Have a Handmade Holiday
November 19, 2008|Comments (28)
We decided not to buy anyone gifts this year — everyone will receive handmade items or canned/dried goods from our garden. This meant that I would be working overtime on dishcloths, homemade soap, and little rounds of fabric (with lace edging) to top canned goods like shower caps. Is it worth it? Absolutely.
First up: Basketweave Dishcloth
This sweet and easy to knit design was an adaptation of a scarf pattern that I came across and declared perfect for a dishcloth. You know how I love all things woven so this pattern really spoke to my inner pioneer. It also doesn’t contain any tricky knitting moves — all straight knitting and purling.
Second: Canning Jar Fabric Lid Covers
A classic way to make a gift of garden goodies a little more glamorous, these scrap fabric jar covers say: “gift” to me. I love the snazzy little bit o’ lace (not real lace… the cheapo stuff) on the edge and the bright festive colors.
Third: Barley Soup Mix
Just dried beans, veggies, and spices — this simple but useful gift may be decorated with the canning jar fabric lid covers or with a bow. I like to add an ornament and I dress up my labels (printed from the computer with cooking directions) with festive clip art.
Last but not least: Drawstring Soap Sack
Having made a small ton of soap this year, I have quite a few bars to give out to our friends and family. Wrapping soap seems like a very silly idea so a plush drawstring bag seems appropriate. Don’t you think? These are made with two fleecy washcloths sewn together with some string. So much better than wrapping paper… useful, too!
A Handmade Holiday is my favorite part of simple living. The act of trading costly gifts during the holidays may be open for debate but the act of giving gifts that are from the heart, full of love, and made by hand — there’s nothing trite or commercial in that. No one ever went into debt with a Handmade Holiday.
When the Past Knocks…
November 11, 2008|Comments (24)
This was my favorite house at Westville Village (where we spent Saturday afternoon). I could move in tomorrow if they promised to insulate the walls. Seriously — that would be the one request. Oh, and also a little thing called “internet.” The Harris Farmhouse spoke to my soul from the moment we rounded the corner and recognized the scent of sugar cane syrup cooking. There in the dappled light stood a dog-trot log home with an open breezeway linking the main house to the kitchen
On the back porch, dishes were set to soak in a slightly cracked earthenware kettle beside a folded dishcloth and a lye soap cake overlooking a garden and paddock with sheep. My heart began to sing. I confess to sitting on the steps and simply soaking it all in. Aside from internet, I truly believe that I was born in the wrong generation. As I sat on the splintered stairs, I watched Josh explore the chicken coop and offer reassuring pats to the sheep — I was overwhelmed by a sense of belonging.
Are we generationally displaced? Throwbacks to a forgotten time? As we wandered from house to house on narrow clay streets dotted with mule droppings and scarred with wagon wheel tracks, I can’t help but wonder why our civilization believes that we have progressed in comparison. In the pre-industrial age, there was no global warming or home owners associations to measure the length of your grass. People lived in communities and knew that each member of the town provided an important craft be it shoemaking or basket weaving. Those traditional skills linked the early settlers into more than just a subdivision — they were a family. Can our society really say that we have improved since then?
Of course, medical sciences and other advances have certainly impacted society for the better since those of us outside of the third world do not have to worry about contracting Yellow Fever or Tuberculosis. But the sense of community? Lost. How about truly closeknit families? Rare.
As Josh and I reflect on our time at Westville Village, we keep returning to the same phrase: “Let’s not let our children wander around such a town and mourn the lack of a closeknit family. Let’s make sure that they wander through such a place with confidence — knowing how to churn butter, make soap, weave, build tables and chairs, spin, quilt, garden, cook over a fire, and also knowing that they didn’t spend their childhood parked in front of a television but making memories.”
What are your favorite childhood memories? What memory do you think your children will recant to their children as a best-loved tale? Are you generationally displaced, too?
Read more about our trip to Westville Village in A Quiltin’ Man and check out homesteaders cattle in Irish Dexters: 4 Door Sedan Bovine. What’s up with all this homesteading talk? We’re wannabes. Plain and simple: wannabes.
Falls Away
November 6, 2008|Comments (26)
In the front yard of the house I best remember from childhood stood two large maple trees which enjoyed a breathtaking view of the Shenandoah Valley’s loveliest farm land. The gently rolling hills laced with crooked streams, and dotted with assorted trees, aging barns, fields planted with corn or alfalfa, cattle, sagging fences, and bluegill-filled ponds made for some particularly scenic seasons. The maples were taller then the up-most eave of the old white farmhouse and in storms the branches brushed against the windows above the porch.
Before leaving Virginia on my 3,000 mile journey to the great Northwest, I returned to gaze at the twin maples which saw me ride my bike without training wheels to the curve in the driveway where a dogwood grew and caught me out with the horses instead of doing chores. Those trees watched my parents’ marriage disintegrate, my mother’s sanity erode, and countless moments which my memory has thankfully erased. I could not leave Virginia without looking up through those leaves again and wondering where life would take me.
Afterwards, I felt renewed and equipped to tackle the next chapter in my life’s journey to self discovery and since that time, fall has always brought me back to that moment with the brightly colored leaves spinning above me, the rush of the wind moving the heavy branches, and the tickle of the Kentucky blue grass blades against my skin. Empowered by physical evidence that life moves steadily forward with or without us, I face new challenges with greater enthusiasm. Autumn seems to ignite that fire and drive in me.
What surprises await us on the other side of winter? As the leaves dance to the ground and the cloudshadows race across the land moved by a high and secret wind… one cannot help but wonder where we will be next fall and what trees will frame our views.
Have you seen what else is new on our site? Check out our blondes in the buff, knitted dishcloths, nordic braided bread, green manure groundcovers, and a lullaby for a stormy night. If that’s not enough then you’ll just have to wander through our Best Of section for more goodies. Want to comment? Click here.
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