Knitting as Programming

OK, it's no secret that I'm a programmer by trade and although some don't like the term, I actually prefer to call myself a coder. This isn't because I think what I do is some kind of secretive practice, but because the attraction of problem solving is similar to that found in creating and breaking codes. I also accept a part of it is it's just a nicer word to say and a quicker one to type. You may consider that lazy, but I like to call it efficient.


I've done my job for around ten years now and in that time I've worked in a few different programming languages and focused my efforts on a number of different tasks. I've always worked on games, but I've covered areas from character control to user interfaces to tools development. It's been interesting and varied, but I think the coder's mindset is one that always wants to find new ways to practice it's art. This has led me to taking an interest in the internet and programming for the web. At least that's what's getting it's grip on me at the moment.

Using different languages and techniques helps you to develop a wider view of how programming works. It encourages you to think about how different styles and approaches suit different problems and it also helps you to learn the broader skills that apply to many forms of problem solving: patience, stepping back to see the bigger image and conversley recognising and honing in on the right details. I don't want to come across as overly philosophical, but rather to describe the background that's made me recently realise that knitting is really another form of programming.

To knit a garment from scratch you'd better start by planning it well. You need to think about who you're knitting for and then decipher what it is they actually want. Whether you're going to work on something for yourself or someone else, you don't want to get stuck in before you really know what you're hoping to end up with. In software engineering, this is called requirements analysis.

From watching my Knitter, I've learned that, the patterns she follows have a comparable structure to source code. They branch depending on variables, such as size, and they use loops where patterns repeat. You even find procedures than can be called repeatedly, such as those to make button holes and sleeves. Add to that the syntax describing which stitches to use and you're practically there.

The next step is actually running your code. This is where things get slower for the Knitter who has to do it all by hand, as opposed to us lucky coders that get to throw it all at a CPU and see what happens. Both methods lead to testing. I'm spoilt by having access to a team of professionals who are more than happy to put my work through it's paces, but my Knitter doesn't need all that. It seems the Knitters' way is to put it on, look in the mirror and maybe pull a few poses.

I think this is how she wins.

Cheers,
YarnBoy

Duck Feet

Since my Knitter picked up her needles I've been wondering what's in it for me. I've watched her make herself an impressive array of tops, send jumpers to her family and even give one of our friends the softest birthday scarf. If I'm honest, I did get a lovely winter jumper a few months ago, but I've been waiting for something really exciting to come along. Something that would make me the envy of my friends and turn heads as I stride down the street.

Yet it's hard to recall the first moment that the duck feet were mentioned in conversation or exactly when my Knitter first showed me the picture of these awesomely cute little morsels; these tiny golden triangles of delight, with their dinky rolled down ankles and exquisite toe-based detailing. I can't imagine a parent not wanting to stick a pair on their baby's feet and squish them all afternoon.

Development was an intricate process because the pattern was designed for ages three to six months and I'm in my thirties. It meant we had to get seriously technical and draw round my feet with a pencil to get the size right. Then there followed a period of rapid progress while the soles took shape. They grew like lightning for a spell, but when my Knitter reached the ankles things slowed down. You can see from the picture that this took some proper needle skills and there was definitely plenty of learning on the job.

I think you'll agree that the end result was worth it...

I wonder what I should ask her for next. Does anyone think a duck-billed woolly hat might be a good plan?

Cheers,
YarnBoy

PS: Here is my Knitter's project on Ravelry.

Lana Grossa or Knitting Invaded My Brain

Being around my Knitter initially seemed relatively harmless. I was one step removed, observing the obsession from a safe distance as though it were quarantined within her. I felt safe, immune to it's spread, close enough to see how it worked, but far enough away to remain impartial. It turns out I was dangerously wrong.

There had already been signs that I should have recognised. I'd gradually been picking up the terminology as though by osmosis. It was a gentle process and I didn't realise what was happening at the time. You might even say that it didn't seem wrong that I knew the pros and cons of using bamboo needles as opposed to steel ones. I felt that it was ok to bump into the local dry cleaner in the street and be asked if my Knitter had found a good button shop yet. I even kind of liked how our concierge would sometimes have a parcel for her and tell me he "knew what this would be," as he handed it over. These things seemed fairly innocent and even a little bit fun.

My problem only really dawned on me when we hired someone new at work and on learning that she was called Lana, all I could think of was Lana Grossa. This was a living, breathing human being, but my poor, knitting infected brain could not distinguish her from a ball of yarn.

I hope that treatment is available.

Cheers,
YarnBoy

Knitting Corner

Initially, it seemed like this may be a phase. Another one of those interesting pass-times that burns brightly, but too fast, soon existing only as a fond memory of short-lived enthusiasm for the latest fad. Initially, I had no idea that I'd end up sharing my home with a vast stockpile of wool, needles, tape measures, row counters, moth repellents, crochet hooks, pins, blocking boards, drying racks, knitting magazines, yarn brochures, wool, more wool and yes, even more wool.

It's amazing how much paraphernalia comes with this hobby. I figured there would be a couple of pairs of needles and a ball of wool, but those days are long gone. Now all my manly, sophisticated electronic gadgetry has to share the living room with Knitting Corner, a collection of all the above that's growing, steadily but constantly, to take over vast tracts of our home. I must concede it's all neatly boxed and my Knitter probably knows exactly where everything is, but I can't imagine how the older stuff can even be reached.

It's like a mighty tree that's added a ring every year or like the ancient, kilometre thick layers of ice in the Arctic. In some distant future an expedition may be sent in to retrieve a core sample and months later they'll return with a brittle rod of compressed yarns, illustrating the history of her shifting tastes. Scientists will ponder over the meaning of such an amalgam of fibres from different sources, baffled at how camel hair, bamboo and alpaca came to co-exist and flummoxed by the occasional vein of verdant green or rusty red amongst the blacks and browns accounting for the bulk of the sample.

But for all this, I tolerate, neigh encourage her. I'm one of those scientists, at heart, and I can appreciate the sense of discovery when some exotic new yarn turns up at our door. If I may be honest with you, it gives me a thrill to see the concentration on my Knitter's face when she's tucking into a tricky pattern, running through her tension squares or asking me to check over her mental arithmetic before she invariably throws out the rule book and heads off-piste once more.

But will this remain just a hobby?

Cheers,
YarnBoy

Yarnal Knowlege

It turns out that entering the blogosphere is surprisingly easy, even for a first timer like myself. You can sign up on a site, get some advertising on there and even begin with a basic colour scheme within minutes. It's simple to use someone else's layout and even easier to post.

The first challenge is coming up with a title and an original one seems almost impossible. Should you go for short and snappy or something sophisticated; maybe with a double meaning? Are you going to appeal to readers with a pun or will they prefer a clever reference? Can you think of anything, anything at all that hasn't been used several times already? It's a bit of a toughy and it hits you early on.

I've seen a few catchy knitting names, like Stitch n Bitch or Yarn Harlot and things like Stash seem to be too generic. I thought it'd be cool to take inspiration from elsewhere and came up with
Much Ado About Knitting and The Whole Nine Yarns, but both turned out to be shops already. It appears that with six billion people on the planet, a rising number of which are knitters, it's going to take some effort to be original.

So for now, I have gone high-brow with Dude, Where's My Yarn? and we'll have to see what future that will bring.

Cheers,
YarnBoy