A crochet shawl that should be on prescription

I have crocheted another shawl.

Only this time it's serious 

(and much much bigger).

When I made my first South Bay shawl a friend told me that it may be too tricky to tackle with my fledgling crochet skills. Which, of course, made me all the more determined to make one. Val was right really. At the time I found the pattern calculus-like in its complexity and would gaze at the pattern for hours, trying to translate the new language into stitches. I frogged metres of yarn and muttered many swears, but as I added more rows and the little arches of trebles and tiny woolly triangle grew, the movements of my hands as I made the stitches and the ways in which the elements of the pattern fitted together began to make sense.

At the time I remember marvelling at people who could actually make crochet patterns up though. How was such a thing even possible? It is surely tantamount to solving the riddle of the Higgs boson, but with hook and wool.

When I came to 'break wool and weave in ends' on my first South Bay I had become so familiar with the pattern that I spotted it being worn by someone else in the street and recognised it immediately. I nearly asked her about her yarn choice and hoped for a spot of SB camaraderie, but crochet shyness held me back. Her version was made in super chunky yarn, was so large that it reached down to her waist and was made in a soft muted wool the colour of lichen. I had a pang of envy and inwardly planned to make another, larger SB.

Something about the chunky smooshiness of this delicious, natural yarn (chunky Blue Faced Leicester roving by the West Yorkshire Spinners) makes my new shawl as cosy as a cardigan. What's even lovelier is that the fleeces of the Blue Faced Leicesters that graze on West Yorkshire hillsides seem to make the shawl stripy. The yarn colour shifts from cream, through grey skies to slate and to dark, weathered wood. As I've mentioned before, yarns that change colour avert woolly boredom for me and the dread UFO* doom.

As excellent as its snugness and stripes though is the meditative, soothing effect that this beautifully scalloped two row repeat has on the day's stresses. Once you've learned the pattern it's a project that can be turned to when cortisol levels are high, sunshine is nowhere and the dog just burgled the cake you made for tea. Making each lacy row helps to put trickiness aside, lets your brain breathe a sigh of relief and what's more your shoulders will thank you when you step out for a walk. This isn't the only crochet shawl pattern with a beautiful repeat though: the German Scallop, Virus, and a whole host of beautiful lacy scalloped two or three row repeat numbers are over on Pinterest and ravelry, like shelves full of gentle, cosy, woolly remedies.

This excellent pattern has been a jumping off point - the beginning of an urge to design my own shawls.  I'm keen to conjure super simple patterns though, that would appeal to beginners and seasoned wielders of yarn and hook alike. I've finished one (it's even been tested by a friend) and have been tinkering and twiddling with another.

Watch this woolly space...

*unfinished object