More than 65 years ago, my grandmother sat in her room at Colby College, a small liberal-arts school tucked into the middle of Maine. Curling her feet beneath a wide skirt, Kathy used the light from a nearby window to wind yarn for a special project, its browns and tans matching the bricks of her…

The question appeared in my Facebook Messenger app a week before Christmas. “We are looking for a stocking for our daughter,” a friend explained. “Could you knit her one? We can pay you!” I stared at the query for a long time. I’m a people pleaser, and I really liked this young mother. Her daughter…