make good(s)

Turning Throwaway Plants into a Magical Garden

I just rented the documentary A Man Named Pearl from my local library.  It tells the story of Pearl Fryar, a self-taught topiary artist who transformed his yard where he lives in a small town in South Carolina.  His local nursery would toss unwanted plants out back into a large pile, so Pearl started rescuing them and nurturing them into shapes he was inspired to make.  Now he has an incredible three acre garden that is the pride of Bishopville, SC.

He only rescues and reuses unwanted plants, he doesn't use any chemicals, sprays or pesticides in his garden, he's completely self-taught and he's created a magical place that he shares with anyone who wants to visit.  His life story and life's work are inspiring.   

Planting a Spring Garden

This weekend I helped to plant a little garden.  The sum total of my gardening experience heretofore includes volunteering at Alemany Farm and with the now defunct My Farm SF and reading a few books.  I've been on the waiting list for a community garden plot for months, so the chance to plant this little plot was really exciting!

We started by double digging a small plot in the backyard.  We dug up the top layer to about the depth of a standard shovel, throwing all that dirt in a pile.  From that pile, we picked off the grass and roots from the top crust, leaving a mound of nice sandy soil.  Below that top layer, we dug in and churned the soil before adding in a layer of compost.  Then we shoveled the mound of soil back into the plot and added a final layer of compost across the top.

  

All that digging took us a few hours, and it was hard work, but it was very satisfying.  Plus, I loved tearing up needy grass that demands cutting but gives nothing back and replacing it with plants that will hopefully feed us.

Visiting the nursery to buy plant starts was way too exciting.  My heart fluttered at all the choices.  We ended up choosing some cilantro, basil and mint, along with three tomato plants, a pepper plant, some blood beets and arugula.  I can't wait to see how Mr. Stripey grows!

 

We planned a layout based on the eventual height of each plant and accessibility of each veggie for pruning and harvesting.  There's a walkway down the middle to make it easy to get to everything.

 

Then we installed some drip irrigation lines that will deliver water to each plant when no one is around to tend the little garden.

   

The final step was to soak the new transplants with water and then cover the soil around them with some mulch.  A pile of leaves had been sitting in the backyard long enough to make the perfect rich composty mulch for free!  When we first dug the plot, there were no worm friends in any of the dirt, so it felt good to relocate some of the worms from the backyard leaf pile into a new home.  A healthy garden teems with life, so I think having some insect friends around is a good sign (as long as they don't get too greedy).

Here's the finished garden.  I wonder if anything will successfully grow?

  

On Cold Antler Farm

A little over a year ago, I was burned out with the way I was living and I was looking for meaning.  These days everything is instant, pre-made, high speed, on demand, fully customizable and delivered to our doors; we even find friends and spouses online.  When everything is so replaceable, when gratification is instant, what has true value? 

I remembered always enjoying making things with my hands and how sometimes when I sewed or crafted, the hours would fly by without me noticing.  I've always valued the handmade over the mass-produced.  I started wondering if it was the act of making and creating that many of us are missing.  Has the proliferation of technology stolen some of our agency in our own lives?  Have we distanced ourselves too much from the food we eat, the things we buy, from each other?  Forget about upgrades and all things 2.0; what about stumbling through the inelegant mess of making something and learning something new?  I had a hunch that I needed to simplify my life and start learning where the things I eat and wear and use come from.

Early on in my searching, I checked out a book from the library called Made From Scratch and read about how the author, Jenna Woginrich, started homesteading. 

Starting off as a young, single woman with a desk job and a city apartment, Jenna Woginrich set out to build a more self-sufficient lifestyle by learning homesteading skills. She didn't own land or have much practical experience beyond a few forays into knitting and soap making, but she did have a strong desire to opt out of what she saw as a consumer-driven culture. After moving across the country to a rented farmhouse in northern Idaho, she learned to raise chickens, keep bees, and grow her own food.

