I never thought I’d be a sock knitter, as I’ve mentioned here before. What’s the sense of putting so much effort into something that will quickly wear out and smell of feet? I’m still not sure. But I knit them anyway. And I’ll bet your store-bought socks can’t say they’ve ever landed you a new job.

Here’s how it happened:

Spring. Sockapaloooza. Knitters all over the world are whipping up pairs of socks for perfect strangers, out of a sense of good fun and on the strength of their faith that another stranger will send a pair to them. Steph knits these. She sends them to Jen in Portland. She also tells Jen that her friend Sarah has recently moved to Portland, and perhaps they should meet and knit together. Jen and Sarah meet and find they have much in common beyond knitting. Jen introduces Sarah to her boss, the director of an exceptionally fine elementary school, and now Sarah is so busy learning her new job there that she scarcely has time to cast on a mate for any of her own unwed socks.

Gainful employment through sock exchange, people. It’s a beautiful dream. Those daffodilly Rib-and-Cable socks are helping to pay my mortgage when you come right down to it. They’ve also introduced me to a whole crowd of bright, passionate, talented folks — many knitters among them — with whom it’s a joy to work, and I haven’t even met the kiddos yet.

So cast on, my friends. You never know when your craft will become a vessel and bear you away on a purposeful current to parts unknown.

Don’t you love it when you hit upon the perfect pattern for a particular yarn and the whole project comes together better than you could have hoped? That’s how I’m feeling about my Gentleman’s Shooting Stockings in Trekking XXL. I spent an irrational amount of time the day before my trip swatching for different socks, trying to find the one that would best complement this yarn, and I think I chose correctly.

                   

This is sock #1, which I’m actually calling a Lady’s Shooting Stocking, as I eliminated the calf shaping and narrowed the foot. I just cast on 72 stitches and worked a straight leg: 72 is plenty for my decidedly non-mannish ankles. I cast on during the plane ride from Portland to Denver, and grafted the toe on the same flight home again. I knit this sock on a horse ranch at 8000 feet, in a tent sheltering from the sleet and 25-degree nights above treeline, and even on the back of my grazing pony in a mountain meadow. (Yes, I’ll have pictures of that, but they need to be developed. I didn’t dare bring the expensive — and heavy — digital camera, so I borrowed my parents’ old film point-and-shoot. We’ll see how well it served me.) The sock and I survived a hail storm, a bath in an alpine lake (I was filthy; the sock just had a little toothpaste on the toe), getting lost (a tip: bring a topographical map when you’re trying to follow a trail in the mountains), a drama queen pack horse, and a swarm of yellow jackets. Two rows were worked by my new friend Nora while I was clobbering my cousin Leith at ping pong down on the ranch. Nora caught the hang of the two circs right away. She’s also an accomplished markswoman, so it seemed appropriate for her to contribute to the Shooting Stockings. (And don’t get the idea that I’m good at ping pong. Leith had been into the Scotch and probably wasn’t at the peak of his game. Pool is more his thing, anyway.)

Unfortunately, now I have three socks without mates: I still need to knit a second Pomatomus, and my poor solitary Retro Rib is pining away in the yarn drawer. I have terminal Second Sock Syndrome, people. And I’ve got this crazy idea I’m going to knit mittens for holiday presents this winter. If that’s going to be any kind of a success, I need to prove I can finish a brace of matching socks. So let’s vote: which pair should I finish first?

I’ve got about forty-four hours left until I leave for what may turn out to be one of the adventures of my lifetime. I’m going here:

This is Sandra Lake, twelve thousand feet up in a remote corner of Colorado, ringed by three fourteen thousand foot mountains, including Wilson Peak. Sandra Lake was named for my favorite once-removed cousin by her parents, who prospected for silver and wrote geology theses there as honeymooners in 1932. (Just try to tell me that isn’t the most hardcore honeymoon you ever heard of! And Cousin Sandra wasn’t born at the time, in case you’re thinking unseemly thoughts about my great aunt and uncle. They bought the land and returned there many times over the years with their family.)

