Growing up, I would spend hours perched next to my grandmother’s wooden rocking chair, watching in awe as the yarn danced between her fingers while she crocheted. I would lose myself in the intricate pieces that emerged — scarves, hats, and blankets — listening to the stories she told as she worked.
The sounds of her work were like a song. The clinking of her hook against her metal yarn holder was the percussion, punctuating the gentle sway of the yarn as it delicately unraveled. The soft hum of her voice, a narrative thread woven into the composition, as she shared the stories behind each piece.
A burgundy baby blanket draped over her chair, a gift she had made for my father after his first birthday, and the blue and yellow hat, one of the first pieces she ever created. Despite her persistent encouragement for me to try crocheting, I feared not being able to reach her level of expertise, and it kept me from ever picking up a hook.
Years later when the pandemic hit, I found myself looking for ways to stay entertained. One day, while rummaging through old boxes in the garage, I stumbled upon a box of forgotten memories. Among all the memorabilia, I chanced upon something that would soon become the key to my quarantine survival: my grandmother’s old crochet hook.
Its wooden handle was worn smooth from years of use, and the hook had a slight bend to it, evident from countless hours spent creating beautiful pieces. Holding that hook in my hand transported me back to the days when my grandmother, with her gentle smile and infinite patience, had taught me the art of crocheting.
Following my grandma’s footsteps, I began to explore the world of crochet once more. Starting with YouTube tutorials, I was barely able to make a simple slipknot. But with more practice, I was soon able to create rows and rows of stitches, which soon turned into a fully finished piece.
Of course, the first piece I crocheted was riddled with mistakes, from uneven stitches to errors in the pattern. Everything that could’ve gone wrong, went wrong. Despite my lack of skill, I was still incredibly proud of that completely unrecognizable strawberry plushie. As I kept practicing, I was soon able to level up to make clothing such as sweaters and tank tops.
From tops to stuffed animals, I learned the possibilities were endless in what I could create through crocheting.
It became a hobby I turned to whenever I wanted to escape the repetitiveness of daily routines and ground myself. The constant moving of the hook and the string sliding between my fingers soothes my mind, allowing me to relax after a stressful day. The simple, yet intricate craft can be learned by anyone, and I highly recommend you try it out yourself. From simply watching my grandmother work, to now being able to make my own pieces, it is unbelievable how the activity I used to admire from afar is now my favorite hobby.