The chapters in this book offer a short overview on topics such as beekeeping and raising chickens, which of course you could also read about more in-depth in books written by lifelong experts.  What I loved about Made From Scratch is that Jenna didn't write from the point of view of an expert.  She wrote as herself, as someone who started off with more curiosity and interest than skill or knowledge.  My favorite parts were when she described her mistakes with brutal honesty.  Were some of them stupid mistakes?  Yes!  But guess what:  every time you try something new, you're going to make stupid mistakes, no matter how intelligent you think you are.  That's the beauty of learning.  In order to be a good student, you have to be humbled.  And when you finally succeed at something you've struggled with, it means a lot to you. 

Jenna was an initial inspiration for me to try a bunch of small new things, including baking my own bread, getting an old-fashioned coffee grinder, making butter, etc., but mostly I've been inspired by her pluck.

Last year I started reading Jenna's blog, Cold Antler Farm, and I loved watching how she was always learning and broadening her horizons.  Recently, Jenna ran into trouble with homesteading at her current rental property and, though it seemed impossible, she admitted to herself and to the world that she really wants to own her own farm.  At first it seemed like a pie in the sky dream, but in the past several days it's looking like her dream is coming true.  To show their appreciation for how much she's inspired them, some of her blog readers have pitched in to help make it all happen.

"I think I just realized that this is going to happen.  I am going to own a farm. In a few months a hoe will break into that New York soil and so many things will begin. There will be the chirping of chicks, and the moans of roosters. There will be bonfires, and bleating lambs, and a black dog. There will be food pulled out of the earth by the roots, and long jogs in the July night. There will be thunderstorms, and fireflies, and a black guitar that knew what Eisenhower sounded like. There will be pounding hooves, curling ram horns, and gardens so rich in food I will kneel before them. There will be sweat, and tears, and so many sore arms and backs that I will forget about all this joy and want to curl up in a bathtub in pain. There will be old records, and apple pie, and a white farmhouse that knew what General Grant sounded like. There will be pastures, and new lives, and gardens, and hives, and so much hope. Hope that hangs in the air like humidity." -- Jenna Woginrich, CAF blog 2/18/10

I love to see a dream realized.

Follow Jenna's homesteading adventures at Cold Antler Farm.

No New Clothes: Devil of a Blue Dress

[[This is part of my no new clothes in 2010 resolution.]]

I finally finished the blue dress that I started sewing over a month ago! 

The initial inspiration for this dress came from 4 yards of blue cotton fabric I picked up for $4 on a trip with Mena to the East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse.  Since my sewing skills were rusty and I hadn't worked with many vintage patterns yet, I was still afraid to use my vintage fabric for fear of ruining it.  This fabric lowered the stakes. 

Over at Mena's house, I selected this Simplicity 4425 pattern from her vast library and proceeded to start cutting it out.  The first of many mistakes I'd make on this dress was that I accidentally chose the wrong cutting layout and I didn't lay out all the pattern pieces in advance to make sure I had enough fabric.  So when it came time to cut out the three panels for the full pleated skirt, I came up several inches short!  After spending about 10 minutes thinking I should just abandon the dress, Mena encouraged me to make it work. I ended up cutting out each of the three panels narrower than the pattern called for, knowing I'd have to work some pleating magic when the time came.

My next big mistake came when I treated the words "facing" and "interfacing" interchangeably.  (Rusty sewing skills!)  I sewed up the button placket without the interfacing it called for, and had already clipped the seams before I realized what I'd done.  There was also some facing in the neckline that was supposed to be made out of a strip of fabric, and I just couldn't get my head around the construction.  I'm used to modern patterns telling you exactly step-by-step what you need to cut and to sew, and I found the instructions in this pattern more challenging.  I felt so defeated that I put the half-finished bodice of this dress away for about three weeks.

 About a week ago, I finally gathered the courage to pull the bodice apart and start over.  I reread the instructions until I felt I understood the steps, and then I sewed the button placket and front facings together correctly.  I even figured out the bizarre and labor intensive neck facing.  I had to rip out my first sleeve attempt, but then I got those sewn in too.   

Riding high on those successes, I mustered the energy to tackle the skirt issue.  Each panel I'd cut was about six inches narrower than the pattern called for, so I had to improvise on the pleats.  The sewing gods showed me mercy by letting me get it almost right on my first blind attempt. I was extra careful to pin, measure, baste, rip, fix, pin and rebaste before finally stitching the skirt to the waistband.  Although the fabric isn't vintage, it was reused and I was able to use a few vintage notions, including seam binding and covered buttons from Mena's stash.

