The Afterthought Heel

For the most part, I’ve got a tried-and-true system for sock knitting: figure-8 cast-on, kf&b increases set in one stitch from the edges on every other row, short-row heel, 1×1 or 2×2 ribbing with stretchy bind-off. It makes satisfying, wonderfully-fitting socks that I can knit effortlessly.

I had a nagging feeling like I wanted to try other toes and heels, just to broaden my sock vocabulary, as it were, but any time I planned such a deviation from my formula, laziness or inconvenience would prevail, and I’d revert to what I knew.

A pair of rainbow stripe socks (heeee!!!) finally gave occasion for learning a new heel technique, as I didn’t want to interrupt the delightful, cheery striping sequence to do the toe-up short row heel I typically favor.

I found the most wonderful, incredible afterthought heel tutorial on Jobo Designs, which explained not only the technique, but the overall progress of working an afterthought heel.

I used the waste-yarn method described. I was knitting toe-up (as usual), so I knit the foot until I reached the point on my ankle where I would ordinarily begin my short-row heel. I then worked half the stitches (two needles’ worth when I was working on four) using waste yarn.

You then drop the waste yarn, move back to the beginning of that portion and knit the waste yarn with your working yarn (my rainbow). It made a happy little zip across the back of my sock, which looked like this on the inside:

(Bonus: I could clearly visualize how knitting forms fabrics from loops – magic!)

I knit up the leg and cuff to my desired length, bound off, and then came back to the heel. I think if I were a newer knitter, I might not have had the nerve to pull out my waste yarn zip, but it was really no trouble to gently remove it and pick up the stitches on each side of the gap it created.

Once again, I got to see the structure of knitted fabric from one row’s point of view, which kind of fascinated me.

After picking up all the stitches, I essentially worked a sock toe, but located on the heel. I fumbled for a second about how one works a top-down toe, since I almost never do them, when I remembered that it is literally the reverse of a toe-up toe: decrease stitches set in one stitch from each edge on every other row, until you have about 40% of your stitches (in my case I went to 12) in the middle. Then graft it shut with Kitchener stitch.

Is it the easiest, most awesome heel I’ve knit? Well no, not exactly, but it was still vastly more enjoyable than any top-down flapped heel I’ve worked. More to the point, the afterthought heel let me preserve my striping pattern on the body of the sock and choose the colors I wanted to insert at the heel.

Oh did you think I was going to give away how great it looks now?? No, no, I’m saving that for the FO pics!

Pre-FO: Seeking Closure

So I knit the Diminishing Rib Cardigan quite some time ago. As in, I bound off last summer (August 10, to be further precise). But I haven’t really been able to decide how I wanted it to close, and I had this nagging feeling that it was a bit too big for me.

I did what I usually did: folded it up neatly in a pile in my closet and forgot all about it.

This weekend, my laundry situation got drastic to the point where I was eyeing up pajamas and wondering if I could layer them somehow to cover up the sleepy moons. I rummaged through the top of my closet and – oh happy day! – I found my cardigan!

As you can see, I wore it this weekend, to a Colin Hay concert with my mom (which was amazing!!!). As you can’t see, it still doesn’t have a closure. It is definitely too big to stay up on its own merits without looking saggy and misshapen. I asked my mom’s objective advice (before letting her know that if I didn’t like it, it would probably become hers), and she felt that fastening it at the waist (as I’d originally planned, many moons ago) would give it the right silhouette and take in the baggy areas under the arms that were displeasing me so.

Predictably, I already bought sets of hooks and eyes (and maybe even matching thread?) to create a nearly invisible waist closure. Also predictably, the thought of having to line things up and sew them on perfectly fills me with such drudgery that I may just wash this sweater and return it to the neat pile in my closet.

But… that color is so lovely, and I remember how badly I wanted this cardigan. I really ought to take the time to give it its proper closure. Soon, I hope.

My first Fair Isle

I’ve attempted colorwork haphazardly before, but this is my first real Fair Isle project. As long as I’ve been knitting, the concept of stranded knitting has eluded me, seeming closer to wizardry than a fairly easily learned skill. It turns out there really isn’t any great mystery: you knit with one color, then the other, and you gently float the yarn you’re not using across the back. That’s really it.

Of course, maintaining an even tension that results in neither floppy stitches or excessively tight strands is its own gamut, but so far, I’m cautiously optimistic about my ability to do so.

As this is a beret (specifically Kate Gagnon Osborn’s exquisite Selbu Modern), I have some concerns about it fitting my gigantic Irish head. Looking at the many projects on Ravelry, I was charmed by all the color combinations. It took me a while to come up with these two together, but it really shouldn’t have, as lately I’ve been obsessed with magenta and yellow in everything I do.

Learning Fair Isle opens up a world of possibilities in multi-color knits. I am also utterly delighted by these tiny, lovely little stitches dancing together. This is a very joyful project, which is exactly what I needed in the middle of winter.

Quelle horreur!

Have you ever done something appallingly stupid, and you stop yourself to say, “What was I thinking?!”

