A yarn crawl. A dyer’s trunk show. A generous hand reaching back to pull out a second skein just for me.

That’s how Indira began.

I walked into the first yarn shop of my day looking for something I wasn't even sure existed yet—the perfect yarn for a cable and lace shawl pattern I’d been sketching and swatching in other yarns that weren’t quite right. I grabbed what I thought was the last skein of a striking, plum-colored fingering weight yarn and two coordinating skeins of mohair/silk lace, and I started talking to an indie dyer who was having a trunk show there. She looked at the yarns in my hands and said, “Those are perfect together.”

I told her I thought so too but, sadly, the shop only had one skein of the fingering weight.

She reached back behind her table, pulled out a second skein of the same yarn that she’d set aside for herself, and handed it to me. “You clearly love the color and have a project in mind. Take it.”

That moment made my entire day. I left that shop knowing I’d found the right combination, and I knew exactly what it was for. My dream shawl.

It became my travel project. I worked on it during lunch breaks at work, at my first trunk show as a designer, throughout that memorable trip to Victoria that sparked the Aslyn hat pattern, even by flashlight during a power outage that lasted a few days. It was the project I was making when I hit 1,000 Instagram followers. And it was the pattern I was working on publishing when a season of unexpected grief and loss met my family.

All those moments—the in-between times, the pockets of creativity, the milestones, the memories—they’re woven into this shawl.

A yarn crawl. A dyer’s trunk show. A generous hand reaching back to pull out a second skein just for me.

That’s how Indira began.

I walked into the first yarn shop of my day looking for something I wasn't even sure existed yet—the perfect yarn for a cable and lace shawl pattern I’d been sketching and swatching in other yarns that weren’t quite right. I grabbed what I thought was the last skein of a striking, plum-colored fingering weight yarn and two coordinating skeins of mohair/silk lace, and I started talking to an indie dyer who was having a trunk show there. She looked at the yarns in my hands and said, “Those are perfect together.”

I told her I thought so too but, sadly, the shop only had one skein of the fingering weight.

She reached back behind her table, pulled out a second skein of the same yarn that she’d set aside for herself, and handed it to me. “You clearly love the color and have a project in mind. Take it.”

That moment made my entire day. I left that shop knowing I’d found the right combination, and I knew exactly what it was for. My dream shawl.

It became my travel project. I worked on it during lunch breaks at work, at my first trunk show as a designer, throughout that memorable trip to Victoria that sparked the Aslyn hat pattern, even by flashlight during a power outage that lasted a few days. It was the project I was making when I hit 1,000 Instagram followers. And it was the pattern I was working on publishing when a season of unexpected grief and loss met my family.

All those moments—the in-between times, the pockets of creativity, the milestones, the memories—they’re woven into this shawl.

After I released the Indira shawl, I wore it everywhere—to work, knit nights, a winter wedding. Anywhere I wanted elegance without overthinking it. But in some settings, like around my office, I realized a smaller accessory would be more practical. I found myself wanting something I could throw on and that would stay put. A cowl with the same stitch patterns felt perfect, so I started sketching.

The size and shape were crucial. I wanted the same beautiful drape as the shawl and decided to make the cowl wider at the base, narrower at the top. I also wanted to knit as much of that striking double-braided cable as possible. Sideways construction was the answer. It gave me the opportunity to play with short rows, which I’d been wanting to explore more, and to include not just one but two cables! The fun part was problem-solving and figuring out how to execute it so the pattern would be repeatable. When I finally drew a short-row diagram that looked promising, I circled it and wrote, “This works!”

I knit two prototypes to test the construction. The first was too narrow at the top and never saw the light of day. The second one was where things clicked. I was amazed to see the short rows work exactly as I’d sketched them, creating that perfect funnel shape. This sample needed some fine-tuning, but it quickly became part of my knitwear rotation too.

Once the design came together, finding the perfect yarn was next. A bold, dark red colorway in La Bien Aimée’s catalog stood out as the one. I savored every stitch from cast on to bind off, and I was especially excited to be able to wear my finished cowl when meeting Aimée for the first time at Stitches West 2020.

I’ve made two more Indira Cowls since then, including one in yellow for La Bien Aimée’s boutique in Paris, and I constantly reach for any one of the three I still have. It’s exactly the kind of accessory I was looking for—elegant, practical, wearable. Maybe it’s what you’ve been looking for too.

In September 2018, I walked out of my local yarn shop with a sweater quantity of yarn and a familiar feeling. You know the one: that on-the-brink of starting something new, creative juices flowing, and endless possibilities feeling that only a maker can know. I didn’t have a pattern in mind, but I knew that this yarn would become something special.

Then something funny happened: I kept unintentionally sketching the same design. A pullover with cabled panels, a rounded neckline, “cold” shoulders, and set-in armholes appeared eight times, to be exact, on different days and in separate sketchbooks. It was almost as if the yarn was telling me, "This is what I want to be."

Now with a clear vision in mind, I started swatching. The yarn by itself was beautiful, soft, and airy with fantastic drape, but it lacked the cozy factor I was going for. When I paired it with a mohair/silk blend, the fabric transformed. It had depth and warmth, and it felt like kittens and clouds—exactly what I wanted.

In late 2019, I cast on and quickly realized that top-down construction wasn’t practical for the design I had sketched, so I restarted from the bottom up. When I tried it on for the first time, something was off. I frogged back and reknit the yoke. Still not right. I frogged again. And again. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong. All I know is that I was feeling pretty deflated. The yarn was practically begging me to stop frogging and reknitting it, and I needed a break.

Apparently, a three-year break.

Over those years, thoughts of “needing to finish that sweater” hung over my head. Would I ever finish? Had I failed? But while the sweater waited, I kept learning—about fit, grading, size inclusivity. I poured that knowledge into other patterns. And each time I released something new, I’d pull this sweater out with renewed determination. Yet I still didn’t have the answer.

It finally hit me in fall 2023. What if I changed everything? V-neck instead of scoop neck. Closed shoulders instead of open. Raglan sleeves instead of set-in. The revisions came together perfectly, and when I finally tried it on again . . . it worked!

This design challenged me more than any other. There was a span of time where I didn’t think I could finish it. But things got easier—things fell into place—when I stopped trying to force an idea and let the design take me where it wanted to go all along. In hindsight, it feels a little like serendipity.

It was, simply, “Meant to Vee.”

It all started in spring 2021, just days after I finished knitting the Nydia pullover. With one skein of that beautiful yarn left, I imagined a matching hat with the same textured stitch and lateral braid detail. I excitedly cast on, expecting to finish it by the end of the weekend.

It didn’t work out that way. Another project called—a sweater!—and the hat got set aside. Weeks became months, and when I rediscovered the nearly finished hat in early 2022, I picked it up to work on the crown shaping, but it didn’t come together the way I wanted. Back into the project bag it went.

Then, at the beginning of 2023, after test knitting the Nydia Cardigan, a few testers asked if there’d be a matching hat. That question sparked something, and my initial excitement came rushing back. Unable to find my original project, I cast on again with the details still alive in my mind. And this time? Everything clicked. The crown shaping came together in a single day.

I cast on another, then another, and just kept going—working with different DK weight yarns, adjusting stitch placements, and fine-tuning every detail. Each hat flew off the needles. Before I knew it, the Nydia Hat had evolved into not just one but two variations in sizes graded to fit the whole family.

A generous group of test knitters helped me confirm the pattern worked, and several made multiple hats for themselves and loved ones too. And just like that, after all those years, the Nydia Hat was finally ready for the world.