Moth Heaven

Argyle Origami

You think you might like to try this argyle thing, mostly because the prospect of pirate socks finally makes you think you can swing amidships from the peak halyard, eh?  You think you know how to do it, you've located a few sets of directions, but still, you wonder, how exactly does an argyle sock look while you're knitting it? How will you know if you're doing it correctly?

Boy, is this the post for you. 

Once you've calculated your gauge and figured out your chart (leaving an long tail for sewing up with later), and knit your ribbing flat (because you know that experiment where I tried a in-the-round ribbing before the flat part?  Eaten by sharks. The traditional way still rules! ), you knit the chart until you reach the point where you think you want your heel flap to begin.  (psssst.  You can see my little yarn gaps in this picture.  I thought you'd be reassured to see that because it all gets sewn up in the end and no one's the wiser).

Because the seam goes up the center of the back, you take 1/4 of the stitches from either side and put them on holding thread, and continue on with the chart with the center half of the stitches until you like.  At this point, it looks like this, especially if you haven't bothered to weave in any of the ends yet:

Should I mention that you can at any point weave in those ends?  The diagonals are a great place to tuck them if there's one handy. I recommend doing this as soon as possible if you're particularly squeemish about the end weaving.  Otherwise, the whole thing can be a bit overwhelming all at once at the end, and I wouldn't want that. 

Fold the sock and sew up the seam with a ruthless mattress stitch.  Do not cheat on your mattress stitch here.  I know that you have cheated every other time you have used the mattress stitch because you have always gotten away with it.  You will not get away with it here.  Be tough and do it the right way.  Pretend you're grafting.  Pretend you're on a beach in Bermuda and you can only stay for as long as you are sewing the mattress stitch.  If you stay long enough, the pool boy will bring you another Mai Tai.

Okay.  See right there, where the diagonals look wonky?  Where their logical intersection gets eaten by the seam?  Don't do that.  When you make your chart, add a selvedge stitch on either side and your sock won't look wonky like mine does.

When you have finished seaming, put the united heel flap stitches on a needle and

knit a normal heel flap.

Turn the heel and pick up the gusset stitches on one side. 

Stop.

Turn. You are looking at the wrong side of the work.

Purl the first two stitches together, and then purl normally down the gusset, across the heel stitches, and then pick up the gusset stitches on the other side. (I like to thread a needle through the stitches to be picked up so that the picking up can be worked as if they were live stitches.)

Stop.

Turn.

Knit the first two stitches together to get a left slanting decrease, and continue back and forth, decreasing at the beginning of every row, until the gusset is as long as the instep you have already finished knitting. Note that because you are knitting back and forth, that this is a opportunity to finally be able to use that reinforcing thread that comes in your sock yarn on the entire area of wear under that  merciless heel of yours.  I pick it up in with the center twenty stitches or so, and leave it behind as I continue up the sides of the gussets.  You'll see what I mean when you try it.

View from the front . . .

View from the side:

When they match, put all the stitches on your needles and proceed in the round as if it were any other sock.

At any point in the knitting from now on, you can go back and sew up those little peek-a-boo openings.  Again, be ruthless.

Doesn't seem so bad, does it?  Now, where's that halyard pool boy?

Getting my Jolly Rogers Off

My mother wants me to tell you that when you knit your argyles, be they preppy or piratey, that you should not skimp on the ribbing because she knows the siren song of the chart, and how it will sigh while you put in your ribbing, and how it will complain, and how it will try to get you to start in on the excitement of the colourwork before the ribbing has reached the right point, the point when it will be substantial enough to not look like you rushed into the chart before the ribbing was a full 2.5 to 3 inches long.  She says this is very important because if you rush, the ribbing will look skimpy, and you will look like a knitter who rushes.  I think she must be looking at my pink ones and shaking her head.  My mother is among the most patient of knitters.  I should learn some more of that from her.

So I have reached the end of my more substantial ribbing.  I decided that I want my Jolly Rogers to be on the sides of my socks instead of on the front, so I printed out a couple of copies of the chart and by cutting and taping and folding, I figured out where I should start in on it.  I looked at the finished Dunkin Donut sock and thought the Jolly Roger would look best against the first whole background diamond starts, since I also think I want the skull on a black background, like it is on the flag.  I might make the socks another half repeat of the chart longer, but I'll make that decision when I get there.  Here's where I am at the moment  (remembering to knit it from the top), about four rows into it.  I can't wait to make it to the skull !

