Knitting men and crowing hens


… both will come to no good ends.

Actually, I like it when men knit. I’ve been reading a lot about men in kilts recently, but I have to say that kilts just don’t do it for me. A man knitting though? HAWT.

From We Took To The Woods, about Sundays at the lumber camp nearby: “Then those that are big enough and tough enough to get away with it knit on socks and sweaters.” Knitting lumberjacks! Yeah!

Sailors knit their own socks, too. When you’re on a three-year voyage before synthetic fibers were invented, you’re going to need fresh socks somewhere along the way.

And of course there are men knitting in Outlander. Of course. You didn’t seriously doubt, did you?

    Jamie snorted briefly and picked up a needle and a ball of yarn.
    “It’s no verra difficult, Sassenach. Look–this is how ye cast up your row.” Drawing the thread out through his closed fist, he made a loop round his thumb, slipped it onto the needle, and with a quick economy of motion, cast on a long row of stitches in a matter of seconds. Then he handed me the other needle and another ball of yarn. “There–you try.”
     I looked at him in complete amazement.
    “You can knit?”
    “Well of course I can,” he said, staring at me in puzzlement. “I’ve known how to clickit wi’ needles since I was seven years old. Do they not teach bairns anything in your time?”

(From Drums of Autumn by Diana Gabaldon)


2 thoughts on “Knitting men and crowing hens

  1. My dad- who is now 77, knitted his own jerseys for going to school- he would have started school at 5. And I can remember my brother knitting at least part of a jersey for himself on my mum’s old knitting machine. Both Scottish. But me- I was a home economics teacher before I became a social worker – and can just about knit a scarf!

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