Sock Beginnings

Here's the thing about making your first sock: every moment is new.

You start the cuff on two circular needles. At first, it feels very awkward. How tight do you have to pull the yarn as you move from one needle to another so that there's no hole in the ribbing? Where do you stable the other needle while you're working the stitches from the first needle? Are your stitches all lined up, or is there a twist somewhere that will reveal itself many rows on?

And then, it all begins to flow. You figure out that the yarn has to be really snug as you work the first stitch on the new needle. You realize that, by pulling the non-working needle out of its stitches so that it has some slack, that it will wait fairly quietly while you work the other needle's stitches. And there's no twist, and very quickly, there's a cuff. Great and immediate satisfaction.

And then it's on to something different. Next, the heel flap. A few rows to straighten out the technique here (lots of slipped stitches, which confused me for a bit, as I thought I was increasing, but there was no warning in the pattern, and then I got it down fine.) A quick learning curve, and then, something tangible to show for the effort. An actual sock in process. Even me, the slowest of slow knitters, can see something developing here.

I think I get this sock thing. Sense of accomplishment. Sense of learning something new. A very good combination.

I should mention that I'm working from Charlene Schurch's Sensational Knitted Socks. I owe her a lot of credit. Her instructions and illustrations are clear and concise. The book is laid out so well that each time I hit a roadblack, I've been able to find clarification and directions in a millasecond. She gives options for working with four or five double-pointed needles or two circulars and has presented the information in a table format that does not frighten even the most math averse. To senses noted above, add great sense of confidence in the author.