#394: Crafting Needles

Re-learning old skills

My mother used to wonder at my choice to darn my socks when a teenager (she didn’t have the patience, I think, though she is an amazing sewer of other, more fun and wonderful things), and when I was in primary school I used to knit — though never achieving more than a wonky scarf. For me, when I was young, it was the action that mattered, that kept me going. The final product was never that much to be proud of — there were soon more difficult-to-fix holes in my cheap socks, and I never did complete a knitting project that was straight.

Today, however, perhaps nearly fifteen years later, I am interested in the product and the process. I, too, share with my mother a limited patience for darning, but I do try. What I find therapeutic, however, is knitting. I find that as I knit each stitch, my mind empties — the thoughts, worries, and tasks of the day come to the front of my mind, and then find a place in the stitches, the air around me, or another part of my brain. Things settle — a new stitch is made, a new thought is sorted.

I returned to my knitting just eight months ago. My mother had posted up my old yarn and knitting needles. I had never, when I was younger, succeeded in learning to cast on a new knitting project— but my husband showed me how to begin, and I have since learnt two new ways to start a project.

It was a Sunday, I think — just any normal Sunday, perhaps in October, when I began again. The first thing I knitted was supposed to be a simple square, but I lost and gained stitches for reasons I could not fathom. By the third little square, however, I was managing to retain the same number of stitches I had started with, and not gain any extra, either. Soon, I was knitting a headband — then another, and then another. They turned out to be simple, cosy, and useful, and they also made excellent Christmas presents.

My latest knitting challenge involves circular needles — in my first go, I made the classic mistake, and twisted my knitting (if you know, you know). But I unravelled it, begun again, and so far — so good. Now I only pray I don’t run out of yarn before the project is finished.

But this is not the only crafting I have been doing. I have also discovered the wonders of “visible mending” — a more interesting version of sock darning which makes your repair work deliberately visible, often in a colourful fashion. Though I have yet to feel like a natural with it, I made a start and sewed the sleeve of my favourite cashmere cardigan back together. To do this, though, I needed a bigger needle than any I had, as I was wanting to use blue knitting yarn — an object was needed. So I turned to my husband (who loves DIY) and put in my request. Maybe an hour or so later, I had this needle in my hand, made from an old wooden chopstick.

When I first held it, I thought of bones. Of the bone needles I have seen in museums. Though new to me, it feels old, well-worn with work already — from its previous life as a chopstick. There is also something pleasing in its size — thick like a knitting needle, but short like a sewing needle. It did the job perfectly.

Now, when I catch that hint of blue yarn on my sleeve, I smile — at my mending, and its visibility. And at the thought of reusing old tools, and discovering new ones.

Katie writes regularly about random objects that she finds in her everyday life. If you’re interested in reading more, check out her blog Object, a collaboration with fellow Medium blogger, Eleanor. You can also follow us on Twitter at @ObjectBlog.