I really can’t remember exactly when I learned to crochet. I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to crochet. What I do remember is my mother sitting on the couch with her legs curled up underneath her watching TV in the evening. The afghan she was working on would be spread across her lap covering most of the couch. The spot on the couch next to her was prime real estate on a chilly winter night. I would curl up under the blanket in progress, dozing happily while Roy Clark and Minnie Pearl would be singing or exchanging playful barbs on Hee Haw. The blissfully warm sleepy time would be abruptly interrupted about every half an hour or so when she would reach the end of the row and need to turn her work.
I think double crochet was the first stitch that I learned. My mother would always make blankets. Nothing fancy, just row after row of double stitch, occasionally with multiple colors. I remember when she discovered ombre yarn, she was very excited and it was amazing to watch how the color pattern grew with the blanket. Her blankets may not have been made with complicated stitch techniques but they were warm, they were soft and they lasted for years. After my mother passed away I came across an afghan she had crocheted at least 30 years before.
I think about my mom every time I pick up my hook. Just a flash of a memory of her crocheting on the couch or when she would gather all of her half skeins and have us roll them all into a big yarn ball. I think she would be proud of how much I’ve learned about crocheting and I think she would be even more proud of how much I have grown to love crocheting. I wish I could have made a sweater for her.