So I learned how to knit and purl. I could do garter stitch, stockinette stitch, cables and lace. Knitting in the round? Check. Intarsia? Check. Fair-isle? Yup. Hats, scarves, and blankets? Been there. Socks? Done that. Sweaters? Got a closet full of ‘em. Now what was I going to do? Start crocheting!

To some knitters this might seem more like a step backward than forward, but it’s not easy being a knitter who can’t crochet, especially these days. Countless patterns tease you with the throw-away line to “finish off garment with a row of single crochet”. Uh, how? Then there are all the fun lacy ponchos. Oooh, gotta make one of those, but wait, that doesn’t look like knitting. And don’t forget those irresistibly sweet crocheted flowers attached to every cool sweater and bag. But I can’t crochet!

No really, I can’t. I tried. Talk about feeling like you have two left feet -- try two left hands! (And I knit right-handed.) I couldn’t quite figure out why all my attempts to crochet felt so wrong, until I taught a crocheter how to knit. She casually remarked that it felt a little strange to find herself holding a second needle and her work in her left hand. Right, an extra needle may be a pleasant surprise, but a needle too few is a different story. When I put down my needles and picked up a single hook, my left hand felt seriously unloved. And the right held the hook limply as if to ask, what am I supposed to do with this? I might have been able to learn a new knitting technique or a couple of embroidery stitches from a few diagrams, but crochet? Me? No way.

Either it was going to be knit-only patterns and crochet envy for the rest of my crafty life, or I was going to have to get serious and learn to crochet for real. I called in an expert: a crocheter from my local knitting group. In a matter of minutes she’d shown me the basic stitches. I loved how they built upon each other: start with a slip stitch, add a yarn over and it’s single crochet, add another yarn over, pull through another loop and it’s a double crochet… So much more accessible than the knit-purl relationship, which requires at least a mirror, if not superior spatial abilities, to grasp. I’ll take a system based on common sense and simple math any day of the week.

Now lots of people learn to crochet by making swatches of each stitch, just as beginning knitters start with garter stitch scarves and the like, but not me. I’m a pattern gal. I learned to knit by making huge patterned blankets for my children and I wasn’t going to start swatching now. Gimme a project! I decided to start by making a couple of those fabulous little flowers. I missed a few stitches here and there (turns out I have no idea how to count crochet stitches), but still they came out great. I’ve always said that one of my favorite things about knitting is the cheating. If it’s a little wonky here, I can fix that when I seam it; Whoops, an extra stitch -- I’ll just knit a few together here, no-one will see that. What a relief to discover that I could crochet and still cheat!

Encouraged by my success, I searched for a second project. It had to be simple. Erika Knight’s Simple Crochet book had just the thing. Turkish slippers: cozy, classy, simple (it’s in the book, right?). But two pages of instructions? Whoa! Crochet may be simpler than knitting in some ways, but you’d never guess by looking at a crochet pattern. Why does it seem to take so much more space to write out pattern directions for crochet than it does for knitting? I suspect that this is due to the fact that crochet is so much more flexible. With each stitch you can go in another direction, shape the piece in a different way. Knitting is perhaps more tied to its rows, rounds and repeats, making its patterns more ripe for condensing. Without contemplating any more of this, I dove into the pattern, thankful only that there was no crazy crochet diagram for me to decipher. I read each line, made the stitches as instructed, and there it was: that same magic that drew me to knitting. You repeat the same basic stitches over and over and somehow, as if by magic, they come together to make something new: a scarf, a sleeve, a slipper.

Crochet gives me the same feelings of amazement and accomplishment as knitting. In addition, it offers the possibility of creating things much more varied in texture and shape than knitting. Sure, I can knit a sweater, but not a very good basket. And don’t get me started on variegated yarns, which I always like more in the skein than knitted up. Well, crochet can do the impossible and make yarn stand up (nearly perfectly). And while knitted stitches tend to muddy the colors of variegated yarns, the shape of crochet stitches really lets them shine. How can I resist a craft that makes me love the yarns even more?

It’s no surprise that the great rise in the popularity of knitting has been followed by a similar rise in crochet’s cache. The Erika Knight book is a great example of how hip crochet has become. After authoring a couple of beautiful knitting books filled with sophisticated, elegant patterns for children in lovely, luxury yarns, she brings us crochet patterns in the same fabulous yarns, with the same wonderful sense of style. Similarly, after showing us that it was Hip to Knit, Judith Swartz came out with another book informing us that it’s also Hip to Crochet. Even Interweave Knits Magazine jumped onto the crochet bandwagon by recently releasing a special crochet edition. And if you look real close, you’ll notice that Rowan has started calling their biannual handknitting catalog, Rowan Knitting & Crochet Magazine. Knitters, how can you resist?! Put down your needles, pick up a hook and sign up for a class. Crochet is for knitters!