It All Starts With a Cast-On

Note: Today lovely readers, you get a two-fer. I didn’t want to have one lllooonnnggg post, so I broke it up into two. Enjoy.

I am feeling the full obsessive power of Christmas knitting. As much as I may complain about Christmas knitting, I know deep down that it is the power knitting of my year. From October through December, I give full reign to the obsessive knitter in me. I knit everywhere, all the time. Because I am knitting the same patterns and shapes repeatedly and in volume, it is during this time period that I make considerable advances in my finishing skills.

Christmas knitting is repetitive. I knit the same sock 50 times. I may incorporate a different stitch pattern, but the sock pattern remains the same. Ditto for hats. So I have lots of time to think about the little things that give a knitted garment that profession look.

Nothing shows the knitter’s commitment to producing something crafted versus homemade than beginnings and endings. Today, I will talk about the beginnings as I am still working on the endings.

How a garment begins it life as a cast-on sets it on a path. I am notoriously picky about having an even cast-on. I have learned several different cast-on techniques and have been known to substitute something I thought would fit the pattern better. I had not really thought about too much else until I started working on pair 5 or 6 of the Christmas sock mountain.

Most top down socks begin with ribbing that is different from the leg of the sock – unless the knitter likes ribbed legs on their sock. I generally use the K2P2 variety. It occurred to me as I did the finish work on a pair of socks that it was in fact possible to plan the cast-on to match. Not a lightning bolt moment by any means, but it fits my obsessive nature just the same. So, I pulled out a book and set about figuring out how to do a purl bump cast-on. Trust me, this was cast-on obsession times two. It also alleviated a good deal of knitting boredom, as I was relieved to actually get to the knitting instead of futzing around with getting the cast-on perfect. At the time I wasn’t sure how much of a difference this small detail would make and began to think that all that time and agony was a humongous waste of time that could have been better used actually knitting the socks instead of just starting them. I will say, however, that when learning a new cast-on you get a lot of practice.

After finishing the pair of socks, I was a bit surprised at how that small change gave the finished socks a different flavor. Because the cast-on mimicked the knit and purl stitches that pair of socks look as if they begin in the air. There is not that definite row that says, “Hey! I’m the cast-on edge. Look at me!” This technique also resolves another of my issues with socks – how to not have the cast-on edge tight enough to produce blue foot or ankle mark.

The other application that is next for this technique is scarf knitting. I like using ribbing on the bottom of men’s scarves. I have been rather disgruntled that both ends don’t look EXACTLY the same (yes, I am obsessed). As I pointed out at knit night a few weeks ago, I am the kind of person who would knit a scarf from the middle with the design pattern upside down to avoid that awful Kitchner stitch.