I’m very much on the fence as to how I feel about my new socks. On the one hand, the colors in the yarn are beautiful. They vary from silvery grays to muted blues, making for an almost iridescent color shift that is, at times, evocative of fish scales. For that, I adore them—anything that is, in any way, reminiscent of beaches, or marine life, or sand and surf, reminds me of home. And when I can create something that, when worn, instantly makes me pause for a moment and think of my family and the beautiful place where I grew up, then I think I’ve achieved something. Nostalgia and a sense of place are, oddly, things that I look for when I choose to knit something.
On the other hand, the socks fuzzed up considerably while I was knitting them, with only the motions of my hands over the yarn. They’re far shorter than I would usually like, but that’s mostly my own fault as I chose an expensive yarn that was short on yardage. And, although I was spot-on in terms of gauge, the hand of the fabric is a bit too dense for my liking, so these socks don’t stretch very much, and don’t have that incredibly light yet warm effect that some of my favorite knits do.
I’ll wear them, for sure. They’ll become one of the pairs I am less attached to than others, one more likely to get heavy rotation while the really beautiful ones sit in the sock drawer. And, perhaps when that happens, this will become a favorite of mine.
Does everyone get so crazy over their handknit socks, or is it just me?