This is the best back-to-the-land memoir I've read yet, and I've probably read a dozen of them.
From Amazon:
A story about the thrills and perils of renovating an old farm on a shoestring, a warm and wise book about living simply in the country while pursuing the writer's craft. In 1934, in the depths of the Great Depression, Elliott Merrick and his wife bought a ramshackle farm on a Vermont hillside for $1,000. Merrick, a young writer with a healthy dose of idealism and a determination to live in the country, had just sold his first book to Maxwell Perkins at Scribner's. "I had an idea that I would be rich and famous henceforth," Merrick wrote, but added, "nothing could be farther from the truth . . . As I look back, I'm amazed that we could so blithely have crossed our great Rubicon on a spiderweb. But it turned out to be one of those fortunate mistakes--one of those fraught-with-peril enterprises that you might never have embarked on if you had known the consequences--like being born, for instance." Green Mountain Farm describes Merrick's and his family's often haphazard attempts to make a go of it on these stony, wintry acres, in a house that was falling down around them. As Merrick puts it, "We did everything wrong, but it came out right." They were dirt poor, but through it all, believed wholeheartedly in going directly after the things they wanted most: to write and to farm, however they could. A lyrical, funny, richly fulfilling book about old houses, farming, writing, and the joys of country life, this book is as fresh today as when it was originally published more than fifty years ago.
This is a great companion book to the Nearings' The Good Life, in that they're both memoirs written by New York intellectuals who became homesteaders during the Great Depression. Read the Nearings' memoirs for the fascinatingly painstaking study and meticulous recording of the most productive and effective ways they came to spend their waking hours. Read Merrick's memoir for the sheer poetry of living by your own hands. Merrick gives the first-hand accounts of wrestling with wells, cows, deep winter freezes and such - as you'd expect in a homesteading memoir - but he also spends chapters spinning yarns about his neighbors and all the vivid characters he came to know. I love the book for its digressions, including exuberant descriptions of nighttime skiing and long, heartfelt odes to an old Buick convertible he and his family owned and would take for rides in the depths of winter, all bundled up with the top down, "creaming along" the snowy drifts by the roadside.
To my surprise and chagrin, none of the branches in the entire San Francisco Public Library system has a copy of this book. I ended up making my first use of the Link+ system (" a union catalog of contributed holdings from participating libraries in California and Nevada") which was terrific.
My tattered green hardcover copy of Green Mountain Farm came all the way from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. I loved reading an old hardcover edition of the book. I was sitting at a diner counter one morning and the woman next to me leaned over and said, "I just have to know what old book you're reading."
The Link+ service is absolutely free and works like the regular library request system in that it'll show up to your preferred branch library and you'll get an email when it's ready for pickup. The difference is that you can only make one renewal and when you're finished with the book you have to hand it to a librarian instead of tossing it in the book drop. Also, late fees are $1 a day.
Elliott Merrick was an honest and artful writer. I look forward to reading more of his books.
On a recent trip, I met a new friend who did something really nice for me. Her generosity stuck with me, and I wanted to do something nice for her in return. We both love rocks, so I collected some rocks from the trip that I want to send to her and decided to sew a drawstring bag to send the rocks in. I grabbed scraps from a pair of shorts (gray twill) and a robe (red stretch satin) that I made and I sewed something out of nothing. It was really gratifying.
I started by free-hand embroidering her name on the outside of the bag with denim thread I had from hemming a pair of jeans. Embroidering without a plan is something I first tried this summer, and I really enjoy it. The squiggling randomness of it feels personal. I also sewed on an orphaned button for embellishment.
I didn't have a pattern for the bag, but I've sewed reusable vegetable bags from muslin before so I sewed this one from memory. Adding in the lining was a new step. I just made the lining pouch slightly smaller so it would fit inside the seam allowance of the outer bag. I also cut both pouches with the selvedge edge on top so I wouldn't have to finish the top edges.
To create the drawstring enclosure, I pressed the top of the outer bag down and ran a quick finishing stitch along the side openings where the drawstring comes out. Then I stitched up the bottom and side of the outer bag before turning it right side out. I dropped the red lining in and folded the top of the outer bag over the lining to seal it inside. Then I stitched around the fold of the gray fabric, which was a little tricky since the bag was so small.
I made the strings for the bag out of the lining fabric, which gave me my first chance to use the Loop-Turner I'd recently thrifted.
Threading the drawstring through the top of the bag was tricky, but the Loop-Turner came in handy here too. I hand-stitched the ends of the tie and the final step was to fill the bag.
I hope she likes it.
And I hope this helps you see your fabric scraps as little reusable lengths of beautiful material!
