In which I debate the value of drool

Antique glass. That's the colorway name of this sock yarn, handspun by a local spinnery selling its wares at my farmers' market.

I stopped, two kids in tow, and lost myself in the plies, the interplay of the greens and blues, the absolute gorgeousness of this green-blue-aqua-water fiber. Just looking at it, stroking its wooly goodness, I felt peaceful and calm.

Until I checked the tag.

$36. For 175 yards.

Unless I'm knitting footies, that meant $72 for a pair of socks. My sense of calm fled, followed by a sense of frustration and, dare I say it, guilt.

I want to support local artisans. I admire the chutzpah of anyone who tries to eke out a living teaching mosaic classes, or making mead, or being a potter, or growing basil (and not the OTHER herb for which Northwest Washington is famous). And I WANTED this yarn. But $72 is a hefty investment for me for ANYTHING. Living on one teacher's salary with a mortgage to pay and a hope of retirement before age 92 and a burning hatred of credit card debt--lets just say that M and I are very careful with our money.

I felt frustrated and outraged by the price point, and then I felt guilty for being frustrated, because, after all, they have to earn a living, too, and clearly being the sheep-to-skein creators of this fiber entails much of the proverbial blood, sweat, and tears.

I hope someday I can afford better to support my local artisans. In the meantime, though, my reality is what it is. So I found another way to support them--I found their website and sent them an encouraging e-mail instead.