Buying nothing new for a year presents a few challenges, and an entire winter without new socks has left my sock drawer in pretty dire straits. Furtunately, a few months before this started I'd climbed Mt. St. Helen's and invested in some awesomely warm socks (and new boots) for the trek. That pair saw me through the worst of the winter. They make it into nearly every load of laundry or else I feel a slight panic. Now, at the end of the winter, I am scraping together the remains of my sock drawer to pull off a reasonably similar pair of a similarly faded shade of black socks to wear when something other than boots is in order.
I'd been in a state of denial, buoyed by the occasional finding of a whole pair of unholey socks, until this morning, when getting ready for work I literally could not find one decent pair of socks to wear. I'd heard about darning before, but never done it, and, with no plans for the evening, and excited about the prospect of completing a task that would simultaneuosly provide a sense of accomplishment and such much needed socks, I decided that darn it I would.
Yes, I wore this today.
As with all endeavors, I began with a Google search. I found several helpful videos, which I watched about thirty seconds of before setting off to give it a whirl.
My darning tools, the darning process, and the rather inadequate results of my first attempt.
Well, as you can see, my first attempt, using thread, which apparently is all wrong--I'm still not sure how to properly address a thin sock, as all the socks in the demos I found feature heavy, thick wool yarns--was not too aesthetically pleasing, nor did I fully repair the worn part. I also forgot to turn the sock inside out, a step I highly recommend following. I do, however, feel quite satisfied with the feeling of a full, if somewhat thin, covering, on my heel.
Deciding I needed more knowledge, I went back to Google and searched a little more. "Match the yarn to the sock," was the best advice I came up with.
I also discovered that there is more than one way to darn a sock in this series of tutorials.
But my favorite was this lady, with her "Save the Earth" T-shirt and an ongoing dialogue between her and her cameraman about ways to improve the demo. Despite their suggestions for improvement, the demo video, uncut, made it onto the internet. Maybe it's the candid reality that draws me (or the striking similarity to my own adventures into the digital age!). Another great tip garnered from this darner: if you don't have a darning tool, or mushroom, as they are called, a lightbulb does the trick. (The incandescent kind, not the fluorsecent, and in either case be carfeul not to break it, more so with the latter as the resulting mercury gas release would cause you bigger problems than a holey sock.) I used a little vase.
While it appears that a visit to a yarn store is in order if I truly want to darn all these holey socks, I am also considering calling on Article 2 of The Rules, and just buying some new, sustainably generated, socks. (Which, thanks to the darning gurus of the internet, I now know how to care for at the first sign of wear so they'll not get to the full blow-out stage.)
Varying degrees of blow-out.
I do feel a bit let-down at the thought of tossing all those holey socks out, and so sad is their state, their potential to stick around as rags is only slightly greater than their usefulness as socks, so, though I think I should get credit for at least trying to maximize my use of the fabric, darned if I don't think the right choice is to darn.
--Tanya
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