I know you're looking at the ribbing and saying to yourself: 

But that's not flat.  That looks like a regular sock-in-the-round.  Is she dicking with me here?

No.  No, I'm not.  Really.  I am knitting it back and forth, just like -- I swear to you -- any self-respecting argyle sock is knit.  But I did cheat a little and knit the ribbing in the round, then started in on the back and forth when I got to the chart.  I actually ribbed with 68 stitches, and added on new stitch at each side for the selvedge.  It's an experiment.  What better time to walk the plank, I say.  Arrgh.

Calling My Own Bluff

The ARRRRgyle socks have to be knit.  I mean, it's just too funny an idea not to make them a reality.  So I dove into the Sox Box and turned up about a dozen solid colours of sock yarn (because mine is, after all, THAT kind of stash), and while I lack the grey of the chart, I do have two entirely other skeins of orange and pink sock yarn, and combined with black as the background diamonds and white for the Jolly Roger, I think I will have me a hearty pair of stockings, matey.  For anyone keeping score, that's Wildfoote in black and white on the bottom, and Kroy in the orange and pink.  All of this is subject to their happy marriage in the gauge swatch, of course.

To answer a few questions that keep popping up in my email regarding argyle socks:

Why are Argyles socks knit flat?   Why not just knit them in the round?

I knit the Dunkin' Donut Argyles flat because that is the traditional way to knit argyles. If you knit across a row in intarsia, for example -- dropping the pink to pick up the green, when you come back around again on the next row, the end of the pink yarn will be all the way over on the other side of the diamond. That is why intarsia is knit flat.  I know there is a technique for knitting intarsia in the round, and a version of that for knitting argyles in a tube, but for me, knitting argyle socks was an exercise in tradition. I applaud anyone who tries the argyle tube out, but for me, the old way is the only way I have time for at the moment. Besides that, I fear no seams.  I have a ruthless mattress stitch and Nancie Wiseman on my side.

Do you duplicate stitch your diagonals like in the Sockknitters Tutorial?  I did duplicte stitch once and I never liked the way it looked.

I don't like the way duplicate stitch looks either, and I avoid it at all costs to my laziness and personal comfort.  I do in fact, knit in the diagonals as I go, using a wingspan's length of yarn dedicated to each diagonal.  I use about a double wingspan of yarn for each of the contrast diamonds as well, until I run out.  Then I start a new length, and ::gasp:: I don't wind them into bobbins.  I leave everything loose, trailing yarn around after me like some kind of mad Penelope. And here's a little secret of mine that may not work for you: I knit the background colour straight out of the skein.  I use both ends of one skein at once, each end supplying a different diamond.  It sounds like flirting with a massive tangle, but every once in awhile, when I feel like the ends are getting unruly, I simply pull the lengths free, and because there are no bobbins (except the one skein), there are no tangles. There are a few ends to weave in, and I know how much people hate to weave in ends, but for me, it doesn't feel like any kind of chore. Those diagonals are a great place to hide the ends in, and I just love how tidy everything looks when I'm done. That sounds a lot like why I used to run for exercise: it always felt so good when I stopped.

This might be a Little Evil, but

Thanks to Kate for the brilliant and colourized revisions.

PDF available here

Download c__docume1_w_locals1_temp_plugtmp_arrrgyle.pdf

for the full sized graph.  Don't forget to read the graph from the top for socks so that the skulls land right-side-up.

Added later: Take note that the chart is for a 70 stitch sock.  If you want a sock with fewer stitches, manipulate the diamonds according to the argyle charts in the previous post, and center the Jolly Roger accordingly.

In the Name of Ancient Knowledge

There are few patterns for argyles available in the knitters' current resources, aside from the odd leaflet some people might be lucky enough to have in their vintage collections.  Unless you have a copy of The Good Housekeeping Needlecraft Encyclopedia (copyright 1947) like Julie does, you're sort of on your own (don't ask her for a copy, just congratulate her on her good fortune).  If you're brave, like Djenn or Jonathan, you proceed anyway (with perhaps a little help from the sockknitter's tutorial . . . I have mentioned the socknitters tutorial haven't I? You really should go look at the sockknitter's tutorial).  These knitters are proof positive that all you need is yarn, the basics of sock knitting, and no fear.

