If you were to ask me how I identifed as a knitter, I'd have to say sock-knitter. Yes, I make sweaters and scarves and hats and shawls and all of that, but there's something about the knitting of a sock that really roots me in the craft. So it was no surprise that when I went to Rhinebeck, I sought out sock yarns in interesting colorways and small production--for the benefit of my beer-snob husband, fiber fests are the equivalent of microbrew beer fests. You like Stone IPA, dear; I like Socks That Rock:
STR in Downpour, a lovely mix of greys, pinks, and other muted shades. Our gang did the right thing by rolling into Rhinebeck early--even with time to spare before the official opening of the grounds, the booth at The Fold was a MESS. By the time we'd all had our fill of STR and moseyed around the rest of Building A (avoiding the gem and mineral half of things), the line at STR was obscene.
The Fold being our first booth, and I having never knit with STR, I carefully only purchased one hank of the yarn... and then I was distracted by the Brooks Farm booth:
That's 540 yards of FourPlay sale yarn in creams, tans, and pinks. It's not sock yarn, but I'm sure you all can handle this temporary distraction. I'm envisioning a frilly wrap, maybe the Ruffles and Ridges wrap from MagKnits.
Also in Building A was the Spirit Trail Fiberworks booth and my good friend Anj was (wo)manning it. Still being too early in the game for me and operating on a strict budget, I made a mental note of what I might want, fondled stuff I'd never buy, made lunch plans with mi'lady, and then hit the next stop on our list.
At Great Adirondack, Jody and I picked up almost the exact same sock yarn--she got Antique and I got what I like to call Malt Likka:
It's actually named Old English and maybe not all of you will get that joke... I envision these socks as Jaywalkers--the pattern explains the name as an homage to the street-crossing in Boston, but I think it'll work as "socks that show how you might walk after you drink a 40 of the malt likka".
One of the smaller booths I patronized had lovely handpainted sock yarn and for CHEAP! This is Dorchester, and I imagine it one day becoming a manly pair of socks... Socks with balls, perhaps?
The colors are rich, reminding me of a leather-furnished study. I expect these socks to smoke cigars or drink port. Perhaps I'll call them Richard Gilmore.
At Ellen's 1/2 pint, I resisted the urge to go completely batshit and buy the whole lot (partially because there were a couple of ladies that were blocking the true and only way to sock yarn. Continuing with that complaint, these were the same ladies that pretty much blocked shoppers from getting closer to the sock yarn in another booth: they sat on the barn floor--ew--and proceeded to remove every hank of sock yarn in a desperate search for an exact colorway match. Had I not been promised a vodka tonic for good behavior, I might have Hulked out on them...), and instead got out of there with just one measly hank of sock yarn:
Call it what you want, but this is banana split in my book. The creamy yellows, cherries, and vanillas, with some grey-blue and brown interspersed, makes me think of summer nights at the custard stand on route 40. If my dad could pull off yellow socks, these would be for him. Instead, I'd like to think that they will be MINE, ALL MINE.
My last purchase at the fest was one that I found I couldn't deny at day's end:
This is Peach Trees from Maple Creek (located in Telford, PA) and over the course of two days, I picked it up, fondled, stroked, and otherwise molested this yarn no fewer than a dozen times. As I'd walk around the yarn display in the booth, my eyes would light upon another gorgeous hand-dyed skein and I'd chuckle as I turned over the tag and found out that I was yet again looking at the Peach Trees colorway. I resisted the urge on Saturday, knowing that we had our second chances on Sunday. Sunday I told myself: if Spirit Trail has nothing I want, then it'll be Maple Creek. I was actually relieved that ST had run out of any yarn in which I was interested because MAN, I'd've hated to not been able to get the Maple Creek.
Now, the question is: when will all this sock yarn (and the BFF) get knit up? All I can say is, "Who the fuck knows?" I may die with an intact sock yarn stash, but I will die happy!!!
Finally, for JT Evans and everyone else that knows my cat only as the vet-diagnosed "Meanest Cat in World", here's another picture of Chico not gnawing on anyone's leg or trapping people in our bathroom:
In his old age (10 1/2 years!), he's becoming quite the heat-seeking kitty. It doesn't help that we have the thermostat set to 55 overnight, 62 during the day... Knowing that this old bastard of a cat likes nothing more than to curl up into a ball in the sun, Mike and I moved our bed last night so that it is now under a window that gets strong morning sun. Tomorrow I've got plans to make like a cat and seek out that sunny spot myself.