I'm pretty proud of how it turned out because this is the most complex dress I've ever completed. It's slightly too big, but it's comfortable.

The full cost of this dress was about $6 plus a good amount of labor and frustration.  As soon as I give it a good pressing, I think it'll be ready to wear out on the town.

Today's Estate Sale Finds

Mena picked me up this morning and we headed to an estate sale in San Carlos.  We were on the lookout for fabric and sewing supplies, but there wasn't much there.  I ended up getting a tailor's ham (mostly because I love the idea that a tailor needs a ham) and 2 1/2 yards of fabric.

   

I can't remember the last time this vegetarian bought a ham.

I also picked up a few great records.  This woman is either making a really sultry face, or is about to sneeze.

 

I read a terriffic piece on Phyllis Diller in Talk of the Town last month in the New Yorker.  "'Don’t think small!' Diller declared suddenly. 'Onward and upward, that’s why we’re here. Did you see my grand pianos?'”  I want to be invited over to Phyllis' house.

 

More Piaf.

 

I love this album cover.

 

This is Richie Havens' debut album from 1967.  I'll admit I didn't know who Richie Havens was when I bought the record; I figured it would be good just based on how awesome he looks on the cover.  Lucky for me, I was right.  What a voice.

  

Watch this video and let his voice wash over you.

Accessorizing at the Alameda Antiques Faire

As per usual, Mena and I had a grand old time at the most recent Alameda Antiques Faire.  We hit the grounds early, and split up to follow our own strategies for seeing as many booths as possible at the enormous event: Mena skims the booths quickly, making note of the ones she wants to return to, while I start on row A, booth 1, and methodically look at everything everyone has to offer.  While I am goal-oriented when I'm antiquing, I also love just looking at the endless variety of stuff from the past.  For me it's equal parts shopping excursion and museum tour.

As I was perusing the aisles, I started to get texts from Mena alerting me to good booths:

"Buttons and fabric by first booth on E"

"I12"

"Tons of scarves by K"

I read and responded to her texts, but I was reluctant to give up my plodding method of looking at all the booths in order.  (No, I'm not ready to analyze what this says about my personality.)  I visited one of her suggested booths, then went back to where I'd left off.

"You've got to go to K"

Where the scarves are?, I thought.  No thanks.  I kept on my alphabetical way.

"The scarf place!!"

Finally I called her and asked what all the fuss was about.  She was raving about two giant "scarf tables" where everything was $1.  Still not moved by the prospect of $1 scarves, I finally capitulated and met her there just to be a good friend, because it seemed like it'd make her happy. 

I found her at the scarf table, elbow deep in a giant pile of scarves, her face beaming.  "Look what I got!" she exclaimed, and showed me an impressive pile of treasures she'd found for $1 each.  I half-heartedly stuck one arm in the pile and started looking for a nice scarf or two.  "Dig deeper!" she said encouragingly.  That's when I finally found some treasures.  Among my finds were three vintage slips, several yards of red gingham fabric, an unfinished vintage apron, a little girl's apron to fit Mena's daughter Penelope, a great necktie -- all for $1 each.  "You were right about the scarf table!" I confessed.

At the scarf table I also found several vintage handkerchiefs which usually are sold for $3-6 each. 

 

I was shopping with Valentine's Day in mind and I found several great gifts.  But as it always happens with antiquing, I found several things I didn't know I was in the market for.  At one table, I picked up a pretty yellow clutch.  When I looked inside to check out the condition of the interior, I found that it had matching yellow gloves.

 

Those vintage sunglasses were just $2, and I was thrilled to replace the junky sunglasses from H&M that I've been wearing.  When I showed my new old sunglasses to my guy, he said, "Wow, I never realized how much I hated your old sunglasses," and then made up for it by saying I looked like a sophisticated Italian woman.  (In his defense, he was just speaking the truth; my old H&M glasses were hideous.)