Then have you ever continued to do exactly what you were doing, only to get the same results?

Yeah, I was perhaps overly aggressive in my attempts to stretch the bind-off of this sweater while blocking. “It’s wool and silk,” I figured, “that should totally stretch!” Ha. Hahaha.

The first time I snapped the thread, I thought it was a fluke. Easily fixable, though, I’d just sew the bind-off in that spot, good as new. But then I continued tugging at the bind-off (why, Vicki, whyyyyy???) and snapped it on the collar as well.

There is a lot of careful mending in my future, shoot.

Grape Lace

In what I’m sure will come as no surprise to anyone, I’ve started a new pair of socks. These are special because they’re not the usual sock, so much as lace stockings, and well, I have reason to believe I’m going to love them.

So you’ve seen Bettie’s Lace Stockings from the Spring 2009 Interweave Knits, right? As soon as I saw them, I fell in love and was certain I would be making them one day.

Among the numerous points that attracted me to this pattern (beautiful lace! size 2 needles! not a lot of yarn but you end up with knee socks! fast! stretchy! ribbons!!!), the fact that they are designed toe-up jumped out and made me extraordinarily happy. Toe-up is, to my thinking, the most logical and comforting way to knit socks, and I’ve noticed that the fit is much better than the top-down socks I’ve knit.

I changed the cast-on to my usual figure-8 (not a big fan of unpicking provisional cast-ons) and increased to 48 stitches, then got going with the pattern as written. Then I started feeling a little disconcerted.

(This is actually the bottom of my foot.)

The elements of this design are essentially a wider central pattern of lace, flanked by two narrow eyelet panels. Eventually there will be calf increases and what all built into these elements, but on the foot, it felt very strange to work three sections of lace, two of which were split on the bottom of the foot. I tried to think through the logic on that, but when I realized that there would be a short-row heel interrupting the lace up the back of the leg anyway, I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to knit the sole in stockinette?

I hemmed and hawed about how well they would wear with sole lace, and whether I felt like knitting two extra repeats when I was only interested in the one on the top of the foot. When I noticed how many times I’d flubbed the eyelet panels (from losing track at the start of the row at the middle of the sole), I took it as a sign, frogged back to the toe and started over.

I am so much happier now. I have the wide panel of bee pattern lace centered between two narrow eyelet columns on the top of the foot, with the sole knit in plain stockinette. I’ll work a regular short row heel, then follow the pattern afterwards for calf increases and so on. It’s moving way, way faster, and I’m not so annoyed feeling like I’m putting a lot of effort into something that will get bedraggled in my shoes anyway.

If you’re interested in making this change (and heck, for my own future reference when I inevitably forget what I did and need to match the second socks), it’s quite easy.

Cast on using a figure-8 or Turkish cast-on, Judy’s magic cast-on, etc and increase to 48 stitches. Or do whatever provisional toe-up cast-on you like, so long as you get to 48 stitches. When you switch to 3 needles (one for the top and two for the bottom), slip the first stitch of needle 1 and the last stitch of needle 2 to the bottom needles, such that you have 13 stitches on each of those and 22 stitches on the top needle.

P1, work a repeat of the narrow eyelet lace (in the pattern it is called Feathered Fagoting), work a repeat of the center bee lace (Narrow Gathered Lace), p1, work a second repeat of narrow eyelet lace, p1. Then knit the sole stitches in stockinette. Much easier, faster, and it retains the stretchiness of the pattern, with the sturdiness of a stockinette sole. Now these are socks I will love to knit as much as I’ll love to wear them.

Wakame Lace Tunic progress

When last we checked in on the Wakame Lace Tunic, it was a scarf-like band of lace that was taking me forever to knit.

Since then, I’ve finished the bottom band and joined it with a three-needle bind-off, picked up stitches, and begun working the body in the round.

I’m happy with the way the lace looks (would be nice if I could photograph it in focus), and I enjoy knitting it in the round much more than I did knitting back and forth on straights. I’m sure a lot of it is to do with being able to read the lace better now, as well as having memorized the chart.

The three-needle bind-off doesn’t look as terrible as I thought it would. Actually when it’s stretched out (as it will be when it’s blocked), it looks pretty neat and clean. I’m learning a lot of new construction techniques with this project, so it’s quite interesting and enjoyable.

Since taking these photos I knit another body repeat and am getting close to where I would cast on for the sleeves. I’m looking forward to seeing how that works.

I want to have this tunic finished by the end of March (for a KAL, yes), and while I know it’s hypothetically possible, I don’t know if it’s likely. I guess the only thing to do is knit and see.

Two new cast-ons

In every aspect of my life, I have trouble finishing what I start. I could say a lot more about this, but since this is a knitting blog, I’ll just leave that as a fact.

Still, is there any thrill so great as starting a new project? I love gathering the materials, poring over the pattern again to anticipate the process, and finally getting the first few stitches going on the needles, knowing that at some point, all of it will transform from a pile of materials and pattern and ambition into an actual, knitted thing.

