“I don’t want my last hug socks in a drawer. I want them on a grandchild’s feet on Christmas morning.” — Why a 72-year-old grandmother from the Blue Ridge Mountains is letting her last hand-knit Christmas hug socks go at a special price, before her hands make her stop for good.

At six every morning, Odell Kimbrough lights the woodstove on the back porch. At seven, his wife Lavonne sits down next to it with a cup of coffee and a pair of tiny knitting needles. On her lap: a red sock with a little Santa on top. Santa has two arms. They are wrapped around the sock, as if he is holding on.

Lavonne is 72. She lives in Sparta, North Carolina, a mountain town of 1,800 people in the Blue Ridge. She was the school secretary at Sparta Elementary for 31 years. Everyone in town knows her. And almost everyone has a pair of her socks.

“The sock knits itself, almost. The face doesn’t. And the arms surely don’t.”

“Grandma, can you hold my feet all night?”

It all started on Christmas Eve 1986. The little church on Laurel Branch Road was cold that night. Lavonne’s granddaughter Brynlee was four. Halfway through the service, she started to cry. Her feet were freezing.

Lavonne pulled her onto her lap and held her feet in both hands. Brynlee looked up and asked: “Grandma, can you hold my feet all night?”

That night, after everyone was in bed, Lavonne sat down by the stove. By morning there was a pair of red socks under the tree. On top of each one sat a little Santa with his arms wrapped tight around the leg.

“I told her: now somebody’s holding on to you, even when I can’t.”

38 Christmases, 1,400 pairs, one porch

From that night on, it became a family rule. Every grandchild gets a new pair of hug socks on Christmas Eve. Lavonne has 11 grandchildren now, and 4 great-grandchildren. Nobody has ever gone without.

Soon the church wanted them too. Then the Christmas bazaar in the fellowship hall. For 30 years, the line for Lavonne’s table went out the door. In 38 winters she has knit about 1,400 pairs.

Her workshop is the glassed-in back porch. It smells of woodsmoke and coffee. Three willow baskets of yarn sit by the rocking chair: red for Santa, cinnamon brown for gingerbread, white for the snowman. The only sound is the clicking of the needles.

Five little friends, five family stories

Lavonne only knits five characters. Each one belongs to someone in her family.

• Santa: The first one. For Brynlee, Christmas Eve 1986.
• Gingerbread Man: For her grandson Mabry, who has baked gingerbread with her every December since he was five.
• Reindeer: For the grandkids who stayed up looking for reindeer on the roof.
• Snowman: For the first snow on the mountain, the day the knitting season starts.
• Nutcracker: For Odell. Every December for 40 years, he has put his father’s old nutcracker on the mantel.

What 38 winters taught her about a pair of socks

People who get a pair usually say the same thing first: “They’re hugging me!” Lavonne just nods. That was always the point.

• “The Two-Arm Hug”: The little arms go all the way around the leg and keep the sock up. “If the arms don’t go all the way around, it’s not a hug,” Lavonne says. “It’s just a patch.”
• “The All-Day Stretch”: The yarn has a little stretch knit in. One size fits almost every grown-up foot. No slipping, no pinching. “Odell wears a 12. Brynlee a 7. Same socks.”
• “The Five-Character Family”: Every character has its own foot to match: icing waves for the gingerbread man, snowflakes for the reindeer, laced-up boots for the nutcracker.
• “The Washday-Proof Knit”: They go in the washing machine. The faces and arms keep their shape. “Children run through the snow in these. They have to hold up.”

The night one little arm took three evenings

What Lavonne will miss most is the quiet hour by the stove. The coffee. The first snow on the ridge. And the moment a little face looks up at her from the needles for the first time.

But arthritis has settled into both of her thumbs. The sock itself she can still knit. The faces and the arms need the finest needles and hundreds of tiny stitches. Her thumbs won’t hold them anymore.

“A scarf I can still do. A face I can’t. Last winter one little arm took me three evenings. It used to take one.”

For two winters she knit ahead while she still could. Everything she made is in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. 212 pairs are left, all five characters together. When they are gone, there will be no more.

“Who pays $200 for a pair of socks?”

Brynlee once did the math. Nine hours of handwork at a fair wage comes to more than $200 a pair. Lavonne laughed. “Who pays $200 for a pair of socks?”

For her last 212 pairs, she is asking a small part of that. She doesn’t want them in a gift shop or in a drawer. She wants them on feet on Christmas morning. Most of all, she thinks of the grandparents whose grandkids live far away.

“Not every grandma gets to sit next to her grandkids on Christmas. But she can put a hug in the mail.”

Lavonne doesn’t use a computer. This October, Brynlee — the little girl from 1986, now 44 — watched her grandmother soak her hand after a night on one tiny arm. That weekend, she emptied the cedar chest, took pictures on the living room rug and set up the page where you can order now.

“Brynlee does the internet. I do the arms.”

What families say about Lavonne’s hug socks

• ★★★★★

  “My grandson lives in Oregon and I haven’t seen him at Christmas in three years. I sent him the reindeer pair. His mother sent me a video of him walking around the house saying ‘Grandma’s hugging my legs.’ I cried.”

  Sharon W., Asheville, NC
• ★★★★★

  “Bought the nutcracker pair for my husband as a joke. He has worn them every evening since Thanksgiving. They stretch nicely and don’t slide down.”

  Debra L., Roanoke, VA
• ★★★★★

  “The little faces are so well done. I ordered all five for our family Christmas photo — three generations, five characters. Washed them twice already and the arms look like new.”

  Teresa M., Knoxville, TN

Three questions people ask before ordering

Where can I buy Lavonne’s hug socks?

Only through this page. Lavonne’s hug socks are not sold on Amazon, Temu or in any store.

How long will they be available?

Only while supplies last. Lavonne has put her needles away, and there are 212 pairs left across all five characters. Once a character is gone, it is gone for good.

What if they’re not right for me?

You have 30 days to try them at home. If you are not happy, just send a short email and you will get your money back. No questions, no hassle.

More from people who gave a pair

• ★★★★★

  “Soft, warm and they actually stay up. I have the gingerbread pair on right now with my coffee. Ordered the snowman for my sister before they’re gone.”

  Brenda K., Greenville, SC
• ★★★★★

  “Our office does a white elephant swap every year. The Santa socks got stolen four times. Best gift in the room, and the cheapest one I brought in years.”

  Pamela R., Charlotte, NC
• ★★★★★

  “My mother is 86 and her feet are always cold. She calls the little Santa ‘my fella.’ Worth every penny just to hear her laugh on the phone.”

  Cynthia J., Johnson City, TN