Mitten Season!

These are my current working mittens.

The blue/green pair I inherited from my son
when they shrank and his hands grew.

The grey and white pair were knit
by my dear friend Rochelle.
"Not to replace the ones you have," 
she assured me,
"but to give you a choice."

I can't think why.

 Perhaps she thought
 darning the darned darns
was too much.

Or that not bothering
to snip off​  the end of the yarn,
meant the situation was desperate.

And perhaps she was right.

But you know how it is--
the wind is howling
the dog needs a walk
your mitten has a hole...
Who has time to take off their boots
and find a pair of scissors?

I'm just grateful
when needle and yarn are at hand.

And that pair was not quite as worn
as the ones they supplanted.

The mate to the blue one vanished the day we first looked at the house in which we have lived since 1989. The orange pair came along to fill the gap

which I only reluctantly replaced in '96 or so
when my friends gave me a hard time.
"You can't go to a book signing for
the sweater you have in Knitting in America
wearing those."

​Good thing someone is paying attention.

I  seem to be particularly hard on left palms.
​  Probably the dog leash.  

My Mittens -- 1988 to present All Hand Spun. Surprise surprise.

Rochelle used a nice strong fleece 
so  I've only had to darn them once so far.
A duplicate stitch darn at that!
 
Of course my dog is old and hardly needs a leash these days.

Knitting mittens is great, but only when necessary.
I prefer to put my knitting energy into sweaters.

And anyway, I don't want the previous pair
​ to have its feelings hurt.

​Luckily,
Rochelle and Henry
have been friends
for a long time.

Note the shift in indigo yarn just above the thumb gusset. I must have run out of one skein--but at least made dye lot switch even!

Henry's mittens, too,
have been knit from necessity 
 using the yarn at hand.

Fox & Geese & Fences by Robin Hansen; Down East Books; Camden, Maine; 1983

I always use the patterns this book. 
They are great mittens.
Also,  there is never time to find another pattern,
much less design one,
when the kid has grown,
 the mittens have shrunk 
and he asks for another pair.
Now.

​He realized 
(with just a bit of reluctance)
that even soaking wet
 from soggy snowballs, 
his hands would steam
while his friends' fingers
​ in their fancy black gloves
were freezing.

I love how the sawtooth pattern
distorts as the palms shrink.

Looking at life from a mitten perspective
it seems that though I haven't changed much,
 my boy is all grown up.
​
About time I noticed.