I am a ruthless frogger.
I can like a pattern but frog it simply because I’m not fond of the yarn I’m using for it. I can like a particular yarn and frog it because I don’t like what I chose to knit, too.
If my gauge is wonky compared to the swatch, I’ll frog it. If the yarn looked good in the swatch but not the project, I’ll frog it. If I make a mistake I can’t fix, or drop too many stitches, I’ll frog the project.
If the yarn’s too heavy for the season, I’ll frog. If the yarn is too light, I’ll frog.
If I’m bored with a project, I’ll frog it. If I’m annoyed with a project, I’ll frog it. If I come up with a better idea for a project, I’ll frog it. If it’s taking to long, I might frog it, too.
Finally, if my project goes to sleep for too long, a definition which varies by project, that’s a sign there’s something wrong with it. Off to the frog pond it goes.
Basically, if anything at all is even remotely wrong, I frog away happily. I sing “Thank God, and Greyhound! You’re gone.” and I think nothing more of it.
The thing I like about most knitting is that it’s not a forever relationship unless you want it to be. Cutting into cloth, that’s a forever relationship, and I’m afraid of that kind of commitment. But knitted fabric is not cut fabric. As long as it’s not mohair, frogging’s a breeze. Just rip it out and start over. There’s no waste.
Mohair is another story. I love it, but it’s just hard to frog and start over if you frack up. It simply must be an obvious perfect match to the project. In my book that means called for by the designer, who has already cursed it’s glorious fuzzy and notoriously un-frog-able goodness. If it’s not, I’m not willing to make the time commitment to experiment. There are just too many things that can go wrong, and when they do, they’re, sadly, often permanent.
Tonight, for example, the Gatsby yarn socks went into the frog pond for the second time. Why? I don’t care to finish them as socks. At the very least I don’t care to finish them as Falling Leaves socks, and that’s reason enough.
Why not?
I dislike having too many (which is an arbitrary and variable number) unfinished projects on the needles. Maybe I”m just not in the mood for sock knitting. It’s hard to say. Most likely the yarn will go into another sock yarn lace scarf, though I’m not sure if I’ll use an existing pattern or make something up myself. In any case, the yarn has been returned to the stash to age a bit before I return to it.
My blue jeans shawl is inching toward the frog pond, too, in favor of a different shawl pattern that better shows the yarn. Maybe it’ll be a pi shawl. Maybe a large scarf. It’s hard to say, but it’s very likely that I’ll have it frogged by tomorrow night.
Maybe I’m indecisive. Maybe it’s just my way of dealing with “start-itis.” Maybe I’m a perfectionist and won’t settle for anything less than my vision of the perfect marriage of yarn and project.
No matter how you choose to look at my ruthless frogging, the second most common sound associated with knitting in this house is the gentle chirping of frogs in the night. Rip-it. Rip-it. Rip-it. I think it’s a beautiful sound.