I bought two shirts at the Alameda antiques fair on Sunday, but I didn't like the buttons on either of them. I combed through my button collection and found buttons I liked better. It's a simple change, but it's little alterations like this that can make your clothes feel more personalized.
Green short sleeved shirt: before & after
Buttons: before & after
Blue shirt: before & after
Buttons: before & after
I'm especially excited about this "MAN TAILORED" Lady Hathaway shirt made of wool and cotton in gay tartan. I'm looking forward to glamorous, carefree days on the farm where I can really let my hair down.
Ad from 1955
Ad from December 16, 1957 issue of Milwaukee Sentinel
[[This is part of my no new clothes in 2010 resolution.]]
The thought of wearing a bathing suit makes me cringe. I'm a private person, and I've never warmed to the idea of wearing next-to-nothing in public. It's not that I have debilitating body issues, it's just that I like to leave a lot to the imagination. It's hard to find a modern bathing suit that gives some modesty and coverage without looking too drab. In modern swimsuit design, there's a big gulf between provocative and matronly.
For the past few months I've been combing Ebay and antique markets for a 1940's or 50's bikini. So are a lot of other people, apparently, because they were hard to find and prices topped out in the $20-40 range, beyond what I wanted to spend. After being outbid on a beautiful pattern, I finally decided I'd have to bite the bullet and spend some money to get the right pattern. I happened to search on Ebay late one night and found this pattern, Simplicity 4310, for $27.99 with a Buy It Now button beckoning to me. Feeling guilty about spending so much, I grabbed it anyway and I'm glad I did.
I put the pattern in my stash with no intention of sewing it anytime soon, since I was nervous about how difficult it might be to construct. In the meantime, I picked up about a yard and a half of black cotton for less than a dollar, thinking it would be good to have around. Then I picked up several pieces of vintage fabric at the Rose Bowl Flea Market when I was in LA. There's a vendor there that only sells antique fabric, patterns and notions, and I spent a delightful hour or so looking at every single piece she had.
One of the pieces I bought from her was about a yard of a black cotton with teal and mustard swirls and flowers on it. I had no idea what I'd do with just one yard of fabric, but it was so beautiful I couldn't pass it up, especially for $2. Then a few weeks ago I went through a frustrating afternoon of looking at all my patterns and fabric and not knowing what to make (anyone else ever go through this?) I finally had the inspiration to make the bikini with a print top and solid black bottom.
I cut out the top very carefully in order to not have the print fall in any embarrassing ways. The pattern called for it to be lined, so I used the black cotton for the lining. The construction was actually really straightforward and easy to understand, and luckily it fit me without any major alterations! I really like how the straps can be crossed and buttoned in the back or tied at the neck.
[top: front and back]
I got stuck on the final step, which called for the front to be gathered. Of course there were no detailed instructions on how to gather it. I tried five or six times to machine baste and gather the usual way, to no avail. I went to the fabric store and asked a woman working there what to do, and she sold me some extra strong thread. That didn't work either. With the lining and seam allowances, the layers of fabric were too thick and the thread kept breaking. Finally I hand basted with slippery embroidery thread, and it gathered right up. Even with the gathering, the lining lays together so nicely it almost could be reversible (if not for the buttons).
[top: buttons in the back, front gathering, lining]
[altered pattern pinned to unaltered muslin, ready to be cut]
I used a vintage zipper from a bag of about 50 assorted zippers I'd gotten at an antique store for $1.50. I wasn't sure how to sew in a zipper with an added lining, but I figured it out somehow and luckily it lays nice and flat.
[bottoms: front, lining, back]
I'm a little bit obsessed with dogwood flowers. A few months ago I was searching around on Ebay for vintage fabric, and I found some material that someone had been using for drapes. There were two separate drapes that consisted of two yards of 36" material sewn together down the center, and the seller warned that there was significant fading since they'd been used in a window for so long. I figured I could separate them and yield around four yards of material and I think I ended up winning the auction for about $10.
When I got the material in the mail, I loved it. It's really soft, but the fading was indeed significant. I knew I'd have to be strategic about how I used the faded pieces alongside the brighter ones. I chose this 70s sundress, Simplicity 5670, thinking all the gathers might hide the discrepancies in the fabric.
Because of the fading and a few holes in the fabric, cutting out the pattern was a big challenge. I started by cutting the front bodice pieces out of the most vibrant parts of the material, and tried to match the skirt pieces as best I could. There was an unavoidable hole I put in the back of the skirt and patched up haphazardly, and I had to omit the big ties in the back.
