When I was around ten years old, my grandmother taught me how to crochet. The lesson itself was simple - just making a long change of stitches, frogging them and starting again. I absolutely love it! From there, I taught myself other stitches before setting the hobby down when I was in high school.
In my late twenties, I picked the hobby back up again. It was on a whim after seeing a hat that I loved and had the random thought, “I could totally make that for myself”. I did make myself the hat, along with many other hats, and added animals to my pattern library. I tried my hand at blankets and scarves, but quickly realized I didn’t have the patience for repeating the same pattern and colors over and over. Somewhere in my mid to late thirties, I set crochet aside again after the pressure of “monetizing” my hobby became too much and drained all the fun out of it.
A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with Sam, my eight-year-old niece. One of the things I love most about her is her complete lack of filter and her willingness to say exactly what’s on her mind, wherever we may be. Out of nowhere, she announced that I should start a crochet club at her school. She had the whole thing planned—twice a week after school, held in the gym, because the activities room “wouldn’t be big enough.”
When I asked her why she thought I should do that, she enthusiastically replied, “Because you’re really good at it! You’ve made stuffed animals—my owl, my unicorn, even Baby Yoda.” Then she added the best part: “And as a bonus, I’d get to crochet and hang out with you.”
Before continuing, it’s important to know one more thing about Sam: she is fascinated by the idea of things being passed down through families. Over the past year, we’ve had many conversations about inherited objects, traditions, and skills. That, combined with her excitement about crochet, planted a seed.
I had absolutely no intention of picking crochet back up. About a year ago, I destashed nearly all of my yarn: roughly 150–200 skeins. I kept my hooks only because I couldn’t find them at the time. Most of my finished pieces had been gifted away, and any scraps worth saving were recycled. Starting again would mean starting from nothing. And in this economy? No one has time for that.
But isn’t that how some of the best hobbies work? You’re sure you’re finished with them… and then they quietly find their way back to you.
After that conversation with Sam, I realized how much I missed crocheting. I missed sitting on the couch while binge-watching shows or listening to audiobooks. I missed having something to do with my hands that didn’t involve doom-scrolling or taking up much space. So I decided to start crocheting again.
Not only that—I decided to document it.
One of my favorite parts of any hobby is recording the process, so I’ve chosen to add another journal to my 2026 (and beyond) journal stack: a crochet journal.
The same grandmother who taught me to crochet was also a seamstress. After she passed, I remember wishing I had something that documented her work—not every project, necessarily, but the patterns she loved, the notes she made, the modifications she used. There is something incredibly special about having a tangible record of someone’s process and progress.
That’s what this journal will be.
It will document the projects I make, patterns I love, and the yarns I use. One of my favorite hats—the one I wear constantly—is beginning to show its age. I’d love to remake it, but while I think I still have the pattern, I have no idea what yarn I used. This journal will make sure that doesn’t happen again.
Someday, this journal will be given to Sam. I don’t know when—but it feels right that it eventually becomes hers. She’s the one who sparked this idea. She reminded me how much I love creating fiber art, and I love the thought of leaving her something that shows my process, my progress, and the things I hope to make along the way.
So this journal and project are dedicated to her.
May you always remember how incredibly smart, magnetic, creative, empathetic, caring, and loving you are. You are the best part of my life, and I am endlessly grateful to get to be your (cool) aunt.
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