In my early 20s I learned to knit and made one item: a scratchy 100% shetland wool dark green scarf. I was living in my aunt and uncle's little cabin in the woods of New Hampshire at that time, listening to the birdsong of wood thrushes or cassette tapes of acoustic guitar, keeping warm by a wood stove in the spring chill, and imagining my future in a foreign country while working three jobs to save for my plane ticket. Although conditions seemed pretty perfect for becoming a serious knitter, I never touched knitting needles again after that disappointingly uncomfortable scarf, and instead put my creative energy towards crafting tiny dreamcatchers out of cedar branches and embroidery floss until I went abroad.
Many years later now, I am married to someone who once made a giant dreamcatcher sculpture at Burning Man, and I'm trying knitting once again. So far so good. Unlike sewing, knitting can be picked up for 10 minutes and put down again without fuss. Now that Sam is no longer in school and I have him with me full-time, getting a few minutes here and there throughout the day is much more realistic than getting a few hours to work on a sewing project. And now that I know the softness that is my baby's skin, I can skip the scratchy yarn completely.
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