My father has been my unmovable rock of strength since I can remember, even when he was not around because of working on job sites far from home. 

My father was the reason I became a writer, though unpublished, my source of inspiration. 

I have given my father gifts over the years but nothing that has ever been made by my own hands. So this spring I started knitting him a winter scarf for when he is either hunting or cross country skiing of olive wool. Yesterday I finally finished it. 

It is a simple and plain scarf, no frills, no fringe, but my dad is a simple man in this aspect. I do so hope he will like it. It isn’t much, just a plain scarf but I so wanted to give him something I’ve made myself out of love. I’ve made jewelry for my mother, blankets for my daughters, cross-stitch pieces for my aunt and cousin. My father equally besides the stories I have written for him, deserves a gift from my own hands.