One of the best things I did last year was to start a weekly knitting group at one of the local cafes.
At first, it was just me, knitting away, but I knew it was just a matter of time before others would join me and they did. Most weeks, we can fit around a table, but other times, the crowd overflows. Most of the faces are familiar, regulars from the monthly meetings of the Wild Woolly Women, but new ones keep popping up.
Marianne, the owner of the cafe, has been extremely supportive of our group. She is not a knitter--and we keep threatening to pin her down to teach her--but she owns a herd ofalpacas and sells her yarn in the shop.
Last month, a young mother with her three homeschooled youngsters started coming. Her children are only eight, six and four years of age, but they sit for an hour and work on their own projects. We love watching the progress they make from week to week, but I sense them watching ours, as well. The oldest, a girl, has fine rosewood needles that she received as a birthday gift and she looks so sweet as she knits along on her scarf. The oldest boy works with a pair of needles that he made himself from dowel rods. The points are nicely carved, not too sharp, and the ends are acorn caps. The youngest hasn't really shown an interest in knitting and he usually draws marvelous, colorful pictures. One our members is a retired school teacher and she loves to help them with their projects.
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