This past Sunday I woke up and staggered to the bathroom where I was pretty sure I spotted white on my neighbour's roof through the window. A little later, bleary at my desk by a different window, I noticed the garage was a little whiter than normal too. Eventually I looked out the front window and saw that yes. Snow was falling. And sticking. And then I understood why my toes were so very cold.
(this is what happens when you live in a house built before the discovery of insulation.)
So I spent most of the day inside, dressed in many layers and padding around in my cinnamon toast socks, which were knit in the always-warm-enough Stoddart Family Farm romney/mohair blend.
I love the comfyness of these socks so much,
Actually that isn't the whole truth. I finished these socks and then knit the orange ones with cinnamon stripes to ensure they were long enough, not realizing that I hadn't bothered trying these on before grafting the toes shut. Turns out I'd knit them about four rounds too short and what still remained of the yarn was not sufficient to reach the toes.
Isn't it lucky I have so very very much of this yarn?
Please accept my very best wishes for an equally warm and happy day. See you again tomorrow!