Here's a faded piece next to a more vibrant one:
I made a few alterations while I was sewing the dress. I used muslin in place of interfacing in the waistband and around the neck, and I really like how it turned out. I also lengthened the bust piece and sewed a smaller seam allowance in the bodice sides. Since the fabric was so soft and obviously worn in, I wanted the dress to be casual and comfortable - not too fitted and dressy. And I put in pockets, because a dress with pockets is the best kind of dress.
The sleeves were doubled and when I finished with them, it looked like I was ready for liftoff. They were just out of proportion and took centerstage, which I didn't like. I futzed around and eventually tacked them down in a few places and ended up with a sort of modified cap sleeve.
I'm not in love with the sleeves, but I did end up with a comfy dress and I feel really good about rescuing those old curtains and giving them a new life!
[[This is part of my no new clothes in 2010 resolution.]]
I've been avoiding sewing with knits until now because I kept picturing them stretching out and rolling around while I tried to sew them. They seemed like they'd be more trouble than they're worth. But after seeing Mena's "Hello, Sailor" outfit and hearing her rave about how easy it is to sew with knits, I decided to give it a try. Once again, Mena handed me a pattern she wasn't going to use: Simplicity 9930 featuring some wonderful styles from 1972.
Once I decided to take on sewing with knits I acted fast before I lost my enthusiasm. Since I didn't have any knits in my stash, I made an unusual departure from my habit of sewing with vintage or reused fabrics and I headed to my neighborhood fabric store. The pattern calls for just 7/8 yard of material and the fabric was 25% off, which relieved my guilt a little bit. I bought three different knits to make three shirts.
View 3 with the puffy sleeves was by far my favorite and I picked a lightweight chocolate brown cotton knit for my first attempt. The previous owner had modified the pattern to have a straight bottom (it originally called for the scooped hem seen in View 1) so I went with that instead. I took off some of the length and it is still a pretty long shirt.
As you can see, I enjoyed the pattern so much that I went ahead and sewed up a second version. The navy material is a medium weight and the white eyelet-esque print is a kind of puffy screen print which didn't take too well to the iron. I made a half-hearted effort to match the stripe on the side seams, and I got pretty lucky!
This pattern took me around four hours from first cut to last stitch and
cost about $4-5 total for each shirt. I'll definitely make some more of these.
[[This is part of my no new clothes in 2010 resolution.]]
After completing a couple of ambitious dresses, I was ready to take on a faster and simpler project. I'd gotten some yellow dotted swiss on Ebay with the vision of making it into something summery, and Simplicity 2132 seemed like the perfect pattern.
I decided to make View 3 with short sleeves but to use View 2's Peter Pan collar. It started out pretty simple to construct, including the tucks down the front plackets and sleeves.
What gave me some trouble was the collar. In the "Cutting Notes" there was a box in the corner that stated "STYLES II and III -- BIAS STRIPS -- Cut of remnants." I didn't see this box at first, but even if I had, I doubt those instructions would have made any sense to me. So I was totally thrown for a loop when I was in the middle of making my collar and the instructions stated to "Cut a bias strip 1-3/8" wide for neck edge." The sentences that followed made no sense either.
I've found that older vintage patterns can come with some confusing or unclear directions. Patterns from the last few decades really spell out each step with clear diagrams, but the 40's and 50's patterns I've seen do a lot of explaining in dense paragraphs and only give occasional illustrations. To get unstuck, I have to sit down and reread the paragraph, line by line, trying to picture what it is they're telling me to do. After a few extra minutes of study, it finally clicks and I can proceed. The first few times I did this in the midst of sewing, it was really a bummer to stop in the middle of what I was doing. I've made it a point now to study the instructions of a pattern to make sure I understand them before I start any sewing.
Once I figured out the bias strip action and got through it, it made total sense. Am I the only person who can get hung up on things that turn out to be so simple?
Speaking of simple, I decided to end on a decidedly complicated note by sewing my buttonholes by hand on this one. They're not the most beautiful buttonholes, nor are they uniform in any way, but they're reasonably sturdy. I found it strangely meditative and satisfying to sew the buttonholes by hand. It feels gratifying to know that, if I have to, I can make stuff without fancy machines. Because I sew slowly, it did take about half an hour to make each buttonhole. I doubt I'll make a habit of it.
I made a second shirt from this pattern using a vintage floral print I bought off of Ebay. Since the print was so busy, and I was in a rush to complete another project before I went out of town, I decided to make the shirt without the darts. This time I knew what I was doing when it came time to cut the bias strip, but it seemed a shame to cut a huge diagonal chunk out of the remaining fabric I had. So I dug through my scrap pile (which you can see in these photos) and found two remnants of my dot dress fabric which I sewed together to make a bias strip. I went with a bold button that I found at the Alameda Antiques Fair. These buttons are so thick, bright, shiny and obnoxious! I love them.
