Guest Blogger

Alison Hyde

Alison Hyde

Alison Jeppson Hyde grew up in Bethesda, Maryland, the fourth of six children and the mother of four now in their 20's.

She grew up next to a ten-mile park that was a protected watershed flowing down to the Potomac River, with trails built by the Appalachian Trail Association in the 1930's.

Her childhood was full of exploring the woods, trying not to fall in while stepping across stones to get to the other side of the creek, the occasional Pileated woodpecker sighting (and hearing!), and, just once, running from a snake that had been under that pile of leaves that was more scared of her than she of it and was making a run for it to the water.

She is the author of "Wrapped in Comfort: Knitted Lace Shawls," a book of patterns and their stories, and of the website spindyeknit.com. She updates it daily.

She lives in northern California with her husband of 31 years, and they recently celebrated the birth of their first grandchild, a boy.

Website:

spindyeknit.com

Blog Posts by Alison Hyde

  • The Eyes Have It

    The Eyes Have It

    I was at a big-box retailer, just coming out of checkout. There was a young dad sitting on a bench waiting for his wife. He was holding their little girl, an adorable little thing with long black curls, maybe 16 months old? Old enough to walk, too young to really talk but old enough to […]

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  • Baggage Claim

    Baggage Claim

    Every mom with small children gets told that just watch out, they’ll be horrible when they’re teenagers. (Why do people DO that? What good do they hope to accomplish?)

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  • Got Milk?

    Got Milk?

    Year: 1984, Baby #2. Scene: Toddler #1, a beautiful angel of a child up till then, had become  the instant proverbial Two Year Old (TM) now that she had competition for my attention. These screaming fists-pounding-the-floor temper tantrums? Where on earth had they come from?

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  • Merry go 'round

    Merry go ’round

    I had a friend, growing up, who felt she was not supposed to come home with dirt on her clothes. A young lady was not to do that. Which is how I learned early on to treasure my mother’s take on us after a good day down at the creek or in the woods in […]

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  • Through the Arms of a Child

    Through the Arms of a Child

    My children were 2, 4, 6, and 8 when I woke up one morning feeling as if I’d been hit by a truck in the night that had left every bone broken. It hurt to breathe; moving was excruciating. I was told I had systemic lupus. Ten years later they would add Crohn’s disease to […]

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