Usually when I buy vintage shoes, they're cowboy boots.  But I found two pairs of pumps that fit well and were so affordable - $15 and $20, respectively - that I ended up taking them home.  The black pumps are super comfortable, and the navy pumps, well, they're going to go perfectly with my vintage blue velvet dress.

   

Mena found these sandals for me, which I would have never tried on.  I wore them in Palm Springs last week and loved them.  

   

One thing I love about all three of these pairs of shoes is that they've stood the test of time.  They're not going to fall apart after a few wears.  And I feel confident they were made by craftsmen, not by underpaid and/or underage workers in a cramped factory in China.  The "Go There" sandals were made by Joe Famolare, seen here looking handsome in an ad shot by Richard Avedon.  Joe Famolare is a third-generation shoe designer and manufacturer who has been making shoes since 1970.  According to retrodress.com:

"In the early 1970s, shoe designer Joe Famolare created a line of rubber platform shoes, the first of which was named Get There, followed by the high heeled version, Hi There. Shortly thereafter, the Go There, Hi Up, and Very High versions made their debut. With their wavy rubber sole, ergonomically designed Famolares had a very unique and distinctive look and were totally comfortable to wear all day long."

Famolare.com tells me the specially-designed four wave sole is also going to save me energy.

 

All this history, science and fashion for only $20. That's a bargain.

No New Clothes: The 99¢ Vintage A-Line Skirt

[[This is part of my no new clothes in 2010 resolution.]]

Coming off the success of my improvised A-line skirt pattern, I decided to churn out another quick skirt (insert laughter here).  I'd picked up some tweed-like material from S.C.R.A.P. for 50¢ and thought I should make a winter skirt out of it before the sunshine returned.  I'm not sure exactly what the material is; it's a bit of a loose weave and almost reminds me of material used in car upholstery.  It's scratchy too, so I knew I'd have to line it.  With that in mind, I'd picked up some pretty silky necktie material for 25¢ at an estate sale.

Recalling how I'd had to cut down my last A-line skirt after the fact to make it fit through the hips, I thought I'd be clever and make that reduction in advance as I was cutting the tweedy material.  As soon as I sewed up the side seams of the skirt, I realized I'd cut the skirt down twice as much as I was supposed to.  I'm not sure how my math was off, maybe I just failed to measure for the seam allowance.  The end result was that I had cut out a skirt that was about 4 inches too narrow for me around the hips. 

I could have just tossed the fabric, knowing it was only worth 50¢ in the first place, but I'm not one to waste anything.  I decided I would sew in some "decorative insets" on the front and back to make the skirt wide enough.  I did some math and figured out if I wanted to increase the skirt's width by 4 inches, I would need to cut two strips that were 4 1/2 inches wide.  That accounts for 5/8" seam allowance on each side of two seams (total of 2 1/2") for each of the two insets and skirt pieces.  (And here we thought "measure twice, cut once" was just the carpenter's adage.) 

I wanted to place each inset a few inches from the side seam so that it would lie off-center.  Once I decided the placement on the front and back, I cut a straight line down each of the too-narrow skirt pieces.  I was then left with three panels each for the front and for the back: one side of the skirt, the inset, the other side of the skirt.  I sewed the inset to each skirt piece to make one solid skirt front, repeating these steps for the skirt back.  To make the widened pieces lie flat, I pressed the seam allowances toward the inset and then top-stitched them close to the seam line and then again about a half inch away.  This made the inset lie flat and gave it a tiny bit of visual interest, as if the inset was supposed to be there.  Thankfully this material has a vertical pattern to it so the top-stitching blends in.

Once I had the outer part of the skirt stitched up at the side seams, it was time to make the lining to the same measurements.  I cut the lining out correctly the first time, eliminating the need to make insets.  One thing I quickly learned about this lining is that it frayed actively and exuberantly.  Those threads just wanted to be free!  I sewed up the side seams of the lining and when I matched it up with the outside of the skirt, I was pleased to see that they fit together perfectly.  (The lining appears to be different colors in these photos because the colors contrasted on each side.  It's a shame no one will ever see them!)

