This New Year’s Eve we had a shindig at our house, which never happens. All the adults were singing karaoke, which meant I couldn’t read quietly or bop away to “Like a Virgin” or whatever the heck else I normally do during winter break, so I thought, hey, I haven’t crocheted in a while—let’s make a snowflake!
First, some background. My crochet training has been rather unorthodox. Mostly I picked up the basics from the internet, and then set myself loose: deciding what I wanted to make and then tying yarn into knots with my hook until it looked kind of like what I had in mind. I’ve never even made a granny square, which is apparently like not knowing how to ride a bike. (No comment on whether I can do that, either.)
Usually my normal tactic is to crochet something round, slap some plastic eyes on it, and stuff it ‘til it looks cute. But not so here! This time I didn’t have any stuffing or adorable beady eyes to hide behind—it would just be me, my trusty hook, and my amazing crochet prowess.
Unlike this pattern. (not by me: source)
I searched through some snowflake patterns on the internet and stumbled on a website with some amazingly intricate snowflake patterns. I was inspired. I was going to make something that wasn’t my normal quasi-cute wannabe-geeky amigurumi. Instead, I’d make something beautiful and delicate, despite the fact that all I had to crochet with was some puffy white yarn.
The pattern I eventually settled on was the Douglas snowflake. Seven rounds, I thought. This shouldn’t be too bad. But I was bewildered when the pattern directed me to “1 dc in next ch 3 sp,” and asked me to create a mythical triple crochet stitch. And what the heck was a picot? By round 4, I was angry and confused. By round 6, I was jaded. Several times I contemplated giving up in despair, but each time I was filled with a steely resolve. I was not going to be bested by a snowflake.
And so my snowflake grew, and grew, and grew, until finally:
My snowflake is HUGE. It’s bigger than a pancake—over a foot wide at its widest point—and if it ever fell out of the sky, it would elicit screams of horror. It serves no practical function and doesn’t have much in the aesthetic department, either. But I feel a certain kinship with my large, monstrous pan-flake. I, too, serve no practical function. I, too, don’t have much in the aesthetic department. And I, too, am over a foot wide at my widest point.