This is the beginning of the Diminishing Rib Cardigan by Andrea Pomerantz, from the spring 2009 Interweave Knits (my project is here on Ravelry). I’ve been wanting to knit this cardigan since I saw the preview more than a year ago, as it is exactly the type of sweater I like to wear over dresses and camis in the spring and fall.

I went with this magenta because I am absolutely obsessed with this color lately. It also goes nicely with a lot of my spring and fall clothes, and I think that saturated hues kind of transcend seasons, so I can get a lot of wear out of it.

I’m contemplating types of fasteners, and after reading the designer’s notes on this on her blog, I still haven’t decided, but I do think I’d like it to close at the waist.

The second new cast-on is probably very predictable for me, another pair of socks.

These are called Oh So Nikki socks, by Judy Sumner (PDF of the pattern here), another “underappreciated” pattern, for the SKA February challenge, which I described in my last post. My project page for these is here on Ravelry.

The name comes from a rather charming story related in the Designer’s Notes:

These socks were hiding in a container in my family room and I found them recently and said to myself “These are oh so Nikki!” Nikki is one of my twin granddaughters and she had requested “grandma socks with bright green and orange”
and these fit the bill and then some. I hope you have a Nikki in your life who will love them too.

Isn’t that sweet?? How could I resist?

It also doesn’t hurt that the stitch pattern is super easy, fast, and fun.

For such a simple pattern, I think it has a lot of visual impact, and I’m really enjoying this project!

I am still working to finish one of the socks from my January pairs, as well as that lace tunic and admittedly some things I haven’t even shown yet. I think I’m going to put some thought into how to get WIPs under control this spring…

Neue Socken

When I first started knitting, casting on a new project was an event. I put so much time and thought and energy into it, and I was so excited by the time I started that I couldn’t wait to take photos and document it, even if all I had to show was a few rows of a sock toe or the beginning of a sweater back.

I was worried that I was getting blasé about it, that starting a new pair of socks when I had so many already on the needles was becoming old hat (I’ll address my rather alarming WIP problem in another post).

The typical prompt for me to cast on new socks is the Sock Knitters Anonymous Sockdown challenges on Ravelry. This is such a fun, vibrant, and active group that it makes it utterly compelling to participate, and it’s extraordinarily satisfying to finish a pair within the group’s (very generous) timeframe.

The February Sockdown challenge included an option for Underappreciated Patterns, which of course intrigues me, as a big fan of the obscure and less recognized. I kept wondering what makes one particular pattern skyrocket in popularity while another equally beautiful (or perhaps even more beautiful) one gets overlooked.

In most cases, I realized that I personally overlook patterns which are photographed in a way that obscures the details (blurry, too dark or light, too far away to see the pattern etc) or, far more commonly, where an overly busy yarn is used. I think some hand-painted yarns are truly works of art, but not all yarns are suited for all patterns, and it drives me nuts when a great pattern is completely obscured by a high-contrast, crazy variegated yarn. Or, when such a yarn is forced to fight with a pattern rather than used in a simpler way that showcases its unique qualities.

All these obsessive issues of mine aside, I am pretty confident that the reason this pattern is underappreciated is because it is written in German. I of course don’t know any German, but I found the photos of this pattern so lovely that I really needed to make a pair of these socks, and I had this green Gloss yarn just begging to become fern lace.

It turns out it’s rather remarkably easy to figure out a German pattern, especially one such as this, which has the lace charted out. I found this super-helpful website which translates common German knitting symbols, and combining this with Google Translator, I pieced together the stitch count and instructions.

I’ve finished the first sock already, and I’m pretty stoked with the way they are coming out. More to the point, I’m actually enjoying the process, each component, and the whole experience of knitting. It’s a lovely change of perspective.

For the love of Nancy Bush

I purchased my copy of Nancy Bush’s Knitting Vintage Socks quite some time ago, and it wasn’t until this past September that I knit my first project from it.

When I saw that the January Sockdown for the Sock Knitters Anonymous group on Ravelry had Nancy Bush as the featured designer, I couldn’t resist starting two new pairs.

The first is the Child’s Sock in Miranda Pattern, which I am working toe-up over 64 stitches. This is my portable, train and subway type knitting, since the pattern is effortless to memorize and easy to pick up at any point and work a few rows.

In starting the second pair, I surprised even myself, as I was following the instructions and knitting them from the top down. They are the Fancy Silk Sock for a Child of 5 or 6 Years, though I am calling them my Fancy Merino Socks. I probably could have knit these toe-up, but I love the lacy cuff and the way the heel shaping forms a geometric counterpoint to the delicate lace pattern. I guess Nancy Bush really is that good.

New year, new lace

In lieu of a mosaic of last year’s FOs (which I umm, still haven’t finished photographing) or a summary of frantic Christmas gift knitting (nope), I have a fresh start for the new year.

Hellooooo, lace. I’ve missed you.

This is the start of the Wakame Lace Tunic, from the summer 2008 Interweave Knits. It has a very interesting construction, and I really love the lace pattern. I hope I continue to enjoy this project after a couple hundred more hours of it.