My neighbour was working on his truck when I took this picture. I could hear the rrrk, rrrk, rrrk of a ratchet when I walked out carrying my scarf and yarn. I wrapped the needles around the stem of my soon to be open girl and noticed the silence. I took the picture, turned and there he was staring over in my direction. The woman he used to see carting saws to the shop to be sharpened, changing knives in the heads or cracking the nut by hand on the Mark II (for one month then I went back to feeding the Stetson Ross Planer) is now taking pictures of knitting hanging off her flowers.
Is it her?