And please don't be offended on Stephanie's behalf that I haven't already mentioned that she's knitting argyles. She knows that I know. 

So in the spirit of saving something that was once so common to knitting that has since become so obscure, I am offering the chart for the very argyle sock that is on my needles (click on it for better visibility).  The diamonds are 34 stitches across to make a 68 stitch pattern, plus two for the seam selvage because, yes, they are knit flat (until the heel flap -- more on that later).  You can knit anything you want into socks if you're willing to sew a seam up the back.  One knitter suggested that the seam is the prime obstacle to more people undertaking the argyle, but another suggested it might just be that they're ugly (no links, because they know who they are.  I love them both).  I personally favour a theory that involves an intersection of preppy trauma with an unwarranted reputation for difficulty.  Kind of like James Spader, but in a sock.

I know you might not want to knit a 70 stitch sock, so here's the same deal for a 66 stitch version.

The diamonds here are 32 stitches across for a sock with a total stitch count of 64 plus 2 stitches for selvages.  If you wanted a sock with even fewer stitches, you'd draw up a graph for diamonds that are 30 stitches across for a total of 60 plus 2, and so forth.  Got that?  Once I finish the pink socks, I have promised the Mister that I will knit him a wild pair.  We're still discussing colours, but I know my gauge and his foot necessitate an 80 stitch version which will look, all told, something like this.

Had enough?
I had a post a few months ago about places on the web for argylistas, so if you're new to this blog and are interested in argyles, go check it out.

And Now For Something Completely Related

Okay, I'll cut out the argyle monotopic for a minute and catch you up on what else I've been working on because, after all, the only thing more arcane than a blog about knitting, is a blog about knitting argyle socks.

Irish Moss.  For the Mister. ( have I mentioned that he's 6' 3" ? )

Loads and loads of little travelling stitches.

Not as many travelling stitches perhaps as have some people's . . .

(like Eunny) but still.

Sort of looks a little like argyle, don't it?

Color Choices for Argyle

When my mom knit argyles for her college boyfriend, grey and brown were pretty much the starting point for the basic palette (I know she's going to chime in on how wrong I am with this one: she would never have dated a brown and grey kind of guy.  She preferred the kind of a guy who liked yellow in his socks).

When I picked out colours, I went for the brightest in the store, thinking that argyle should be loud, LOUD, LOUD. So I wound up with the pink / orange / kelly combo you see on my banner.  Argyle is such a fun pattern for colour, and to prove it, I played around in Paint today and came up with these hypothetical socks:

You can use three colours, or five even, if you want to really mix it up.  The diagonal stripes can be entirely different from the diamonds.  I think a sock with one of the colours from a variegated yarn might be fun too. 

Given how limited the availability of solid colour sock yarn seems to have been until recently, you might find yourself looking at few options at the LYS. I snuck a colour of Dale Baby Ull into my socks because I couldn't find the right orange for the combination I wanted. As long as you keep such "cheats" out of the areas that get wear, the sock should last as long as does any handknit sock.  You'll need two skeins of your dominant colour (the ribbing, the backgroud, and the foot section) and one (half) skein of each of the other two colours. It seems to me that solid yarn is making a comeback, so keep your eyes open for Brown Sheep's Wildfoote, Koigu in solids, Lang JaWoll, Fortissima Polycolon, Opal Uni-Solid, Regia Solids and Tweeds, Lorna's Laces Nearly-Solid, and if you're lucky enough to live in Canada, add Paton's Kroy and Shelridge Farms to that list.  I know there must be more, and I'll leave it to the comments for people to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.

And for those boys who like yellow in their socks, here's to you.

Second Assault on the Argyle Sock

Not so long ago, and not so very far away, I was knitting up an argyle sock.  It was a skill challenge.  I thought it would be a stimulating thing to try my hand at argyle.  It's time travel in a way to knit argyle socks, to make a project that was wildly popular when my mom was in college, sort of like a 50's Clapotis.  Everyone knit argyle socks.  Don of Don & Janet (Puttin' on the Knitz in West Newton Centre) says he has women come into the shop all the time who say they don't know how to knit but they did make argyle socks for their college boyfriend, and he hands them yarn and size fives and says "Here, you have nothing to be afraid of"  It's like saying that you can't fry an egg but you graduated from the Cordon Blue.

