The Prodigal Sock

Back in August 2006, a sad thing happened. It was so sad that I couldn't even blog about it at the time. I had just finished a pair of socks --only the second pair I had ever made for myself--and I had happily packed them up for a trip to the Adirondacks. I was looking forward to wearing them on my nice, warm toesies while curled up in front of the fireplace on a cool summer evening in the mountains.

And then I lost one. Before I ever even wore them! I retraced my steps along the paths between cabins, and I looked high and low in all the buildings. I checked the fireplaces, I looked under the rugs, and I shook out all the blankets, but there was no sign of it. I begged our friends to keep a lookout for my sock. But it was no use. After my return home, I put the lone remaining sock in my drawer, where it called to me every day: "I'm so sad! I'm so lonely!"

And I stopped knitting socks. The thought of losing another one--well. It was too much.

But tonight, my friends, I arrived home from work to find a package waiting for me. And in the package was--of course--the missing sock. Our friends had eventually come across it along the side of a path, stuck in a bush. I'm not sure if this happened a few weeks after we saw them, or if it was in the fall when the leaves that had once camouflaged it were gone; or if it was over the winter holidays--although it seems in much too pristine a condition to have weathered the elements that long.

Clearly our friends are not knitters, or they would have called me the second they found it. But no matter. Today is a good day.

And I'm off to raid the stash for some sock yarn.

Anyone else have knits that returned to them when all hope was lost?