If you’ve been following any of my Little Loves videos over on YouTube you’ll know that I’ve been doing a little bit of top secret knitting of late. I rather gave the impression that it might be a baby knit but while I do have babies to knit for this year, it was very definitely not a baby knit.
My Dad’s birthday was on Wednesday and by the miracle of the Royal Mail, there was a nice squishy parcel waiting for him to open (and put on straight away).
Socks seems such a stereotypical sort of a present to give to your father; past the stereotype and into pastiche perhaps, but these are no ordinary socks.
The colour is Traubenhyazinthe, grape hyacinth, and if the name hasn’t already given the game away, the yarn is of course the wonder that is Wollmeise Twin.
This isn’t part of the stash that came home with us this summer, that’s all marked for Kitty, John or me as sure as if we’d added name labels, but I have a little pre-existing stash from years past, mostly from when there was an enormous Wollmeise stand at Knit Nation the year Kitty was born, and this was from then, and I love it as much now as I did then.
It seemed rather appropriate too to be knitting yarn named for a spring flower for a birthday at the start of spring. Although while I can see the grape hyacinth colours in the yarn, for me it’s got shades of home; the deep turquoise of the sea on a brilliantly sunny day, against th eblue sky that you only see lying on your back watching clouds at midsummer.
If it wasn’t named after flowers it should have been called King Neptune (Konig Neptum for what it’s worth!)
The socks themselves are a slight tweak to my standard pattern; I usually knit a 68st sock for Dad but on the cuff the ribbing was pooling the pattern into vertical lines that just looked all wrong and didn’t do the yarn even the hint of justice. I started again on 64sts and the colours swirled beautifully on the cuff but then pooled on the leg, so the cuff is 64sts and the rest of the sock is over 68, having added 4 stitches to the first round of stocking stitch.
It’s not so big a change as to alter the fit, but it makes them beautiful rather than occasionally oddly pooling; and if you’re going to spend every spare moment you can find in January adding a stitch or two, then they really ought to be beautiful.
And by the time we Facetimed Dad to sing Happy Birthday, they were proudly worn; Dad knows that they’re not just socks, they’re hours of my time, when I didn’t have a huge amount to give. He knows he’s wearing love, in 24,000 stitches (and a smidge if we’re being tecnically accurate)