Slow as Socks

At the time, knitting was not nearly as fashionable as it is now. It was reserved for older women, often grandmothers with enough time on their hands, who, having learned from their own mothers, were now masters at this beautiful craft of “making.” 

But even if it wasn’t trendy to knit as a teen, I always recognized something special in handmade clothing.

While store-bought socks were the worst gift you could receive as a kid, hand-knit socks fell into a completely different category. They were made with love from one of your favourite people—something to be cherished.

I knit well into my twenties, alongside raising small children and working part-time, but after a while my knitting fell to a dark and lonely corner, not to see the light again for decades. Fast forward to time I spent living with my mother: I began to knit again, mainly because my mom was a prolific maker and always had a knitting project on the go.

So, with needles in hand, I took a refresher course from my mom, enjoying tea and knitting patterns over slow conversations. And as my mom aged and no longer had the energy for larger projects, we worked together to make gloves for those living on the streets. We liked easy and fast projects that used up all her wool and brought some warmth to us and others.

A couple of years ago, when I moved to our communal family property, I decided to resurrect my love of knitting and resolved that what I had always wanted to make was socks. 

As luck would have it, while my mother is no longer here to share her knitting wisdom, a beautiful sock-loving teacher, Sarah-Mae—former co-owner of a fabulous nearby yarn and fibre studio—has generously shared her wisdom and appreciation of socks with me in classes that were as much about community and connection as they were about creating.

I have found that there’s a lovely cadence to knitting. A rhythm that slowly reveals your unique sock as it takes shape, down the leg, into the heel, along the foot, and finally to the toes. Progress is slow and steady and encourages a measured approach. I love that they arrive in pairs, even when they don’t match, and that they offer up that second chance to get it right. When you’re not quite ready to let go of a really fun one that you just completed, you get to do it all over again, with sock #2.

For me, socks have not been an easy endeavour. I feel as though I might have knit two sweaters in the time it took me to knit that first pair of grey socks. I had to rip them out more than once—to start again, to fix the mistakes—teaching me to slow down, to focus on the process. 

Recognizing that not everyone has the desire to knit, I invite you to find that one thing that does help you slow down, that encourages you to stay present. That simple ordinary thing that represents extraordinary simplicity and joy. Find that art, that practice, or that creative pursuit that forces you to be even as you do. And if it turns out to be socks, well—I get it.

Enjoy getting into knitted socks with this pattern, by Tanis Lavalee. https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/ol-reliable-top-down-socks