own devising.

Now, the yarn I'm knitting them from is the most excellent Durasport from Briggs and Little, a most excellent yarn mill located in New Brunswick, Canada. The Yarn Harlot recognized the yarn -- perhaps it gives off secret pheromones perceptible only to Canadians? -- and called the socks "clever."

Of course this was noticed. How many people named Charlton can there be knitting socks? So my Canadian yarn got me another 15 minutes of international fame. (Someday I'll write about my first 15 minutes of international fame -- I was on Jeopardy!) Of course everyone insisted that I should put a picture up when they were done.

To make it more interesting, apparently a gathering of over 600 knitters counts as front-page news in the area; unbeknownst to me, a photographer took a picture in which I am clearly visible in the audience. (I'd put a link in here, but the Daily Hampshire Gazette requires people to subscribe to see articles online -- and they charge for it.) So suddenly I was outed as a knitter, and people who recognized me called and emailed to ask if it was really me there.

Anyway. So the discussion of the Yarn Harlot and kilt hose caught the eye of Ray, at Knitivity, who has apparently been mulling the idea of dyeing some Briggs and Little yarn. He emailed me to ask my opinion, and in the process offered to send me some of his hand-dyed sock yarn. I ask you, am I really supposed to say no to an offer like that?

So he sent me this:

Beautiful, beautiful yarn. And it wants to be socks, and it said so very clearly.

(If you're not a knitter, and know me from some other area of my life, and you found this blog by Googling: that statement is not a sign of impending mental collapse. Ask any knitter or fiber artist: the yarn speaks to us, really it does, and it tells us what it wants to be. Really.)

I lied to it, and said I only had one set of sock needles, and it would have to wait until I finished the kilt hose, in the interest of international relations with Canada. But it insisted, and it bullied both the Schaefer Anne and the hand-spun hand-dyed I have already divided into halves for toe-up socks. It shoved the Fair Isle gloves out of the way, insisting that they wouldn't be necessary until at least November. I think it believed the lie about only having one set of free needles. We'll see.