Ah, fall! My favorite time of year for sure. Hot apple cider, pumpkin pie … and sweaters.

The worse the nightly news, the more comfort I take in pulling on a cozy sweater as I either head out to face the day, or settle in for the evening.

Here’s the thing about sweaters: They are more than just a fashion statement or a handy layer to have about. They are fundamental, primal even. Like fire. OK, OK, maybe not exactly as fundamental as that, but close.

Think about it: You take a clump of animal “hair,” spin it into a thin rope, then use pointed sticks to tie little knots in it – and voila! A sweater! Or a hat, or a blanket, or, well, you get the idea.

Exactly what animal contributes the “hair” (and in most cases, it’s not actually hair, but that is a lengthy discussion) depends on where you are. Sheep are some of the most common, but don’t overlook camel, yak, llama, alpaca, rabbit (angora) and goat (cashmere). Even dogs and cats have had their fluffy fibers turned into garments.

Of course, sometimes plant fibers get used (think linen from flax), or animal, um, “creations” other than hair (you will never wear silk again if you go too far down that rabbit hole), but I know people who have devoted their entire careers to a particular fiber study, so I’m reeling us in.

The variety of animals used speaks to the global spread of the craft. Knitting (and its close cousin, weaving) are found around the world, and far back in time, because astoundingly, textiles survive in some crazy situations.

There are dress fragments from Turkey 4,000 years back, Chinese wool trousers that date to 1122-926 BC. The list is actually quite long, but my own favorites are a pair of knitted socks that date to the fourth or fifth century in Egypt.

They are adorable.

If you haven’t seen these yet, do a quick online search. They are orangish red, in surprisingly great condition, and the best part of all – knit with two toe compartments to accommodate sandals!

In more modern times, we get the stylized sweaters of the outer Hebrides, Scotland and Ireland where fishing families developed their own signature patterns (though there is debate about the accuracy of that), and the spies who knit coded messages into garments during World War II.

In my world, the role of sweaters is more basic: They make me feel safe. No doubt connected to all that history behind me, even more so that I grew up in sweaters knit for me by my mom, and then too there is nostalgia for the days when I was the sort of mom who knit sweaters for her own kids, until they got old enough to refuse. Turns out, teenage boys don’t love “cuddly jumpers.”

My closet space is limited, and I have a philosophical bent toward simplicity, so I do not possess a vast sea of knitwear choices, just a carefully curated and cared for selection with an eye toward longevity with a strong overlay of sentimental attachments. It is fair to say, most of my sweaters are best described as “classics.”

Lately, I have been feeling the need to make some sense out of the larger world. I have a need to make sense of the way things are working now. Perhaps the answer is to look backward? Perhaps it is time to dust off the needles and reconnect with history made current? And maybe, if I recall how the stitches go, I’ll wind up with a charming sweater in the bargain.

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