 The next step was to make the casing for the elastic waist.  Normally I wouldn't make an elastic waist on a tweedy skirt with lining - this type of material really calls for a zippered and buttoned waist - but I was experimenting and thought I could make it work.  As I turned over the top of the material to make the casing, I kept the lining and outer skirt together and treated them as one piece so that the raw edges (and crazy fraying ends) of both pieces would end up inside the casing.  I used leftover elastic and sewed the casing shut, including a birdie tag.  The elastic waist isn't too bunchy and lies surprisingly flat on my body.

The last step was to them the lining and the outer skirt.  Because the lining was so fray-tastic, I turned it over twice so there was no raw edge and I measured it to be about 3/4 inches shorter than the hem of the outer skirt.  I used some seam binding I'd gotten at S.C.R.A.P. for about 10¢ on the outer skirt.  The hem looks a little uneven in the photo, but that's because I'd been a little uneven in making the waist casing.  I'm really pleased with how clean the lining turned out.

 

Here's the final view of the 99¢ Vintage A-Line Skirt.  My camera really plays up some bunching at the insets, but it's not that visible to the naked eye.

   

This skirt was neither quick nor especially easy to make, but I'm proud of not giving up on it and I'm happy to say that this little skirt managed to be yet another teacher of lessons.  And I did quite enjoy wearing it in Palm Springs last week.

Volunteering for KQED

Last year I signed up to volunteer with KQED, San Francisco's own "most listened to public radio station in the nation."  I figured I've listened to KQED radio enough that I owed it to them to give back and show my support, and I chose to do it in person.  Since then, I've done several shifts during the radio pledge drives and even got to be on the phones during a special televised pledge drive with Rick Steves (who was generous in giving every volunteer one of his guides to Europe).  

Walking into the room where the volunteers take calls is an adventure, because you never know who you're going to meet.  Of course everyone listens to public radio, so you all have intellectual curiosity in common.  Aside from that shared trait, it's a mixed bag of people.  The crowd tends to skew a bit older, but I've seen all demographics in the call room.  There are some socially awkward folks there, but there are always a few bold and brassy people who love to speak up.  Sometimes there's a group volunteering together.  Once it was parents whose kids went to the same private school, another time there was a college alumni group.  There's almost always at least one totally awesome person over 60 who has some incredible style or story if you can needle it out of them. I was enthralled with Kitty's effortless elegance.  Margaret told me I reminded her of her daughter.

There is time for socializing, because during each four hour shift there are just two call breaks per hour and they only last for 10-15 minutes each.  The calls, by the way, are scripted and you just type in some information on the laptops they provide.  I always try to smile when I'm talking and really thank the person for donating before they hang up.  The callers are generally just as enthusiastic as the volunteers.  Sometimes they thank me for being a volunteer, or they get excited when I describe the thank-you gifts they will receive. When I was on the TV pledge shift with Rick Steves, I told one caller that Rick was walking by me right at that moment and she shrieked in my ear with unbridled delight. During that same TV shift, another caller asked if he could see me on TV, and I waved when the camera happened to fall on me.  "There she is!" he yelled to his wife, and I could hear them exclaiming about the excitement of it all.  (Waving to the camera is not permitted, but luckily I didn't get ousted for my outburst.)

 

The downtime between call breaks can get a little awkward too, of course.  During the most recent radio pledge drive, I went in for a shift and sat down at the end of a completely empty row of about 10 laptops.  There were only about eight people in the room of 30-40 laptops at that point.  Then a man walked into the room and sat down right next to me.  I had my nose in a book and tried to give him polite one-word responses to his questions.

Guy: "Do you have a Kindle?"

Me: "No, I like library books." [Showing him old-fashioned hardcover library book I'm reading]

Guy:  "Kindles are great.  I have one.  I got a lot of free books on it...[blah blah etc...]  Does anyone ever tell you you look like Elizabeth Murchison?"

Me: "Montgomery?"

Guy: "Yes, from Bewitched.  You have to work on wiggling your nose, though." [Looking at me and waiting for me to wiggle my nose]

Me: [Nose in book.]

