I grew up in a family of makers. Both of my parents adopted every hands-on hobby they could find; we befriended other makers, and even our house was a project house, ripe for the creativity and craziness my family thrived on. I was diagnosed with a rather debilitating autoimmune disease at a young age, and consequently spent a lot of my time reading, drawing, sewing, painting and eventually, knitting.
My mother, Pattie, originally used knitting in her classroom where I was a student, as a method for training fine motor-skills, and as my handwriting was atrocious, I was an instant target. I hated it. With. A. Passion. My knitting was so tight that I snapped a wooden knitting needle in half, and my “dish cloth” was quickly discarded and I, sassy six-year-old that I was, point-blank refused to knit ever again. Ever. Period. The End.
Funny to have a dream of owning your very own yarn shop, huh.
