Knit & Purl

My wife and I visited a local knitting store this afternoon. Neither of us have handled a needle and yarn in decades; the visit was prompted by the store's sponsorship of a musical event offered in conjunction with a holiday arts festival.

The space, gently lit from the afternoon sun, featured light wood floors and multi-colored spools of fabric. A smooth wooden table formed a common area where a half-dozen women and one man sat, absorbed in knitting and purling. Customers moved in and out of the store, while a pair of amateur musicians played baroque music.

I leafed through some knitting magazines and knitting books while my wife talked with a local librarian who knits in her time away from the stacks. As I considered the patterns, material, and suggestions from the writers and editors (including Vogue Knitting), I began to appreciate the curious world of the knitters. They have their own rules, their own milestones of accomplishments, their own understandings. In most ways, the world of knitting and purling has existed largely unchanged since antiquity. The behaviors of this afternoon's knitters -- calm, rhythmic, purposeful -- seem equally unchanged.

I can't say the event inspired me to pick up needle and yarn. However, I felt close this afternoon to something timeless, something humble, something beautiful and alive.