Temps this morning dipped to 28.  On the beach.  I was sitting here in my enclosed-porch-office wishing I had a pair of fingerless mitts (it was 55 in the office) and that I knew where my one pair of wool socks was.  (They are now found.)  I am wearing a hat.

I have been experimenting with my various garments in this cold and blustry spell, and have discovered that the only thing cotton is good for is (A) a tightly woven windbreaker and (B) diapers.  More on cotton later.

Really.  I wear my cotton athletic socks with my running shoes and by the time I get home after a 30 minute walk, my feet are wet and cold.  There’s no snow here.  My thin wool socks, knit in a lace pattern on the instep and ankle are TOASTY by comparison.  Clearly, I need more wool socks.

I’ve been knitting socks for other people, and I’m not tired of it yet.  This may well be as reliable as the thermometer to tell you what the weather is like.

I’ve finished the first of the Plimoth stockings:
foot included for scale.

I’m not going to knit a pair of these for myself.  I don’t like wearing garterstitch heel flaps, three-needle  bindoff seams under my feet, and mostly unshaped calves.  If this pattern is truly representative of what common people wore on their legs – then I think common people didn’t know how to knit very well.  Perhaps the skill in 1650 was still a guild thing.  Must check Rutt.  And the yarn is itchy, and not fun on my hands.  I hope for the docents’ sake it washes up nicely.

In contrast, may I offer the socks I’ve cooked up for Eoin?

My own pattern, the guts of which are as follows.  Sort of a medium level of sock, which is the sort I like best, so I
don’t have to think about it too much as I carry it about, but with
moments of intrigue so I don’t start to hate it.

Essentially, that’s 2×2 ribbing, with 60 stitches on #3 needles of Louet Gems Merino Superwash wool.  I’m doing a pair of 1×1 cables, twisted in opposite directions down each side of the ankle, which divide, one going with the heel construction, and one continuing down the instep.  Heel is the Dutch heel shown in Nancy Bush’s Folk Socks, and toe is her Star Toe.  The heel is very cool – there’s no need for a gusset.

I tried three times to do a close up of the heel, but it’s shy.

The toe is camera-brave, though:

There would be a fifth line of decreases coming in at about 1 on the clock, but it’s actually the purls for the cable there.  Allocating the decreases evenly, in a way that played nicely with the cables, was the hardest part of this sock, and toes are so quick that I hardly noticed after I’d ripped back the first idea that didn’t work.

I have some more Trekking XXL (favorite thin wool sock yarn) and will start another pair of socks for me, probably the same lace instep as the ones I’m wearing, so I can get wear in spring and fall.  Also, Daan has always expressed a preference for argyles, and now that the Yarn Harlot has demystified their construction, I think I’ll try a pair for him soon.