Products

A violet posy sits on heather lilac, with a diamond lattice running underfoot and purple the whole way down. Alpine violets grow out of cracks in rock above the treeline, where almost nothing else bothers to try.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A fox picks through fallen leaves in rust on cream, with blossom scattered down the foot. Foxes happen to be the exact color of the leaves they hunt in, which always struck us as unfair to everything else in the wood.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Tilework in cornflower, navy and lilac, packed corner to corner. Get close to a cornflower and it isn't one blue, it's about four. This is the busiest thing we make and the pair people stop to look at.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Hearts and snowflakes in rose on cream, alternating all the way up. The first cold snap and the warmest thing you own tend to turn up in the same week.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A rose vine climbs from toe to cuff, with butterflies stopping off along the way and lilac at both ends. Leave a garden alone for a season and it gets on with things perfectly well without you.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A ginger cat, a ball of yarn, and one thread that runs the entire length of the sock, with chocolate at the cuff and heel. It's the oldest argument in any house that keeps wool in it, and the cat has never once lost. We'll sell more of these to people buying for someone else than to people buying for themselves.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Fern fronds unfurl on oatmeal, with olive at the cuff and toe. Fiddleheads push up out of the ground before anything else in the wood has woken up. Botanical without being floral, and an easy thing to hand to someone whose windowsills are already full.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A stag stands in pine woods, banded in olive and oxblood on cream. There's a moment in a wood when you realize something has been watching you for a while and has decided you're not a problem.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Geometric diamond banding in stone gray, black and oxblood. Granite splits along its own lines, in shapes nobody designed and nobody can improve. Goes with a suit and with boots.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Bees work their way across gold flowers on undyed cream, with a charcoal cuff and heel. The bees are still at it long after the flowers are past their best, which is either optimism or stubbornness depending on your mood. Gardeners tend to recognize the flowers before they notice the bees.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A single cream moth on black, with stars scattered around it. Luna moths turn up at a lit window after dark and are often still sitting there at breakfast, which is roughly how we feel about them. This is the only pair we make that looks better at night.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A wolf on a ridge, with a moon and a mountain range behind it, in four blues that fade into each other. A howl carries further than anything else out there at night, which is the whole point of it. Reliably the pair someone buys for a person who'd rather be at the cabin.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Sunflowers in gold and green on black. Stand in a field at dusk and the heads have already turned away, but the color is the last thing to go. It's the flower doing its best work against the dark.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Red-capped mushrooms are scattered on black with fine copper banding between them. They come up overnight in damp woods and are gone inside a week, so you have to be paying attention. Small enough that they read as texture from across a room, though foragers spot them from further away than that.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Snowflake banding in three grays, the pattern that's been knitted into winter socks for a hundred years. A hard frost takes an entire landscape down to about that many colors. Nothing here clashes with anything.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Nordic banding in two blues and camel on undyed cream. Blue-and-white porcelain traveled from Asia to Europe four centuries ago and never went home. These look like a plate you'd inherit and not quite dare to use, except you can put them on.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

Small posies and soft wave banding in pale mint and cream. A meadow in the week before it's cut is still standing, still full, and about to be neither. The gentlest color we knit.

Made to be worn. Not stored.

A sasquatch crosses a moonlit ridge, sky blue fading down into a black foot. Every campfire has a story about something large moving through the trees, and this one isn't hiding especially well.

Made to be worn. Not stored.