It shouldn’t come as a surprise: Alexander Smith loves to knit because I love to knit. While most of my mental energy goes into la-la land and my fingers like to type, there are times when I need to moodle and it’s too rainy to take a walk. That’s when I knit.
I hit the high point of my knitting career over a decade ago. I made sweaters, socks, gloves, stuffed toys, I knitted cables and lace and colorwork. I’ve done it all.
These-a-days I prefer my knitting to be mindless because I have stories to think about instead. Sometimes I knit socks, because I have perfected my own Sock Recipe and I don’t need to think about it, not even when I’m turning heels. When my sock drawer overfloweth, I knit cowls. I like to knit them of stout sock yarn on US6 needles, about 70 stitches across, in garter. When I run out of a 400-yard-ish hank of yarn I sew the ends of the thing together and voila, cowl. They’ll be gey useful here with the perpetually dank winters.
Here in my writing room I have collected things that inspire and soothe me. My toy animals are here, my nature collections, my woodsy knick-knacks, and my yarn. There’s a fair chance I’ll never knit much of this–I’ve had some of it since that decade-past high water mark–but I like to have it. I like for it to be there. I used to say that if the zombie apocalypse hit, I’d be all set for woolens.
Anna Woods would take issue with my pack-ratting, but that’s her problem.