Knitting Rules! (30 page)

Whatever it is, scarves are not the simple rectangles we think of when we remember our early knitting days. They are, instead, a medium for knitters to play in that has virtually no limits. (That was intended to be inspirational. Go knit a scarf.)

Imagine a scarf as an unlimited canvas. Do you imagine a 12-foot garter-stitch behemoth that any Inuit would envy? Do it. How about a wee bit of lace, just big enough to peek out of the top of a woolen coat? There's no reason not to invent, play, or try anything you can see in your mind's eye; it's not like you're going to have to figure out how your plan affects the scarf's armholes. If you can knit it, you can wear it. (Admittedly, and there's no point in pretending this isn't true, there are regrettable scarves. Still, there's much less chance that a fitting error or misunderstanding of the human form will stand in the way of your brilliance.)

I feel quite bad now — having said in an earlier chapter that a hat is a much better project for a beginners — that I'm going to sing the praises of a scarf as a project for a novice knitter. Not a very beginning knitter — because I think that a scarf just goes on too long for someone who struggles for every stitch and really needs the satisfaction of something finished to feel like a knitter — but for someone trying to learn
something, a scarf can provide undeniable glory. Scarves are a great way to learn something new. You can try any technique on a scarf and be able to focus on the one new element you're learning. New to cables? A cabled scarf frees you from the worries of gauge, of incorporating sleeve increases into the pattern, or, in my case, of the obsessive urge to mirror cables properly on the right and left sides of a sweater front.

When I want to knit a scarf, I get what I like out of the stash (or, for the stash impaired, you could go to a yarn shop but I suggest getting lots while you're at it, so you have your own yarn shop at home, should the urge to knit a scarf strike you at 1
A
.
M
.). When I buy scarf yarn, I buy as much as I think I'll need. If it's a big scarf, I get a lot; if it's a wee thing, I get a little, maybe just one skein. I don't worry about whether I'm right about it, because I don't mind the scarf presenting a small surprise. If it turns out to be longer than expected, I can stop. If it's shorter, I can call it a “tuck-in” and stop. It's only when I want the project to be a specific size (or I'm trying to give my brother Ian a manly cabled scarf that does more than barely tuck under his chin) that I give a little thought to what amount I should have.

Never trust how much yarn someone says to get. (Especially don't trust me. As careful as I am with these things, I feel that, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you I failed grade-10 math three times, and I'm somewhat mathematically challenged.) No matter who tells you — me, a pattern, your aunt Sheila — if you're really, really worried about having enough yarn,
get an extra ball for insurance.
Theoretically, you can return the extra ball to the store if you don't need it, but I've never heard of anyone doing that.

The chart below details, in the vaguest way possible, how much yarn (of various weights) I think you'd need for a scarf knit in stockinette stitch. Garter stitch and cables are going to take a little more; lacework, a little less.

Most of the time you're knitting a scarf from end to end, so you're not going to run out of yarn: You're going to finish. When the yarn is gone, you're out of there. Be flexible.

I really believe that if you understand the following three scarf recipes, you should be able to use them as jumping-off places to launch the scarf of your dreams. Cables, lace, stripes … one of these ideas should give you the framework from which to achieve leap acclamation, stardom, and fame. Knitters will fall at your feet and search for words while tears run down their rosie cheeks as they attempt to explain just a fraction of what it means tothem to see that your idea has sprung forth from your mind and been made real in the context of wool. They will …

I'm sorry. Really sorry. I get excited.

The most clever scarf knitter in the world is a genius, a visionary, a woman so smart that her intellect is dangerous. She has had the best ideas for scarves the world has ever seen. She is so clever, so creative, so innovative that sometimes when she has these ideas she can scarcely believe it herself. Do you know who she is?
No.
That's my point. There
is
no scarf fame. There are, however, some great scarves, and, damnit, you can invent one. (Cue the music and bring me my cape.)

This is a simple scarf, knit from one end to the other. It's plain vanilla, it's oatmeal in the morning, it's the opposite of a lace-cashmere mantilla. (Though with the help of a good stitch dictionary and a lace edging, it could be one …) It's the most basic scarf in the universe and the only serious skill needed is perseverance, because things can get a little boring. (Actually, things can get a lot boring, though I prefer to think of it as
meditative
.)

Ingredients

Get your yarn and the needles you might use with that weight (
Hint:
It tells you on the ball band).

How to Do It

Look on the label for the suggested gauge and figure out how many stitches to the inch you're likely to get. If the ball band says the yarn works at 20 stitches to 4 inches, then 20 divided by 4 equals 5 stitches to the inch.

Decide how wide you want the scarf to be. If you want it to be 8 inches wide, for example, multiply 8 by the number of stitches to the inch: 8 inches wide × 5 stitches to the inch = 40 stitches total, and that's how many you cast on.

Now knit (or whatever stitch you want to use) every stitch, every row, until you run out of yarn, and then cast off.