[[This is part of my no new clothes in 2010 resolution.]]
I've been sewing a lot lately but haven't been blogging much, partly because I'd rather be sewing than be online. But so many people stopped by after Mena linked to my blog that I feel a little more inspired to document a few recent projects. Thanks, everyone!
About six weeks ago I embarked on my first serious vintage project. I call it serious because I was going to use a vintage pattern from the 40s (McCall 5786) and four yards of vintage fabric I bought off of Ebay. My "devil of a blue dress" experience taught me to lay out all my pattern pieces before I began cutting, which was absolutely necessary here. With a pattern to match and only 36 inches of width to work with, I ended up using the entire length of the material.
I set the intention to sew very carefully and methodically since I didn't want to screw this project up. Overall the pattern was pretty simple and straightforward so I enjoyed working with it. The pattern cover and paper instructions kept crumbling in my hands, but the uncut pattern pieces themselves were sturdy as the day they were born.
When it came to setting in the sleeves, I initially had some trouble keeping the gathers/ease of the sleeve even, while also keeping any wrinkles or catches out of the bodice. Even with using tons of pins and basting before I stitched, I was still having trouble. Then I had what felt like an epiphany at the time: I laid the bodice flat on the machine and sewed with the sleeve side up. Maybe everyone else already knows to do this, but I had to figure it out for myself. This realization has made sleeves a lot more pleasant for me.
Perhaps since things were going so well, it wasn't until the very end that I made my big mistake. The waistband was the last piece I constructed, and I was so anxious to finish the dress that I put in the buttonholes (at Mena's house, borrowing her machine) before I tried the dress on to see if it would fit. I had tried the bodice on and it was a bit roomy, so I guess I assumed the waist would fit. Wrong! Even if in some alternate universe I had no body fat to speak of, the waist would have been too small. Since I had already put in the buttonholes, I could only create width by letting out the front facing on just one side. I had been very careful to match my fabric down the front, so it pained me to have to mess that up in order to make the dress fit.
I'm a sucker for great buttons, and I lucked out here again. Mena and I had bought some German glass buttons at the Alameda Antiques Fair, and it wasn't until later that I realized they matched this fabric so closely. I had to sweet talk Mena into giving me a few of hers so I could complete the dress (thanks again, Mena!)
Luckily the pattern is pretty busy so it's not super obvious that the dress is wonky right in the middle. In the end, the waist is still a bit too snug so this will be more of a party dress than an all-day dress.
Mena of the Sew Weekly has been a good friend to me for many years and in many ways, but I'm almost entirely indebted to her for the skirt I just made.
A few weeks ago I was in her sewing room checking out her finds from the now infamous Novato estate sale. In her to-be-sold pile I spied a sky blue medium weight fabric that I liked, and she gave it to me since it was in two fairly small scraps. Turns out it was about 54 inches wide with one piece being about a yard long and the other piece a half yard, with a couple of major flaws and discolorations. I'm not sure what kind of fabric it is but it feels like a cross between a twill and a polyester, and it's two separate materials fused together to make the indented stripe. When I washed it, it took on a wrinkly pebbled effect that my iron has not yet conquered.
I wanted to make an A-line casual skirt with buttons up the front out of the material, but as of last week I still hadn't found the right pattern. Another trip to Mena's yielded the perfect 70's pattern, one which had barely missed going in to a great lot she recently sold.
This weekend at the Alemany flea market, I bought six cute blue buttons
for $1. I didn't realize until I got home that they were the perfect
match for my skirt. It's really motivating to sew when you find the
perfect buttons.
Since I had to cut around two pieces of flawed fabric, it was a real challenge to make the fabric work with the skirt pattern. I felt a sense of accomplishment when I figured out how to make it work. This skirt marked my first foray into patch pockets and machine buttonholes. The patch pockets proved to be challenging with such thick material, but the machine-made buttonholes were pretty easy after I watched a video tutorial. Previously I had been going to Mena's to use her machine to make buttonholes, and I made handworked buttonholes on one shirt (time-consuming but oddly satisfying). I recently bought a buttonhole foot for Mena's old machine I've been borrowing to sew on.
I used hem tape I got from S.C.R.A.P. to do the hem and skipped using interfacing since the fabric had plenty of body. The only new item I used was thread I bought, and that was also the most expensive element of this skirt.
So, thanks to Mena's fabric, pattern and sewing machine, I present the Sew Weekly skirt made for less than two bucks.
Thanks, Mena!