My Grandma Bos (my mom’s mother), taught me how to knit when I was around 8 years old. She would come visit us at the house a few times a year, and she’d always bring her knitting or a quilting project with her. I loved when she would visit, because she would always teach us crafts. One afternoon she pulled out some long knitting needles and hot-pink yarn for me to learn with. She cast on 20 stitches, then showed me how to make a stitch. I was incredible un-coordinated. I remember shoving one needle in between the couch cushions, trying to get the couch to hold it for me so I could use both my hands to try to get my yarn to wrap and stay on like I wanted it to. I rarely ended a row with exactly 20 stitches. I always somehow managed to pick up stitches or lose them. I had hardly any idea what I was doing when I started knitting those rows, but I was immediately drawn to the thought of creating something, but not just making the item, making the material and texture at the same time.
I wish I could talk to my grandma now, show her what has come from the seed she planted. I wish I could sit and work cables with her, talk about her favorite patterns, learn more of the techniques I’m sure she knew. I wish I could have learned more from her before she was gone and not had to learn this on my own. But she is always with me when I knit, in my heart, in my memories, and in that cozy feeling I get thinking about the reason I’m able to do any of this at all.