Always around this time of year, I start to fantasize about yarn. I think about the yarn shop my mother and I used to go to, housed in a historic train depot, full of teapots and fireplaces and wooden shelves badly in need of waxing and yarn that was so beautiful, I could hardly process it. I think about my first yarn love, Cascade 220 “Lichen”. I think about my second, Mountain Colors Mountain Goat “Rosehip”. I think about heathered yarns, about nubbly yarns, about springy well-spun woolen yarns and creamy merino and whisper-soft silk. If I could eat yarn, I would.
It always ends up with yarn buying. This year I bought the yarn in the first three photos. The rest are the previous two years’ hoard.