I know, some people feel woozy when they hear either one of these words in connection to knitting:

1) Tiny needles.
2) Intarsia. 

But really, assuming the hands are willing and the eyes are strong, tiny needles are just a different scale, and intarsia is just changing the yarn you're knitting with to another one when you come to that border stitch. It's not a big thing, like a sweater.  It's a sock.  You're not convinced.  I can tell.

But it's a lonely business, knitting argyle.  I know Eunny likes argyle as a pattern, but her argyle things  are artistic and contemporary takes on the classic: an homage rather than a slavish re-inactment like mine.  I did think somewhere in the back of my blogger's mentality, that a few people would jump on the bandwagon and we could all merrily knit along, impressing our friends and blog ring neighbors, but alas.  I knit alone.  No one has answered the plaintive argyle call.  Serves me right to live with such delusions.  And so the second sock has come out of hiding, and the heel flap approaches.

Two Weeks and Human

Okay, it took me two weeks.   But I fit a lot of life in there too, so theoretically, if I could lock myself away from the Internet and the boy and the laundry and the garden (oh the weeds, my dear, the WEEDS!), I could have knit the Scoop in a week. 

So the stats on the Scoop are: it took me 11 balls of All Season's Cotton to knit the largest size.  I do think the next one should be the next size down because I have, yet again, overestimated how big a sweater needs to be to reach around the equator.  This one has plenty of ease, and even though I didn't believe that the tiny waist in the pieces I knit to specifications would ever circumnavigate my belly, they do generously.  And I might indeed knit another: there's a bag of pea green Summer Tweed in the stash that would make a nice one, but for now, I will make good on the promise I made to myself and the needles and pick right back up where I left off on the St*armore Irish Moss in Silky Wool for the Mister.

Some of you might wonder about the silly posture in the picture: it's what we call around here my Venus de Milo, which I adopted as my default for party pics.  The Mister thinks it's really funny, especially since he likes to pose as Michelangelo's David (oh I wish he would let me post one of those pictures).  But what he doesn't know is that I like the Venus on principle because I think her posture suggests that she was spindling before she lost her arms.  Probably busy making yarn for the rest of her dress, if you ask me.
In the words of Claudia: Just sayin'.

Necking: or The Stitch that my Needle Missed

When I pick up stitches along an edge, I mark out the intervals, do a little math, and figure out how many stitches I need to shoot for between the markers.  Say I have a 20 inch front edge for a cardigan, and I need 40 stitches for the button band: I put markers at the half way point, and then at the quarter points, and see that I have four sections to fill.  In between those markers, I need 10 stitches each (40/4=10).  No surprise there, huh?

Curved edges like necklines are more of a challenge to getting the intervals accurately placed, and the characteristics of the edge changes from selvedge -- to cast off -- and back again. Sometimes I find after I've finished picking up, cheating here and there as I can't make the number goal from interval to interval,  I miss the total and have to rip and start over. This is one of my most dispiriting knitting moments, so I have a couple of sneaky options .  First, I look for the gaps I could have filled in,  and sometimes I can just tug up some slack in the yarn I used for the picking up row using a crochet hook, and sneak in a few additions. 

When I am very short in my stitch count, like I was yesterday morning, I take a contrast coloured length of yarn, and use it to mark both the existing stitches and the new ones I'll need to meet my count, passing it loosely through the places where the stitches will have land, and then I rip.  It's time intensive, but reduces the subsequent failure rate to zero.

Sometimes I have to cheat, and I admit it: there are sweaters in the closet with neckline stitch counts from the next size down.  Frankensweaters, really. Perfectly normal sweaters with necklines too small for their bodies. But no one has ever pointed at laughed at the pin-neck sweater I was wearing: so far. . .
But the Scoop, THE SCOOP IS ALL ABOUT THE NECK.  yesterday, and it took me all of my knitting time to do it, I squeezed in every. last. one. of the 142 stitches Bonne Marie asks of the knitter, and lo, it looks good.

Today, seams. And hopefully, buttons.