Knitting Rules! (25 page)

I love sock yarn. All sock yarn. Heathered sock yarn, solid sock yarn, self-patterning sock yarn, stripy sock yarn, hand-painted sock yarn — I love it all. My heart beats a little faster when I see the sock-yarn display in a yarn shop, and even if I have sworn to buy nothing, a few tiny skeins somehow sneak home with me.

I have always believed that sock yarn is the appetizer of the stash, little bits of wondrousness that we can snap up in a yarn store without it counting as buying yarn. In fact, during the few times in my life when I've decided to stop buying yarn, for reasons of economy or space, I have never extended the yarn fast to sock yarn. It's special. Don't let anybody tell you different.

In this chapter you'll find more math and technical mumbo jumbo than in the chapters on scarves, say, or hats. Don't let it scare you off. Whether you've knit a thousand socks or have never knit one at all, all of this is here to make it easier. The truth about socks is that even though they are, from an engineering point of view, remarkably complex, once you break them down to their barest elements, they're simple and straightforward, and don't even take a tape measure. Slick.

Once you have a basic understanding of how socks work, it's exceptionally easy to make them with no pattern at all.

Cheat Sheet

For anybody who would like to chicken out a bit, you'll find a regular sock pattern in numbered steps beginning on
page 144
for a good, plain sock of exactly the sort I'm explaining in the following recipe text. If you get stuck on a part of the recipe while knitting a sock of your own design, referring to the pattern may help.

Getting Started

You know what I'm going to say and I'd like you to forgive me right now. Here it is: It all starts with gauge. Get the yarn you'd like to use and the needles you'd like to use and knit a swatch to figure out how many stitches you have per inch. Measure the leg at the place where the calf muscle ends, multiply this by the gauge, and cast on.

I always stretch the swatch for socks a little bit before I measure it. I find that if I cast on the right number to go around my leg, my socks fall down. Using a few stitches less (maybe an inch worth) keeps me from having my regular fashion problems compounded by perpetually wearing slouch socks.

Don't use the “knitted-on cast-on” for socks. The sturdy firm edge it produces is fine for many things, but it won't stretch enough for most people to wear a sock comfortably. Try the long-tail cast-on (see glossary) or casting on over two needles so the stitches are bigger and you get a really stretchy top. That said, if you don't care for the person you're knitting for, or if you have always been curious, simply from a scientific perspective, about what it takes to cut off the circulation to a human foot, go right ahead.

Sock Leg

Once I work out how many stitches to cast on, I work in ribbing for a while. By “a while” I mean an inch or two or three, depending on my preference, and yours. Knitting
goddess Elizabeth Zimmermann had it pegged when she suggested that you work on ribbing until you're sick of it. You'd be surprised how often that works out to be the exact length you need.

For reasons I've never understood, knit 2, purl 2 ribbing seems to stay up the best, but knit 1, purl 1 looks the snappiest. Choose your priorities.

If you get tired of ribbing, change to stockinette stitch and carry on until the sock is a length that amuses you, fits your victim, or is the approximate length of your hand, palm base to fingertip.

If you knit sock tops that measure the same distance as the length of the leg from the bottom of the calf muscle to the top of the heel, you don't need calf shaping, just a tube. For mathematically challenged types like me, this is a good idea.

There is very little I can tell you about hanging in there over the long, boring bits of socks. The following have helped me get past the monotony of knitting down to the heel.

Self-patterning or otherwise amusing yarn
. I'm apparently dim enough to be entertained by waiting for the discovery of what color will turn up next with variegated yarn.

The reward system
. Every 5 or 10 rows, give yourself a treat, like a square of chocolate. This is a temporary solution at best, though; if you adopt it for too long, you'll gain so much weight that your socks won't fit you anymore.

Movies
. Rent 'em.

Take your socks everywhere
. A round on the bus, a round on the phone, a quickie while you make dinner: It adds up. I churn out several pairs a year while waiting in line. Stick that sucker in your bag and look for opportunity.

Books on tape
. Since I started getting these, my whole knitting world has changed. I'm finally getting to all those classics I so want to discuss at parties and the socks are flying off the needles.

The Heel Flap

I like me a decent flap heel. I think they're easy, durable, and without flaw. There are proponents I know of the short row, hourglass, or peasant heel, and to humor them I've made other heels. You should try a bunch of them and then decide for yourself, but know I prefer the flap, and I've thought a lot about it.

For a flap heel, you don't need a tape measure. Simply make the flap on half the stitches and continue until it's a square. Nifty, eh?

Put half the stitches onto one needle. Let the others be; we aren't concerned with them for the next little bit. Choose one of the following methods and notice that each option for a heel flap has every row starting with a slipped stitch. You want that. It makes your life (well, your knitting life) easier later.