Foraged
I have it on good authority that taking a walk in the woods with me is, um, let’s say “challenging.” For you see, I am naturally inclined to wander. To meander. To stray from the path at the slightest provocation to investigate the mossy tree stump or lichen-covered stone wall or nifty rock or shiny feather or glossy acorn or, on more than one occasion, the faintly menacing yet still strangely appealing mushrooms that magically appeared since last I passed this way.
Now, I (usually) manage to (more or less) restrain myself and don’t (often) pick them. But oh, oh it takes more self control than I prefer to exercise. Which is why it should surprise absolutely no one that I eventually gave in and knit myself a whole pile of these little delights.
Alas, much as with their real-life counterparts, I must recommend that you not eat them. But, other than that, you can be as unrestrained as you’d like. I fully support knitting a whole collection of them and tucking them somewhere unexpected. You never know when someone distractible will be walking by to delight in them!
Hoard
These win the prize for the quickest and very possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever knit (though to be fair, there is a good bit of competition for that last category). It’s also the thing I’ve knit the most times. By, oh, let’s just say by a rather substantial margin. I think I knit a dozen in an afternoon when the urge first came upon me.
For you see, there is a massive oak tree in my yard. And I’ve rather bonded with this tree. I see it out my office window all day long, and I love it dearly. Every year it drops absolute masses of double acorns. One fall, as I was spending some time with the tree, I noticed one tiny, gleaming acorn hanging out in a little pocket of moss nestled in the space between two tree roots.
It was unspeakably perfect, the sort of thing you see on a postcard and think it’s just a bit too charming to ever be real. So naturally I started wondering what it would look like with a knitted acorn. And then, well, you know what happens when I get an idea like that.
The pattern originally had you use real acorn caps for the tops of each acorn, and I’m still awfully fond of this approach. But I was eventually overcome by the urge to do a knitted version of the acorn cap (yes, yes absolutely including a double version, how could I resist), so now the pattern includes both options.
There’s absolutely nothing practical to do with them at all. They serve no useful function whatsoever. But I suspect you’ll find them every bit as irresistible as I do. Though I’ll warn you, it’s shockingly difficult to knit just one.
Tufted
Look, I am not even going to try and convince you that you need these. Either you looked at them, fell instantly in love, and began spinning out a whole complicated tale for them (their names are Owlbert and Owllison. They own a combination secondhand bookshop and cafe. Owlbert makes the best popovers you've ever seen, and Owlllison has a knack for tracking down that book you loved when you were a kid but can't remember). Or you’re a normal, respectable adult who is not susceptible to such nonsense.
Either way is cool, and we can still totally be friends even if you’re not as easily distracted by the absurd and adorable as I am.
But if you are easily distracted? If you do feel a sudden longing to know what the owls get up to when no one is around? If you’re pretty convinced they’re having tea with the foxes and going on adventures with the raccoons? Well then you’re my kind of people, I think you’ll love these as much as I do.
And I think we’re going to have a marvelous time together!
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