Have you ever wondered what a Bugdork does in winter? Probably not, but I’m about to tell you anyway. It’s cold and her insect friends aren’t active — she can’t spend time communing with the beetles on her milkweed or the wasps on her rattlesnake master. So how in the world does she pass the time until spring?

Well, she knits!

Winter is the perfect time to settle down with a cup of hot tea and a warm lap cat and dig into my stash of beautiful yarns. Knitting has been a big part of my life during the past 20 years, even though there were some brief periods in which I barely touched my needles. But in the past couple of years I’ve come back to knitting and am once again enjoying the many pleasures of this ancient* craft.

When I lived in Michigan I knitted every week with a group of friends, had a knitting blog, and for a few years even had my own line of knitting patterns that were sold in yarn stores nationwide. I have fond memories of setting up my booth at the TNNA trade show in Columbus, Ohio, and taking orders for my patterns, meeting other designers, and being immersed in yarn culture for days at a time.

These days I mostly knit alone, but occasionally meet up with a friend or two to knit together. My yarn stash was slashed dramatically when I relocated to Ohio, but I managed to keep three large bins of my favorite yarns. Yarn can be quite expensive, so I’ve tried to use stash yarns for many projects. But lately I’ve let myself buy new yarns for specific sweater projects when I didn’t have suitable yarns already.

The average sweater project usually costs anywhere from $80-$120 in yarn, and I know that probably sounds shocking if you’re not a knitter. I used to fret over that expense, but then I came to a realization that makes it so much easier to accept the idea. So let’s say I spend $100 on yarn for a sweater. I could easily buy a nice sweater for less than that, right? So why do I do it? Well, my $100 will not only result in me having a beautiful and unique sweater to wear, but it’s also going to provide me with weeks or months of pleasure during the making of that sweater. I almost always use quality 100% wool yarns that are a joy to work with. The tactile sensation of these yarns moving across the needles and through my fingers, and the visual delight of the colors all combine for a sensory jackpot. I can’t think of many other ways to spend $100 that could give me such long-lasting rewards.

The photos in this post are sweaters I’ve made recently. In the past I’ve made all sorts of things, from hats to scarves to socks. Lately I’m obsessed with stranded colorwork sweaters in which you use more than one yarn at a time to make a visual motif, carrying unused yarns along the back of the work. The technique can be tricky because if you knit too tightly the yarn strands in the back will cause the fabric to pucker, but if you manage that properly, the results are stunning. Every time I wear one of my lovely handknitted sweaters, I feel happy.

Right now I’m working on two sweaters at the same time, one with finer yarns that’s slower going (Lorien sweater), and one with thicker yarn that gives me faster satisfaction (Goldwing). My colors won’t be the same as in these pictures though, and choosing colors is half the fun. The photo above shows my choices for Goldwing, with the blue yarn as the contrast against the medium gray as the main background. They look gorgeous together and I’m so excited about this one!

But lest you think that I’ve forgotten my bugs in the winter, fear not. I’m working on a program for my Wild Ones chapter called “Discover the Joy of Insects in Your Native Garden,” which I’ll be presenting in March. One of the insects I’ll be featuring is this wool carder bee (below), so named for its technique of scraping fibers from plant leaves for nesting material. This is reminiscent of the way wool fibers are prepared for spinning into yarn, with two wire-bristled carding brushes pulling the fibers back and forth to straighten them.

I’m dealing with another flareup of my persistent trigger thumb issue, but I’m thankful that it doesn’t interfere with my knitting. The “trigger” pain only happens when I bend the thumb, but while I knit the thumbs are held straight against the needles. If I thought I wasn’t going to be able to knit at all, I’d be despondent. Years ago I had a knitting friend with severe rheumatoid arthritis in her hands to the point that her fingers couldn’t straighten out. But she somehow knitted the most beautiful lace projects despite that. Knitters will go through almost anything to avoid having to give up this comforting and creative outlet.

So I head back to my needles, wishing you all a Happy & Healthy New Year! Thanks for reading.

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*Depending on how you define “knitting,” this craft originated in Egypt and other parts of the Mediterranean region in the 4th century or the 11th century. Either way, that’s ancient in my book.