Cousin Sandra, called Saucy in the family, died unexpectedly last winter. This is a memorial trip for her and a 70th birthday celebration for her husband Bill. Here’s Bill as I last saw him, on his Virginia farm in March:

We won’t have the baby oxen, Ruff and Reddy, on this trip, but we will have seven or eight horses. We’re renting them from the OK Ranch in Rico, packing up to the lake to stay for three days, and then riding part of the Calico Stock trail. I’ll be gone ten days in all. It will be the longest time I’ve camped, the highest elevation I’ve visited, and probably the widest variation in weather conditions I’ve ever had to prepare for. I’m thrilled, but it’s also a daunting trip. My pack horse will carry my gear for me so I don’t need to worry about weight as much as I would if I were backpacking. But the temperature might range from 75 to 25 degrees, and there could be high winds and rain or even snow. So today I’m piling gear all over the house and decided what to take. I’m considering buying a tent from my neighbor, as the one I was going to borrow from my parents mysteriously disappeared and the one I took from Mr. Garter’s parents’ attic looks doubtful for surviving inclement weather a thousand feet above treeline. And naturally, I have to decide what to knit.

Top candidate? Socks. On two circs, of course. We can’t have dpns poking through my saddle bags and pricking my horse. And on a trip of this magnitude, it hardly seems appropriate to bring anything but Trekking sock yarn. I know I’ve got two balls in the stash, but I’m leaning towards a nice three-ply marled burgundy/russet/gray/black colorway. I started making a Jaywalker out of it when I was driving across the country, but after about four inches I discovered that it was going to be too small. It’s been languishing ever since. So an essential part of today’s packing effort will be swatching for a new pattern. I enjoyed making my one pair of Jaywalkers, but I wasn’t really enthused by the results with this Trekking anyway. It wants to be something else. Stay tuned.

I’ll try to post tomorrow, but then it’ll be silence from this blog for the next ten days. Wish me fair weather, friends. It might be hard to knit by headlamp wearing gloves in a tent in a snowstorm at 12,000 feet. Or it might be really cozy. But hopefully I won’t have to find out.

It’s another sockfest Chez Blue Garter these days. My mother’s here (she’s actually painting my basement as I type – such a good mother is surely deserving of handknit socks!), so I’ve been able to gift her these:

These are, of course, the Conwy socks from Knitting on the Road. My mother and I have actually been to Conwy (I was thirteen, and thought scrambling all over the crumbling castle was about the best thing ever) and blue is her favorite color, so I thought these would be perfect for her. I knit them on US #0 circs, so I had to adapt the pattern somewhat. In hindsight, I probably would have been fine with #1’s. The socks are a pretty snug fit, even on my narrow feet. But I like the way the Lorna’s Laces stripes so beautifully on #0’s – #1’s make it flash, in my experience, and this sort of tabby effect pleases me much more.

I’ve also finished one of these:

Love, love this Pomatomus sock. I made one little error in the last chart repetition before the toe – I swear there’s something a little goofy in the instructions – but you can’t really tell, and it’s the part that will be in my shoe anyway. Again, this yarn is fabulous Claudia Handpainted in “Plumlicious”, worked on #2’s as the pattern directs. I didn’t get row gauge, so I shortened the heel flap to avoid knitting a full-on toga for my heel, and I sort of freestyled the toe decreases. Other than that, I’m working Pomatomus exactly as directed. Time to cast on its mate!

But first, back to the basement. My poor indentured parents shouldn’t slave alone, handknits or not.

One last peep before I go:

Tour de Fleece handspun, Part 1! I’ve made two spindles full like this. The folks at the local bike shop where I’m watching the Tour have probably never seen anyone spin and watch cycling at the same time. But they’re kind of digging it, I think. Our new neighbors manage the store and they’re awesome. Yay for awesome neighbors!