My mother’s mother started knitting mittens for the Christmas church bazaars in the summertime. We’d see her constantly with her four knitting needles and a variety of different colours of wool in her hands.
She knitted endless pairs of mittens for the church community, as well as a pair for each of her grandchildren. The mittens were truly beautiful, as only things can be made with skill, love, and endless patience.
It was possible to identify the mittens my grandmother knitted among everyone else’s, because of the fine stitching and a small hole she made at the base of the thumb. Another girl at school wore a pair of her mittens; even though grandma’s church was three towns away.
I told her my grandmother made them and her face lit up. She said that her mother went every year to buy grandma’s mittens for her and her siblings. Her mother had to get to the church early because my grandma’s mittens sold out the quickest.
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