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Come back with me to late November. It's a misty moisty morning. I head over the river and through the woods to a sale at the Hopyards Spinnery. Understand, there is no store here normally, the sales are irregular. You get an email, you go if you can. You get to wander in the field and small barn garage, where Carol has placed a couple hundred rubber bins of her gorgeous yarn. You come to pay Prix Frixe for all you can shove in a shopping bag. The catch is having enough time to look and having some focus. On this particular morning I believe I have both.

Seeing as it is both misty and moisty, Carol asks us to keep the lids on her bins after we've peeked at the contents. The bins are not grouped in any strict order, so you might find three bins of worsted weight merino solids organized by hue followed by a bin of all different colors thick and thin, followed by a few bins of bulky variegates , and then a bin that has a little of everything in it. You know that card game Memory , when you lay the deck out face down and each player flips over two cards in search of pairs, and everyone tries hard to remember which cards are where ? Yeah. Like that. Its also kind of festive, I pair up with a woman who is wearing a Lizard Ridge scarf (great idea, no?) and we shout out to each other across the bins if we spy certain yarns we are each seeking.

All of this to explain how, when a phone call caught me with a partially filled bag and the need to leave pronto, I grabbed what I thought were three of the same variegated skeins I'd been trying to resist.


So, here I am, one skein into my new scarf . I realize upon stopping to wind the next skein that my triplets are not even fraternal, but cousins.
Two are maybe first cousins who shared a dip into the same gene pool dye bath. The third is a cousin twice removed. I'm knitting on anyway but why do I never learn?