Hooked for Life

by Mary Beth Temple

  For some yarns, you get not only the animal breed but also the animal’s name. I have some 100 percent Bob in the closet and recently purchased a Josie/Gracie/Bonnie blend. Since I spin, too, I am about to make some Harrison and some Miss Velvet just as soon as I have the time. This is pretty cool because not only can you picture a cute, fuzzy animal, but you can also picture a specific cute, fuzzy animal that you might have gotten to pet.

  Even acrylic yarns have gotten into the act with the type of acrylic specified on the label—as if that makes a difference to me. It pretty much doesn’t; in my mind acrylic is a crylic no matter what its subspecies. Dralon? Sounds like a villain from Star Trek.

  But now there are yarns out there that I am not sure exactly what part of the plant or animal family they came from. I have sock yarn with Chitin in it (it comes from shellfish and has some antibacterial properties, but I am not sure how they get fluffy yarn out of hard shells), milk fiber (again, huh?), and I have a skein of yarn sitting right next to me that says 100 percent vinyl, and underneath in small letters, Yarn not edible. Okay, it’s called Jelly Yarn, but still, would I put this on my sandwich?

  Actually, crab, milk, corn, jelly—lunch is not sounding like a bad idea right now. I can crochet a little after I have my snack. But I promise not to eat the yarn—it’s too pretty anyway.

  The Real Crochet Olympics

  Whenever the Olympics come around, one Internet community or another will organize a related craft game where each participant starts a project when the Olympic flame is lit and finishes it by the end of the closing ceremonies. It all works on the honor system—crocheters can choose the project they want to do and award themselves a gold, silver, or bronze medal depending on how close they get to their goal. It’s a lot of fun. But it isn’t what I want to see.

  I want to see a real Crochet Olympics in which crocheters from all around the world descend on some location or another and compete in a variety of tasks. In real time and in real life with cool opening and closing parties and endorsement opportunities—the whole deal.

  The uniforms would have to be crocheted, of course. In fact, the uniform design could be part of the competition with points given for style, fit, and durability. There couldn’t be any swimming events, though—I know crocheted swimwear is cute and all (on some people, not on me!) but when it hits the water … ewwwww.

  Anyway, we could have a fiber identification round in which blindfolded crocheters have to guess the fiber content of a given yarn by feel or smell. Bonus points if they can tell one type of acrylic from another. This would be followed by a speed round to see who can crochet fastest, a technical round in which we could see who has the least fudge factor in their patterns (come on, you know we all cheat on occasion), and maybe a round in which crocheters compete to see who can wield the smallest hook with the smallest thread.

  There could be a multiday event much like the Internet version in which crocheters from around the world start a project at the beginning of the Games and finish near the end. That could be something large, for instance, an afghan, or complicated such as a lacy fitted garment.

  There would have to be a team competition. Teams could be made up of a specialist in each of six subgenres of crochet—thread, filet, Irish crochet, Tunisian, tapestry, and yarn. Plus, of course, a substitute or two in case the worst happened and someone got a hand cramp. The all-around winner would be the crocheter who could successfully complete the prettiest swatch in all six categories, but medals would be given to the highest-scoring individual in each event.

  There could also be related events in shearing and spinning. Maybe a sheep to shawl competition in which teams are made up of spinners and crocheters who have to turn a fleece into a wearable shawl in a matter of hours. There could also be competitions in stuffing a stuffed animal, blocking, and felting. Oh, and a contest for designers in which they have to write out readable pattern instructions in a short period of time … the possibilities are endless.

  Imagine the Olympic village if it were inhabited by crocheters! There would be no infighting—everyone would happily be working on her free-time projects between events. There would have to be yarn stores everywhere, with yarn and needles and books available from all of the participating countries. The village could even have its own currency—the merino instead of the euro.

  I would totally watch this on TV, wouldn’t you? Who do we talk to about this?

  The New Crochet Reality Show

  A friend of mine once said she really wished there was a crochet version of Project Runway, in which crochet designers had a certain amount of time to face design challenges, and there would be some fabulous prize, as well as the adoration of the masses at the end. Of course, this wouldn’t really work because it takes too long to crochet a garment for the camera—we are talking weeks for full garments as opposed to the days that are edited into the hours we see on TV. We can’t just whomp something together out of found materials. And if there was a time limit that was hours rather than days long, everything would be made with six strands of bulky held together and worked on a modified plunger handle. Bulky-weight garments have their place in the crochet pantheon, but a whole collection of them probably wouldn’t win any design prizes. So sadly my friend has given up on her reality TV fantasy.

  My crochet TV fantasy was always that I would wind up on something like Survivor. Everyone would be frantically running around trying to improvise shelter and comfortable beds, and I would dash into the forest, clean off a suitably bent-ended branch, and whip up some hammocks and shelter roofing out of the readily available vines and palm fronds. My team would win all the challenges because they would be dry and well rested. In the end, I would win the million dollars and everyone would agree this was the least uncomfortable Survivor in history because crochet had saved the day. When I came back, I would sign a development deal with a large eco-friendly yarn company, and palm frond-based yarns would be a big hit with crocheters around the world. The end. Gotta say, odds are this one isn’t going to happen, either, not least because my poor-swimming, sedentary, doesn’t-play-well-with-others self would be a total washout in the wild except for my mad hammock-crocheting skills.

