Now I know how the pioneer women felt.
Well, a little. I still have fabulous indoor plumbing, heat, electricity AND gas, a washer and dryer plus a dishwasher and a car and a store right down the street … but, I also have what every pioneer women probably faced: holes in my hand knit socks.
Of course, to the pioneer women, this wasn’t a dilemma … you just tossed the socks into the darning basket and worked on them as soon as you could. No question. Because there really wasn’t another choice, was there?
It remains, however, completely shocking to me that something that takes me MONTHS to knit and at least $30 bucks of good yarn would have the audacity to crack a hole. I LOVE these socks.
We’re not talking a quick run to Wally-world here folks, this is gonna take some effort.
At least I consistently blow a hole in exactly the same spot – at the very center and bottom under my bony heel. I do this with my store bought socks too.
No, I’m not going to throw them away. Sure, I might do that with manufactured socks because they’re worth nothing to me. I didn’t spend hours knitting each of those stitches and shaping the bottom to fit my foot and no one else’s to do what, make it into a dusting rag?
That’s what I do with my other holey (is it holey or hole-y?) socks by the way – turn them into very handy and flexible dust rags. Put your entire hand in, squirt the whole thing with wood lotion and scent (I like pine) and have at it with both hands. Then, toss them in the washing machine (thank you lord!) and to heck with the dust. You can get in all the corners with those things and you can dance while you dust. Turn on a little music and try it, you’ll see.
No, I shall darn them. Yep, that’s what the pioneer women would do and so shall I. It’s a good thing I took that darning class a few years ago at the Sock Summit.
I put the two holey offenders together, side by side
for a photo op, then I put them in the darning basket as it’s become known.