During John’s short bout of knitting a few years ago, he knit one sock for himself.

He started the second one, but his tension was so much looser by then that it was coming out huge. So he frogged it and hasn’t touched the needles since. (Except to finish the thumb on a pair of mittens this past winter because his hands were cold. I was very proud of him.)

As part of his birthday present this year, I decided to surprise him by finishing that other damned sock for him so he can finally wear the fruits of his labour.

I had to try a bunch of needle sizes to match his gauge. That was both annoying and pretty satisfying in the end.

I think of them as his forest socks, not only because of the colour, but because he was working on them when we were in the forest for the Om Festival two summers ago.