  Maybe we could do one of those shows where fifteen random strangers are locked in a house together for a period of time and whoever comes out at the end with their nerves intact wins. We could have some crocheters, a few knitters, a spinner or three, and maybe even a needlepoint enthusiast. We could play games to compete for stash, earn points for actually finishing anything, and argue about color combinations. Although practitioners of the needle arts are generally pleasant souls, I am sure within days, the dramatic tension would increase with accusations of stash stealing, slurs against one type of crafter by another, and lead to the eventual duel of knitting needle against afghan hook. The crocheter would probably lose for lack of sharply pointed weapons, but she wouldn’t care because she had had days of uninterrupted craft time, and she is used to being picked on by the knitters, anyway.

  Crocheters couldn’t be on a personal appearance make over show, because if the host/stylist tried to throw out one of our crocheted garments claiming it didn’t suit the current trends, we would be arrested for physical assault (and convicted because there would be proof of the crime on videotape). However, a Mission: Organization—style show has possibilities … but I can’t imagine a host in the world who has more clever ideas about stash storage than the average crocheter. Although maybe such a person would have some input on the upside of stash storage—all that yarn has to have some insulation qualities, doesn’t it? Empirical evidence that we are not indulging in hoarding behavior so much as lowering our energy costs would be welcome to most crocheters I know.

  Wait, I have it. We need to go steal a bunch of ideas from the Food Network. Isn’t a designer sort of like a chef? We all use pretty much the same ingredients. Be it butter or silk, it’s the combination of flavors and use of technique that separates one practitioner from another. If
Paula Deen makes it, it is going to start with a stick of butter and a pound of sugar; if I make it, it is going to start with a 4 mm hook and a pound of alpaca. What’s the big difference? We could have yarn store crawls where the locally produced yarns are sampled. Check in with indie dyers to see how they do what they do. Or we could have a secret theme ingredient (bamboo! corn!) and see how two champion crocheters approach the creative process—both with technique and style, of course, but with completely different results based on their taste and experience. Iron Crocheter! Allez crochet!

  Dishcloths—Fancy, Fad, or Failure of Imagination?

  Everyone has a type of crocheting she loves to do above all others. But no one takes more crap for her selection than someone who loves to make dishcloths. Even other crocheters pick on dishcloth crocheters from time to time. “Why bother?” they ask. “You can buy dishcloths at the discount store for loose change! And even if you make them with inexpensive yarn, why put effort into making something beautiful that you will then plunge into a festering pool of greasy water?”

  But the crocheters of dishcloths just smile and keep crocheting. They know that utility and beauty go hand in hand. They know that the entertainment value they get from the crocheting time is worth the price of the yarn. They know that crocheted dishcloths are actually far superior to the store-bought ones because the texture of the stitches makes them effective scrubbers. They know they are helping the environment on many levels—making things by hand, washing and reusing cloths instead of using throwaway plastic sponges, and using natural fibers such as cotton and linen, which will biodegrade when their useful life is done.

  But the list doesn’t end there. These clever crocheters know that they can satisfy their need for instant gratification on a near-daily basis if they like, and never run out of different stitches to use. In fact, making a dishcloth is a great way to try out a new stitch or technique—swatches lay around and gather dust but a dishcloth is a useful thing to have after an hour’s playing around with hook and yarn. And last but not least, a dishcloth crocheter will never be caught short around the winter holidays by not having a gift to give. If anyone shows up with an unexpected treasure, she can snag one of her newest creations, stick a bow on it, and give a welcome present. And if her friend prefers using a dishwasher to doing her dishes by hand, then it’s a facecloth with magical exfoliating properties, rather than a dishcloth!

  As a side note, watch out about accepting this sort of gift. Once you get used to using a handmade cloth, you will never want to go back to the dollar store brand. Next thing you know, you will be making some dishcloths of your own despite the potential scorn from your fellow crafters. You, too, will just smile and keep on crocheting for you have seen the light.

  You’ll Never Walk (or Crochet) Alone

  If it’s fun to crochet something, and it is, and it’s fun to hang out at a fiber event with your friends, and it is, how much fun will it be to have a whole bunch of crochet friends working on the same or similar projects at the same time? This, my friends, is the crochet-along (CAL)—you and a bunch of buddies decide on something you all want to work on, and you do it at the same time. CALs happen on the Internet as well as in real life, so you can pretty much always find one going on that features a technique or project you are interested in doing.

  Everything goes a little better with friends, although there always seems to be someone in the group that in your secret heart of hearts you would like to smack, just a little. She gives lip service to the “friendly” part of “friendly competition,” but you know that in her secret heart of hearts that she is getting way too much joy out of finishing first. You know the type—superhigh achievers who try really hard not to sound as if they are bragging when they achieve the goal of a four-week CAL in four days. Complete with blog posts and photos. And a long lament that now they are finished, what are they going to work on? And you try to take that as encouragement. If she can finish it in four days, surely you can do it in four weeks. But a little part of you has died at the thought that you can never ever catch up.

