The Scones of Yore

“Did you know Guy Fieri’s name is actually pronounced Guy Fee-eh-tee?” my friend Simone said to me while working on her sweater.

“Oh yeah, he is the guy from Diners, drive ins and dives, right? He has the crazy hair with the bleached tips,” I said, vaguely remembering a man who seems like a living cartoon character.

“He’s the one. My boyfriend loves his on-screen character so that’s why I’m doing this” she sighed out, “although these color changes will be the end of me.” The pattern Simone was churning out was one of the most complex I had ever seen. There are 3 colors involved, black as the background of the sweater, and then a mix of red, orange, and yellow for the flames that spread upwards from the bottom of the sweater.

Meanwhile, I was trying my hand at amigurumi, which is basically crocheting small, cute creatures. In my case, I was attempting baby Yoda as a gift for my partner before I left for Ireland in a week. I had previously failed at amigurumi, having tried a pattern as one of my first ever crochet projects, the resulting monstrosity was something vaguely resembling a duck, and I aptly named him Dinky.

Growing up, my mom dragged my sister and I, roughly ages 4 and 7 with me being the eldest, to knitting classes. My mom, Jen, really liked the idea of crafting and the satisfaction of making something with your hands but had never gotten the chance. I also think she wanted to learn because her grandmother, my great grandmother, had made all of her grandchildren baby blankets, except my mother. Not of course because she didn’t love her, but when my mom was born, she had no idea how!

Instead of going to Michael’s for knitting classes, my mom decided to look around for private classes, and found a lovely Irish lady that lived 15 minutes away who offered classes. Needless to say, 2 young kids were not exactly thrilled about the idea of being dragged to some random lady’s house and sitting as our mom learned to tie yarn together in knots.

When we first arrived at her house, the décor of the house eased my sister, Sandra, and I’s resolve to hate knitting. I should also mention, our favorite show as children, Tom and Jerry, aired during the time that we went to go to knitting classes, so our frustrations weren’t completely uncalled for. However, upon arriving at the house and stepping out of the car, the smell of scones and jam was so strong that I forgot about Tom and Jerry for a second, and happily followed my mom inside.

The knitting master, for whose name I forget sadly, had a lovely plate of scones and jam on the table, as well as chocolate chip cookies. Throughout my entire life I have had a massive sweet tooth. With a glimmer in my eye, I outstretched my little grubby hands and grabbed a scone. I happily ate the scones with clotted cream while my mom chatted with the lady about her beautiful living room and what she wanted to learn in the lessons. Even my sister was beginning to soften up, for she loved chocolate chip cookies, as most toddlers do.

We followed our mom and the lady up the stairs into a room that smelled of cinnamon, thanks to a deep red Yankee candle named “fallen leaves,” this is now my go to candle during the fall months.

My mom and sister sat on a small couch while the lady sat on a chair, and I sat on a cushion on the floor. Each of us were handed a different pair of needles. Sandra got big wooden ones that were almost as long as her forearm. My mom got a thin pair of pink metal needles. I got a pair of blue metal needles that were in the middle of thickness between my mother and my sister. The goldilocks needles if you will.

Sandra and I glanced at each other as if to say, “wait why do we have these,” before the lady jumped into how to knit. We hadn’t known that we were going to be learning as well. Judging by mom’s slight concern with Sandra and I holding blunt, but large metal and wooden needles, I would say she didn’t anticipate this either.

The lady began to show us how to make a slip knot to start our projects, and how to cast stiches onto the needle. Our first project was going to be a small plushie of an octopus, which apparently covered all the basics of knitting in a convenient sea animal design.

From then on, I was hooked. Sandra was less than thrilled every time we had to go over and knit, yet I adored it. I got delectable scones with clotted cream and jam and continued to create a blue octopus with my little hands. To my great dissatisfaction, my fun was cut short, because we shortly stopped going to knit because my mom discovered it was no good for her arthritis.

For another 7 years, I lost knitting. I pleaded with my mom from ages 7 to 10 to go to Michaels and buy knitting material. All I wanted were beautiful, soft yarns and colorful metal needles. My mom always said no. I was a rather clumsy child, and the idea of little Kate running around the house with big needles was too much for her. She probably saved me losing an eye, yet my younger self was quite saddened by this.

