Why not fling the camera strap onto my shoulder, grab my knitting bag and walk the trails out to the heavy bench in the woods as the sun began to call it a day? I planned to complete a few more rows of this knitted dishcloth, a soft cotton gift for a loved one who loves everyone in countless, selfless ways. I’ve always loved doing needlework en plein air.
I didn’t need a coat, but my knee-high Bogs were a must. Spring thaw had Spicebush Trail super soggy, so I chose Oak Hill Trail with its tunnel of beech branches still bare but beautiful nonetheless. Fine gray wisps of hair not quite yet long enough to reach my ponytail band tickled my face while I breathed deep, satisfying breaths and anticipated brushing nutshells and remnants of berries off the heavy bench before getting comfortable. Such is life on this wooded hill we share with squirrels and chipmunks and deer and mice and moles and coyotes and I could go on. Evidence of their comings and goings always stirs my imagination and makes me smile. I set my bag down and, sure enough, berry bits. I swiped them away, smiling.
Knit, knit, yarn over, knit. Sunshine through trees pleasantly warmed my forehead while gray wisps waved in a gentle breeze and a red-tailed hawk came circling, like a friend come to join me.
I’ve knitted a sweater for each of our four granddaughters and figured that was the last of them. …then our oldest son and wife adopted two kiddos (half-sisters)… so I need to knit two more! The question is: WHY did I throw away my favorite sweater pattern?
