You’ll notice this is not exactly a pair of socks, but it is two socks, and they’re both finished and photographed now that the Closing Ceremonies are beaming into my living room.

Up front is a Philosopher’s House Sock, my first foray into Cat Bordhi’s New Pathways for Sock Knitters. I made some adjustments for a finer gauge, knitting on US #3’s, and lengthened the leg to accommodate my mother’s wish for a taller sock. I also ripped the heel out twice and ended up bodging together a peculiar narrow hybrid heel that I’m not at all certain I can duplicate for Sock Two. I don’t know if it was because I was glued to the thrilling swim relays or what, but I kept thinking I was following Cat’s instructions (anyone else feel like they need to pull a Magic Decoder Ring out of a cereal box to make sense of this book?) and winding up with wonkiness. And not the same wonkiness, either – Heel 1 was sloppy and wide; Heel 2 was queerly pointed. So for Heel 3 I put the instructions aside and tried to apply my own bag of Sock Heel tricks. I got something that works, and Mum and I have narrow heels anyway.

You probably want to know what the yarn is. Me, too. I’ve mislaid the ball band. It’s a sock-weight merino I picked up from a hand-dyer at Madrona last winter, and it’s dyed with indigo, which turned my fingers and needles blue, but I love it. Mum picked it out of the stash herself, so I already know she loves it, too.

ETA: A clever reader helped solve the mystery: this is Butternut Woolens Super Sock Yarn. Alas, the little Oregon family farm that was Butternut Woolens has had to be sold this summer, and the yarn is no more. My heart aches for Shelly, who’s had to give up her dream and her lifestyle, and I’m wishing I’d bought more from her. I know rationally that I couldn’t have made the difference in the success of her little business, but go forth and support your local farmers if you possibly can, y’hear?

Lurking in the background there is a sock I can’t tell you about quite yet. It’s a surprise to me, too. The design emerged from my head all by itself, and the construction came together beautifully – thank goodness, since the week I had to get it done didn’t leave much room for error. I hope the Sock Clubbers like it – these knitters are taking it on faith that they’ll get pretty yarn and an attractive pattern. I can happily report the yarn is lovely, and I do think I’ve done my best to showcase it in my design. Now it’s off to the tech editor and the photographer so it can land in people’s mailboxes right quick. I’m off to cast a final eye over the charts before I send them in.

It’s been quite an Olympics; they’ve been perfectly timed for me, with the intensive knitting I had to accomplish. But the incredible athletics I’ve watched have also made me want to get off the couch. I want to take advantage of what’s left of the summer weather. So if there’s just a little less knitting to show off here, you’ll understand that I’m out trying to attend to the parts of my body that aren’t my fingers. (Or that my workload has swallowed me whole. It’s a possibility. I really think I’m working on the most enjoyable math textbook ever written, but creating the diagrams, number lines, and equations is a whale of a project.)

I’m eager to turn the page on any day that involves hours of writing math equations, swabbing dog diarrhea*, and bickering with airline representatives over a refund (quite possibly the holy trinity of unpleasant activities). Even the comfort of an evening of knitting just around the corner is somewhat dampened when it’s a race against a deadline. Two deadlines, in fact: due to a pattern I wrote last winter having tumbled into a sort of Bermuda triangle of communication errors, I now need to produce an entirely new sock design and have the sample ready for photography and the pattern ready for tech editing by the end of the week.

Why is it that as soon as I have to be knitting a particular project, a deluge of new design ideas washes into my brain and my fingers itch to cast on something new? I think there may be as many as five garments I need to sketch before I lose the details. The fresh sock pattern is something of a blessing, since it does indulge my urge to be knitting something new, but the pressure is on to get everything done this week. 

But here’s what I’m fantasizing about knitting this fall:

– Elizabeth Zimmermann’s New Zealand sweater in Wild Plum Yorkshire Tweed, for Mr. G.

