I've heard it said, by knitters who are more experienced than I, to teach new knitters using fat yarn and fat needles. That way, after only a few rows, they've got three or so inches of fabric, whereas if one uses finer yarns with thinner needles, after a few rows they have something that might look like fabric, if one looks at it cross eyed at midnight with a new moon.
I am an experienced knitter (well, I like to think I am, though lace still gives me fits, and I've never made socks), and I am almost half way through the third (of 12) honey cowls. Not quite half way, but almost. (Really!). And even though I knit six to ten rows a day on it, the damn thing never looks any different. The same, unchanging, eternal. So this morning I cast on an Irish Hiking Scarf for Brandon. It is the second of at least four that I plan to make this year (the first one is done!), and is being knit in Madeline Tosh Scarlet. While I really want to get all my honey cowls done before Christmas, I also want to feel like I'm making some sort of progress, and since there's a cable every eighth row on an Irish Hiking Scarf, just by counting more cables today than yesterday, I can feel like I've accomplished something. And furthermore, as a non-monogamous knitter, having only one project to work on felt somehow wrong. (I am, of course, not counting the finicky swallowtail lace shawlette I am making, because, as I mentioned before, lace gives me fits.)
It felt good to cast on a new project this morning. The yarn has been sitting on my shelf, beckoning me for the last few days. Now I have two decent projects to work on: a honey cowl that looks the same, no matter how many rows I knit, and an Irish Hiking Scarf that will grow quickly and let me feel like I am actually accomplishing something.
This is Brandon's Irish hiking Scarf, with one iteration (plus three rows) of the pattern finished.
This is mostly a knitting blog. Sometimes pictures of things I've made, sometimes not. I'm a guy who knits, I usually attend a men's stitch 'n' bitch on Monday nights, and I prefer natural fibres to artificial ones. I have a love-hate relationship with bamboo yarns: I love what they can do and how they look, I hate how they are made. I've been knitting since about 2003, though I really didn't get into it until 2005, while convelescing with a broken leg. I must have discovered something good, 'cause I'm still knitting years later.