So this past weekend we drove up the Delmarva peninsula, and stopped at the National Park on the Virginia part of the Eastern Shore. Because my DH is crazy for all things Nat’l Park, we’ve got the annual pass and the kids have their own passports and everything. The baby has now been to three parks. But the deal is, we stop at LYS’s when handy.
And I could SMELL that there should be an LYS on Chincoteague. All the signs were there. The boutiques and antiques and such were overflowing, it had to be there, but we ran out of daylight after stopping on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel earlier for little people to run around watching Navy ships churn through and people catching fish. So I couldn’t actually look.
But, come to find out, both Chincoteague and Dover, our next destination, were LYS-less! It was so dire, we had to stop at Stitch DC on Sunday. I was blown away that a town like Dover would be sans LYS.
But I’m sure the economics of knitting and yarn are just unfavorable there at the moment, and someday they will get better.
So I have two points:
if you can manage it, and are fond of yours, try to visit your LYS to keep them from going out of business. I know I’m guilty of it: I know they are there, and it feels like a safety blanket, but I don’t actually go there very often. If you want them to be there for you, buy stuff from them. (And if you VERY MUCH DON’T care about the LYS, that’s your lane, whateves. Maybe they don’t deserve your patronage, maybe you primarily knit stuff they don’t carry. But don’t complain like me! if they aren’t there later on.)
Also, if anyone found p. 281/2 of the Happy Hooker on Assateague Island on Friday the 10th, I’ll pay for the stamp if you mail it back to me. And yes, in the future, I will not just pull loose pages out of books, instead I will photocopy the originals and bring copies with me to beautiful, biodiverse, mosquito-infested National Seashores. (I’m sure I lost it one of the times we pulled over to see wildlife and jumped out of the car then jumped back in as the skeeters swarmed, hungry for my sweet blood, because if anyone gets a bite, it will be me, and if everyone gets a bite, I will be eaten alive.)