In “Weaving and Thinking Otherwise,” I knew I had thoughts about sock-knitting, but wasn’t sure what they were yet. Here’s a version of them (which I tried out on Twitter just now):

There comes a moment in every sock-knitter’s life when they must Turn the Heel.

The easy, lazy hours of knitting the cuff are over. They know more stress-free knitting – the foot – awaits them. But first, they must Turn the Damn Heel.

And in that moment, the sock-knitter will pause and think, I don’t have to Turn the Heel. I could just cast off now, and have a perfectly lovely wrist-warmer.

But then, the intrepid sock-knitter will stiffen their spine, gird their loins, [add another tired metaphor here], and commence to counting. Turning the Heel is all about counting.

It is also the closest thing to cabinet-building that a sock-knitter will do, unless they happen to also build cabinets. It’s almost architectural, this Turning of the Heel.

Each part of Turning the Heel is distinct, requires a different technique, and is a pain in the ass. It is also – each part – something like a tiny miracle: I am making a carefully engineered, 3-dimensional object out of my fingers, some needles, and a strand of yarn.

All of which is to say: Turning the Heel is the worst part of sock-knitting, and also the best. Everything easy comes before and after it; there it sits in the middle, daring you to drop the damn sock and never come back.

But if you don’t take the dare, if you [insert bad metaphor here, something like “stiffen your spine”] and count your way through it, you will be making a tiny miracle, every single time.

And that’s what I know about knitting a sock. /fin

P.S. I do know that not all socks are knit in this cuff-down way. But all mine are. And any worthwhile sock is going to make you Turn the Heel at some point. Best to just accept it.