The kind folks at KQED treat the volunteers very well.  Dinner and dessert is catered by local restaurants.  During a recent shift I had a cupcake from Miette after my Italian dinner.  The volunteer supervisors always do one or two raffles during a shift and I've won something about half the time.  You get to pick from a few boxes of CDs, books and coffee mugs.  So far my favorite raffle prize is a hardcover copy of Steve Martin's Born Standing Up.

Another thing I really love about KQED is that they're enthusiastic about recycling and composting.  The volunteer supervisors always point out the blue and green bins at the beginning of each shift, and before dinner they explain about the compostable forks we'll be eating with and where to put them when we're done.  They even have signs in the hallways and in the bathroom reminding you it's a green place to be.

Partway through each shift they offer to take the volunteers on a tour of the facilities.  I loved meeting Announcer/Operator Jerry Neuman who wears suspenders and has a comforting, booming radio voice.  He's been with KQED since 1976 and he talked to us about how it felt to adapt to the changing technology over the years.  During a brief Q&A I asked him who he pictures he's talking to while announcing and did he consciously think about how many people were listening to him.  He said he saw his job as being a performer, and he delivered his lines with the conscientiousness of a stage actor, but that when he pictured his audience he always imagined he was talking to just one person.

Is there a non-profit or an institution you love and want to support?  Consider volunteering in person.  Even if you have a very busy schedule, consider volunteering your time instead of or in addition to your money.  Or if you're low on money, give your time. Everybody benefits. 

Related reading: More information on volunteering with KQED.

Reuse A Vintage Apron for Sewing

When you're sewing, you always need your supplies at hand.  You can wear your supply of pins on your wrist, but there are several other tools you need to keep handy while you move back and forth from your cutting area, ironing board, full length mirror and sewing machine.

I've found a new use for an old vintage apron.  Every time I get ready to sew, I tie it on and make sure my pockets are filled with scissors, ruler, tape measure, snippers and pinking shears.

 

Being able to carry those often-used items around in a roomy pocket saves a lot of time.  When you're in the middle of concentrating on a sewing project, it's easy to forget where you last used and left something and it can be frustrating to drop what you're doing to track it down.

I imagine you can use a vintage apron for all sorts of projects with all kinds of materials.  When you're done with your project, just take your apron off and all your supplies are put away.

 

This way, everything's within reach.  And the cute vintage apron gets a new life.

At TED: Riding the Radish

On the way to Palm Springs this morning, I saw a double rainbow.  It's never not exciting to see a rainbow.

 

Through the window I could see almost the entire arc of it. 

 

It's fitting that I started my morning by seeing something so magical, because it's by pure magic that I'm spending my week at the TED Active Conference in Palm Springs.  TED stands for technology, entertainment and design, and it's a non-profit devoted to Ideas Worth Spreading.  Four days of amazing speakers start tomorrow in Long Beach to an audience of around 1200 people.  Here in Palm Springs, around 400 of us will watch a simulcast of the speeches and see what kinds of ideas we can come up with amongst each other.

One idea I've already experienced and wanted to share is that we can use a specially designed bike to "rediscover your neighborhood, and make your time in transit quality time."  I met the fine folks behind Xtracycle this morning.  They were sitting outside their Airstream bus with a fleet of extra-long bikes.

  

When I walked up to the bus, I saw a certain someone riding around on a bike with a full guitar in its soft case attached to the back.  It was quite a sight.  He stopped riding and removed the guitar so I could take a spin around the parking lot too.  Then Ross, one of the founders of the company, came out to quickly attach some footpads and handle bars to the back cargo area, making it a bicycle built for two (except only one person pedals). He urged us to get on it, suggesting that I should drive.

At first I refused to try to power a bike with an adult male sitting on the back of it, especially since I'm wearing cowboy boots, but after reassurance from Ross about how easy it was, I decided to try it.  It was wobbly while we were first getting started, but as soon as I gained a tiny bit of speed, I couldn't feel my extra cargo at all.  It was really fun!  For the past 15 years, Ross has been working all around the world to make bikes better able to carry cargo, and it clearly shows.

 

As soon as I move to a flatter landscape and get a windfall of $1000, I'm buying myself a Radish.  I'll ride it to the farmers market, to the library, to thrift stores and everywhere in between.  I even think I could fit my sewing machine on the back.  This is truly sustainable transportation.