I bring you Yarn Economics 101, brought to you by hunger, exhaustion, yarn fumes and the giddiness that comes from knowing that a woman named Buffy has made it her calling in life to ensure our boxes get to Sock Summit safely and on time.
The full picture:
Pay full attention:
The boxes of yarn start in Haliburton (you can tell, because of the trees…and the rocks…cause no one else ANYWHERE has trees or rocks, right?) and goes towards Seattle, making a sharp turn toward Portland.
(I do not know why the International visual symbol of Portland is a tugboat. I’ve learned when I ask these things, a colourway loses its depth)
To Sock Summit:
(You can tell where the Convention Centre is…it will have socks on top of it)
There, the knitters will gobble up the yarn and make scarves for unappreciative relatives.
Who will throw them up into a tree. With a cat. Who will need to be rescued by the local fire department. Who will drive past a sheep spontaneously leaving fully leaving skeins of fully intact, freshly spun wool behind. (I’ve been assured that is wool, and not poop. In it’s defense, it is blue)
Which will fly itself to Canada to be mailed out to all the friendly knitters around the world.
(Some of you may have been specifically named, but smooshed under the plate of quesadilla. Sorry.)