Now, I’m about to write something that will alienate about 105% of the fibre community. Please don’t hate me. I’m fairly nice, really. You might even like me if we met at a party.
Here’s the thing, though: I don’t understand the concept of stash.
No, that wasn’t a typo. I meant it. I. Don’t. Understand. Stash.
Yes, yarn is beautiful. Yarn is lovely. Yarn is squishable. Yarn is comforting. Yarn inspires possibilities. And yes, if someone popped round tomorrow to fill my house with gorgeous indie-produced merino in many rich and luscious colours, I probably wouldn’t grumble very much. In fact, I’d look a bit like this:-
But buying yarn when you only have the vaguest idea what you’ll do with it and when, I just don’t understand. (I’m not criticising anyone who does this – I just want to understand so that I can join in the yarn-accumulating fun. Have you SEEN some of the stashes on Ravelry?) Fair enough if you love to knit socks, you can buy up all the sock yarn at Yarndale and be pretty confident that it’ll get used eventually, assuming that you live to the ripe old age of 304. But otherwise, how do you know what to buy? And how many skeins?
At the moment, I’m knitting a jumper, doll-like models of my family, a cushion cover, a chicken, and I’m crocheting a rug, a giant stained glass window afghan, a model of my house, and crochet-bombing the plant pots on the kitchen window sill. You can imagine the sheer variety of fibre types/weights/colours/quantities involved here. That’s the thing: there are so many variables in yarn. Even if I had a stash, a huge stash, what are the chances of finding yarn for my next project amongst it? I just know that if I bought eight balls of something, I’d end up wanting to use it as part of a many-coloured fair isle project, so I’d only need a little bit. And if I bought one ball, I’d be struck the next day by an urgent need to knit a dress.
Truly, I am perplexed. And I do love yarn. Clearly I am missing something. Please can somebody explain?