The title of this post refers to what I yell at my family when, after skiing together, they find themselves sans mama farther along the ski trail, through the trees and around the corner, waiting and wondering what had happened to me.
There has been a little more of this activity (minus the funky bonnet):
I have stolen random half-hours to get some knitting done. I have projects left in various states of confusion and mistakes: a wrap that I messed up a simple cable pattern, so I have to tink back a few rows. A sock my cat put a hole in. Not sure what to do about that one. I jumper for The Girl in which all that is left is the neck; I'd better finish soon or else she'll grow out of it before it's done.
There's more. But, it's okay...
And, though it's not time to knit outdoors yet, this looks idyllic.
It doesn't address the problem of wind, debris catching in your yarn, or the chickens and cats that will inevitably attack your yarn. But, yes, lovely idea.
I recently read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, set in World War II. And, though not about knitting, is a harkening back to the time when resources were scarce and people banded together to help one another out.
People knit together, literally and figuratively, to pool their resources and skills in order to make things for all, and to take care of one another.
It's a nice idea, I think, although better not to have to face war in order to get to that point of togetherness.