Can you own a yarn shop and not know how to knit?
Technically, yes.
I crochet. I love crochet. I can make just about anything (not mittens, but that’s another story). For a long time, I figured that was enough. I know yarn, and I know crochet…what more did I need?
Within the first few weeks of opening Little Yarn Barn, I realized I should probably at least know the basics of knitting. Not necessarily enough to make heirloom sweaters, but enough to help someone choose the right supplies without getting that look. You know the one: “What do you mean you don’t knit?” I’ve seen it more than a few times, and it can make you feel like you have no business even touching yarn, let alone owning a yarn store.
So I hosted a small knitting class, learned how to knit and purl, and made a pile of little bunnies out of my practice squares. Eventually, I knit actual scarves. Ta-da! I knit. I could finally call myself a “beginner knitter,” and a bit of that imposter syndrome started to fade.
But I was slow. I didn’t love it. And I got very tired of scarves.
Still, I didn’t feel like I could quit. I want to give good advice, stock the right things, and actually know what I’m talking about when someone comes in for help. So I did what anyone would do in my situation: I set a big goal, said it out loud a few times to keep myself accountable, and called my grandma.
The goal: learn to knit well enough to make socks in 2026.
Grandma laughed and told me she would not be helping me with socks. But she said if I brought my needles and some yarn at Christmas, she’d teach me how to read a pattern.
On the advice of a trusted knitter (thanks, Beth from Birdsnbutterflies), I packed my favourite Estelle cotton and printed off a dishcloth pattern. This one was worked from the corner, so I learned increases and decreases. My first attempt was…not great. But as Grandma said, “It’ll wash dishes.” And really, that’s why dishcloths are the perfect beginner project. Even if you mess it up, it’s still a dishcloth.
I also learned that I apparently “knit wrong,” according to Grandma. We had to sort that out before she would teach me anything else. If I’m being honest, I still flip-flop between her way and mine.
By my second, third, and fourth dishcloth, I felt like I had learned everything that pattern had to teach me. So off to Pinterest I went, searching for beginner knitting patterns that weren’t dishcloths or sweaters. I needed something quick, a little challenging, but not overwhelming.
After hours of scrolling and slowly losing my dishcloth confidence, I found a simple stuffed elephant. Knit flat, all garter stitch—this felt doable. With plenty of help from YouTube and a bit of guesswork, I made a purple elephant who now proudly lives on my daughter’s bed and has already gone to school once.
I sent a photo to my grandma. Her reply: “Very nice. Just because you know how to do something doesn’t mean you need to do it all the time.”
Wait…what? I don’t have to obsess over something until I master it? That was news to me. But I’ll still be over here knitting until I can confidently say I’ve made socks. I’ve got a lot to learn.
If you’ve been around since the early days of Little Yarn Barn, you might remember that I didn’t even carry knitting needles at first. In my ignorance, I thought, “The thrift stores always have lots.” I had no idea there were so many types.
Crochet tools are simple. You need a hook in the right size, and you’re good to go. Knitting? You have to know if you need straight needles, circular needles, or double-pointed needles, all in the correct size and length. And if you need circulars, you also have to figure out the cable length, because apparently that matters too.
Knitters, I promise I’m trying to have all the options—but I may need a bigger store.
My next mission: understanding circular needles.
If you’re ready to move beyond the basic dishcloth, there’s a sweet little heart washcloth pattern that’s perfect for Valentine’s season. You just need to know how to switch from knit to purl—without accidentally adding a stitch each time (ask me how I know). It’s a fun next step and turns into a cute, practical project.
And as for me? I’ll keep practising, one project at a time, until the day I can finally say: “I knit socks.”