Ten years ago, I cocked an eyebrow when Dancemakers would go on tour and the dancers would knit their way across the continent. I looked askance at my roommate when she would knit away the evenings and moments between classes. But now it seems that everyone is knitting. Everywhere I look, young hip things are knocking needles together, following patterns or creating their own designs as they go. There are even folks who are spinning and dyeing their own wool.
I understand the desire to make things with your own hands; before I learned to build, I satisfied that urge by sewing. It seems to me that we're all trying to scratch a deep itch to contribute to our own shelter in some way. Despite my earlier bias against knitting, I now feel heartened when I see the kids down at the local craft sale exhibiting their funky handmade wares; I think we are connecting to the same thing when we take materials in hand and start making something.
My mother-in-law and I are going to The Knit Café on Friday, where I am going to purchase some hand-dyed wool and some bamboo knitting needles. We are going to sit at a sunny table, and she is going to show me how to knit. Finally.