– a simple child’s pullover with Latvian braid details

– a sweet girly split-front pullover with bloused sleeves, also for a child

– my vestification (Ravelry link) of Deborah Newton’s Confectionary Tank

– a tailored cardigan vest with openwork cables in russet Simply Shetland Silk & Lambswool

– a plain cropped vest out of some yummy Scottish Tweed DK I picked up when a local yarn store was going out of business (sniffle)

– the Tangled Yoke cardi from my delicious stash of Organic Blue-faced Leicester

– 1920’s Fair Isle experiment pullover

Can you tell I’m ready for fall? I’ve been working so hard this month that it already feels like summer is over, and the rain and wind we’re having this week on the heels of a record-breaking heatwave only confirms the sentiment. I took the pup to the park yesterday morning under a grey sky, but tossed aside the fleeting thought I had about grabbing a raincoat. As we walked the twelve blocks, a few enormous drops began to come down, leaving splatters the size of silver dollars on the sidewalk. But most of them missed us, and it wasn’t until we were coming home again that the heavens really opened. The rain came down so hard it looked like white streaks falling, and it brought heavy thunder and lightning in its wake. Lark and I took shelter under a tree while the worst of it passed (the lightning hadn’t arrived yet!), but we were still drenched when we reached the house. I certainly could have used a cute woolen vest! 

So come, autumn. Come leaves to rake and pies to bake, come evening dark and firelight, come frosty air and stars burn bright. Come geese a-wing and harvest bring. The best season for knitting is almost here again.

 

* Lark is fine, if you’re reading this, O Husband. She wasn’t the culprit.

This is me, waving feebly from under the avalanche of work that’s buried me these past weeks: I’m still alive! In fact, proof of my continued existence is now on view: go sneak a peek at the fall issue of Stephanie’s brainchild, Popknits. As soon as Stephanie asked for vintage-inspired contributions, I had an idea ready.

This is the Footlights Cardigan, my secret yellow project from the Tour de France KAL, and you’ll be able to read all about it when the issue goes live at the beginning of September. One of the things I’m scrambling to do is to finish a second sample with three-quarter sleeves.

That’s all for now; a manuscript about the fifth wife of Henry VIII and a weather unit for second and third graders still need my attention, and then I’m settling in to finish a sleeve and gulp lemonade as I try to endure the heat wave Portland’s having. (At least the knitting work can be done while watching the Olympics!)

As all-consuming as knitting the yellow cardigan had to be last month, I was determined to take a break from it during Camp and work on the projects Meg had selected to teach us new techniques. The pattern she sent us ahead of time was her Spiral Yoke sweater (adapted from her book Handknitting with Meg Swansen and recently catapulted to It-Knit status as only Jared can accomplish), scaled down to baby size. I chose some Dream in Color Classy from the stash and worked the body on the plane flight to Minneapolis so I could get to the good part (the colorwork) during Camp.

These colors are November Muse (1.2? skeins) and Lunar Zazzle (.2? skeins). (November Spews and Lunar Dribble will probably be more appropriate for the sort of action it’s going to see. Yay Superwash.) I figure nothing’s more practical for a baby than variegated brown, and the turquoise/amethyst seemed right for a little guy named River.

We met little River yesterday; the sweater would come down to his knees as he’s only three weeks old. But at the rate he’s guzzling milk, he’ll be just the right size to wear it this winter.

The colors are true in this last photo. (Sometimes they wash out when I upload them here – I can’t explain it, but it happens.) I’m not totally happy with the sewn bind-off at the neck. I’d have gone tubular if I’d had my Montse Stanley on hand. But the baby won’t care as long as it’s stretchy enough to go over his head comfortably. My favorite part of this little project? Learning that the short rows to raise the back of the neck need to wrap all the way around to the sides of the chest. Valuable information for any knitter of little yoked sweaters, that. And hey, I think there’s enough yarn left to knit a 3-month size with the colors reversed for a little girl who’s due this autumn!