  Some CALs are based on themes and last for a preset time—use as much stash as you can, make as many granny squares as you can, finish as many projects as you can, and so on. These are a lot of fun because you can choose whatever pattern works best for you and not get sucked into making something that perhaps you don’t completely love. And for these types of CALs especially, a little competition can goad you into achieving more than you thought possible.

  These types of CALs can also be great in regards to those chronic overachievers … you actually get to feel a little bit sorry for them. On the single-project CAL, an overachiever got to finish her project and gloat—killing herself for a few days but is then off the hook. On these “who can do the most whatever” CALs, she has to keep going. And going, and going, and going … leading to the inevitable CAL for overachievers only: “Who can get carpal tunnel syndrome the fastest?” And no one wants to win that one.

  Proudly Multicraftual

  Guys, as much as I love crochet, and I do love it, I have to confess that sometimes I stray from the way of the hook. I sew and spin; I play with a kumihimo braider and a rigid heddle loom. I … gasp! … knit, too. In public, sometimes. I have no crafting shame.

  I go on and on about knitters looking down on crocheters, because some of them do, and I don’t like that at all, and I seem to have a lot to say on the subject (in run-on sentences sometimes), but I also want to say just a word or two about maybe some “other craft” acceptance on the part of the crocheters. Knitters: All crochet isn’t ugly. Crocheters: All knitters don’t suck.

  And while I fully and vocally support the crochet revolution, in which crocheters across the world with hooks in hand peacefully (or stridently depending on our moods) demand respect for crochet, the fact that I like to knit socks should not make me a traitor or a sellout or somewhat less of a crocheter. It just means I like to knit socks.

  I do not think that liking to work in one medium takes away from my love for another. My interest in working with my hands is not finite; it does not diminish. My love of craft is not a zero sum game in which working with a pair of needles takes away from my enjoyment of working with a crochet hook. I have room in my heart (if not my stash closet) for all of the crafts I like.

  I really don’t know how the “war between the crafts” came about. Yet I know that there are those on both sides of the divide who feel very strongly that knitters are knitters and crocheters are crocheters and never the twain shall meet. I remember on my first visit to Charleston some years ago, a friend who had visited the area before pointed out a scenic estate and said it dated from the Civil War. The young man driving, who attended a local military academy, politely coughed and said, “You mean the War of Northern Aggression?” We quickly agreed that that’s what we meant (he had the car keys, after all), but it made me think. This man had his opinions on the division between North and South and nothing, not even the passage of a hundred years or more, was going to change his mind.

  Which is not to say that I am equating an actual war in which lives were lost to the battle between knitting and crochet. While I consider needlecraft to be a lifestyle choice rather than a hobby, I do get that on a scale of one to global annihilation the divide between knitters and crocheters doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. So sometimes I find the vehemence with which one side accuses the other of impropriety to be a bit excessive. No matter how passionate we are about our crocheting, it really is not a matter of life or death if everyone agrees with us. Really.

  Actually, stepping away from the crochet from time to time makes me appreciate it more. When I come back after a brief absence (because I can never stay away for long), I love the hook’s flying along even more. Crochet is so speedy, so immediate; the speed with which the ideas in your head turn into fabric on your hook can be mind boggling. I imagine something, and then a few days or sometimes even hours later, there it is in real life. Vision
made reality, in record time. But I still like to knit socks…

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks, as always, to my principal cast of K-women: editor Katie Anderson (and her stunt double, Lane Butler), agent Kate Epstein, and daughter Katie Temple, all of whom offer support and words of wisdom (or at least good material) on a regular basis. I don’t know why you all put up with me, but I am eternally grateful that you do.

  Thanks to crocheters past, present, and future, the quiet ones, the strident ones, and everyone in between. Special thanks to Kim Werker and Vashti Braha, who set me on this path, even though they didn’t know it at the time.

  Please visit www.hookedforlifepublishing.com/BookPhotos.htm for full-color project photos, and www.GettingLoopy.com for the latest interactive podcast.

  “Hooked for Life is a celebration of what crocheting is to those of us who love it. Not an apologia to those who do not understand, for they probably never will. Not a defense of crochet, for it needs no defending. This book is a celebration of what is wonderful about the craft, nay, the art, of crochet. If you love crochet as I do, or at least have a yarny open mind, please read on. There is more to honor than to scorn, and I welcome you on my journey.” —Mary Beth Temple

  As the first humorous essay collection available specifically for crocheters, Hooked for Life offers more than forty-five skein-and-hook-infused anecdotes, along with a brief (but by no means complete) history of crochet. Delving into such topics as why crocheting and knitting are “not the same thing!” and whether the center-pull skein is a modern convenience or an urban legend, crocheters will finally encounter a book that knowingly, and humorously, celebrates their craft.