Once I remembered my love for knitting, I was 14. By this time, needles were much more bearable for my mother to think about, and I finally got to go to Michaels and buy all the knitting material I wanted. For about 2 years, I think the only thing I did was knit. I knit blankets upon blankets, random squares, shawls, anything I could find a pattern for, I would attempt. Not all of my projects were successful, resulting in quite a bit of yarn that I had stored in the dark part of my closet.

High School picked up, AP exams were in full swing, and I stopped. I haven’t picked up knitting since. Not because I don’t have time, but because I found something I love even more: crochet.

During the beginning of covid in March of 2020, the university I attend had just informed all students that they will not be coming back to campus after spring break, and online classes will be starting shortly, ushering in the era of zoom.

I had a lot of time on my hands, and I decided to give my room a fixer-upper and make it more fun, since I would be back home instead of college for an indefinite period of time. I cleaned under my bed, all of my dressers, and I finally made my way to my closet, where you guessed it, I found all my yarn.

I had forgotten again! However, this time, crochet was fresh in my brain because my friend had been posting her crochet creations on social media. I thought I’d give it a try and ordered crochet hooks, which arrived 3 days later.

Crocheting was much different than knitting, there was just one small hook, which meant there was no clacking of the metal needles together or fussing which one needs to go where for which pattern.

I began to crochet everything. Beginning with granny squares, then onto plushies, hence the famed and failed Dinky, as well as cardigans and bags. All of the money I was saving by not going out to restaurants and whatnot went into buying boatloads of yarn. Not that I needed anymore of it, for the mound in my closet was both being used up quickly and then immediately resupplied.

Crochet allowed me to tune out from all my stresses for a bit. All day, I was stuck at my laptop doing online classes, which are far less palatable to the mind than in person classes. After a long day of note taking and seemingly endless internet connection problems, I had something to look forward to.

My house was under construction from 2015 to 2018, and it was not easy. I usually awoke to the loud noises of the construction workers, and to get to my room, I waded through a tarp full of water everyday for 6 months with electrical wires strewn about. I wish I were joking. Coincidentally, the construction workers completely redid the old porch which used to give you splinters through your shoes, into a beautiful porch with a screened in sitting area.

The screen porch is one of my favorite parts of the house. Almost everyday after class ended, I would put my crochet needle, selected yarn for whatever project I was working on, and other necessary materials into my Phantom of the Opera tote bag and go outside. I got to avoid the bugs and the commotion from my family inside and retreat to the sound of the birds and overlook the small stream that I live by.

I would crochet until dinner, or when the sun would set on the porch, enjoying some form of a beverage, most often iced coffee while listening to the sounds of birds, the flow of the stream, and the wind in the trees.

Sometimes my lovely crochet meditations got interrupted by the rather loud geese that liked to float by in the stream, honking to each other as if to say “Kate’s out on the porch! Let’s mess up her concentration by honking!” Many times, they succeeded, and I began to call the small mess-ups in my work “gooses.” The word extends to being used as a verb as well, so when I catch myself messing up, I often mutter to myself “I really goosed that one.”

I often incorporate crochet into my spiritual practice, and it works quite well for me. For example, I do a lot of chakra meditations and try to stay in balance. I recently crocheted the 7 chakra symbols in their respective shapes and colors, which was incredibly time consuming and difficult, yet so worth it. I connected them all with string and hung it in my room as décor. I plan to bring it back to college as well.

I also happen to carry crystals with me for whatever I think I will need throughout the day. Tiger’s eye for protection, amethyst for cleansing and clarity, citrine for confidence, and so on. Which means in everything piece of clothing I crochet; I work in a convenient pocket for crystals that is crocheted tighter, so I don’t lose them.

Blessings are also a large part of my projects. After I finish a piece, I cleanse and bless it in order to rid it of any negative energy and shield myself from any negative energy that I may come across.

In all these ways crochet not only provides an avenue for creativity, but also for spirituality in a creative way. When I crochet for others as well, I often ask them if they are alright with me sowing in a piece of clear quartz into the project, to help cleanse their energy and keep them balanced. It works. For Mother’s Day even, I made my mom a granny square bad with small shards of rose quartz in the center of the squares, for love and affection. She now takes it every where she goes.

Above all else, crocheting helps me stay a little saner, especially when paired with a spiritual practice. There is nothing like wearing a piece of clothing you made yourself or seeing a family member or friend wearing or using something handmade that you made for them. Not to mention there is nothing as satisfying as producing something beautiful with your hands.