I’ve been knitting since I was eleven. I used to wish it was a skill connecting me to earlier generations of family knitters, but that’s simply not the case. My father’s mother crocheted and did a little knitting but lived halfway across the country. My mother’s limited knowledge of knitting is based on what I’ve taught her, and her mother is only vaguely aware that knitting is a craft involving two needles and yarn. So I learned to knit, not from my needle-impaired relatives, but at an afterschool program.

Through that class I learned the basics and started a scarf for my mom. It was a lumpy purple thing, with a slight iridescent shine to it, and I made a good foot of progress. But my fifth-grade attention span got the better of me, and the unfinished scarf ended up under my bed in a matter of weeks. I would occasionally retrieve it and knit a few rows, but never made any real progress.

A couple years later I was at a friend’s house when I saw a brightly-colored knitting book on her coffee table, boldly entitled Stitchin’ Bitch. As I flipped through the pages of young models and trendy designs I wished I were a better knitter, not so I could re-create the patterns, but so I could change them and make them my own. Once home I pulled out the scarf and tried again, and this time was different. It wasn’t just a purple scarf I wanted to knit. I also envisioned hats, sweaters, gloves, and other projects I could design. The creative element of knitting had me hooked, and my skills grew.

Flash forward four years. It’s the summer before my junior year of high school, and I’m looking for a job. Six months ago I’d quit my position at a sit-down pizza place, but I missed the independence of having something separate from my family and my friends, something that was mine and that I was responsible for. I was brainstorming possible jobs with my friend when she suggested the yarn store, Acorn Street Shop, down the street from my house. This idea was not new to me. In fact, I really wanted to work there but, as I told her, I was convinced I wasn’t skilled enough. But my friend pointed out that I would never know if I didn’t try. So that night, despite my low expectations, I sent an email to the owner of the store, Karen, telling her a bit about my experience, both knitting and working, and asking about job openings. The next day I got an email back from her. I quickly replied, and by the end of the day we had an interview set up for the following week.

Karen was nothing like I expected. What I expected to meet was a small, white haired, grandmotherly woman – the stereotypical image of a knitter – but that image was quickly shattered. Karen was a tall, strongly built woman somewhere in her fifties. She had short bleached blonde hair and was wearing a bright red shirt with a pair of colorfully patch-worked jeans. She greeted me with a wide smile and a strong handshake. After we sat down, she began asking me how long I’d been knitting, why I wanted to work there, my experience working with customers, and my work availability. I answered painfully honestly, admitting that I had only been knitting a couple years, the cash register at my old job had been the bane of my existence and that my schedule was inflexible at best. When she was done she looked down at her calendar. “Are Thursdays good for you?” I was overjoyed. We worked out the details and I left looking forward to my first day at Acorn Street a couple weeks later.

Initially, most of what I did was stocking, but after I got to know our stock a bit better, I began to start helping the customers. This could mean a wide range of things. Sometimes it’s as simple as finding a specific yarn for them, sometimes it’s answering a question about what a pattern means and sometimes it means sitting there with a calculator for twenty minutes trying to figure out why a row that’s supposed to have 108 stitches only has 107.

But it’s always fun to see people excited when they come in, ready to start a new project.
Knitting is art and it’s really inspiring to see people’s creativity. It’s also rewarding to know that you helped them with their artwork. One of the best moments this past year was when I came in to my regular Thursday shift and Janet, a co-worker, told me that someone had left a package for me and handed me a paper bag with a note attached. It was from a woman I had helped the previous week with a quick problem. She’d dropped a couple stitches and, because the yarn was dark and her sight wasn’t the best, it was hard for her to pick them up again. It only took me a couple seconds to help her out, but in the note she said that I had made her day. I opened the bag to find some really nice chocolates. Though the chocolates were good, the best part was that, even though it had only taken about a minute to help her, she remembered my name.

At this point I’ve been working at Acorn Street for over a year. I’ve gotten a raise and spent more of my paycheck on yarn than I probably should. But the most important thing I’ve gotten from Acorn Street is something that’s entirely my own. I used to wish that knitting connected me to my family, but now I’m glad it’s something I learned independently. I’m responsible for my work at Acorn Street. I don’t always have my friends there backing me up if something goes wrong, and if I show up late Karen isn’t going to call my parents. Working at Acorn Street has given me confidence that, even though I don’t have to just yet, I’ll be able to make it in the real world.

This essay was written by Sophie Scofield-Selby, Garfield HS Class of 2009, Wellesley Class of 2013.