Donis Casey's Great-aunt and Grandmother |
Donis Casey
makes a return appearance to Killer Crafts & Crafty Killers today. Donis is
the author of the award-winning Alafair Tucker Mystery series, featuring the
sleuthing mother of ten children. The series is set in Oklahoma and Arizona
during the booming 1910s. Today Donis stops by to discuss fashionistas of a
bygone era. Learn more about Donis and her books at her website.
Self-Made Fashionistas
I have been called
penurious in my time. Yet, in comparison to my mother, or even more so with her
own parents, who actually had to support themselves and their families during
the worst downturn in U.S. history, I am downright profligate.
Nobody knows from frugal
any more.
I recently saw a woman on
television saying that there is a trend among fashionable young people to buy
cheap, hip clothing that may fall apart the first time you wash it. But they
don’t care. They only spend $30 or so for something they throw away when it’s
ruined, and then they can buy something even more stylish and up to date.
I make no judgment. I’d
rather be in a position to do that than have to wear clothes I made myself out
of a flour sack. For much of American history, few farm families had the money
to buy ready-made clothing from a store. Clothes were homemade and worn until
they were so patched and stained that they were unwearable. After which, the
mother would use what was left to make a quilt, or a rag rug, or a mop. Then
use the scraps to make a patch for a shirt elbow or the knee of some trousers,
or a button cover, until the material disintegrated into molecules and floated
away on the breeze.
In the mid-1800s,
companies that sold sugar, flour, and animal feed began selling their goods
packed into heavy cotton sacks instead of boxes and barrels. It didn’t take
long for women to realize that once the bag was empty, they were in possession
of a piece of durable fabric that made really nice, cheap clothes for the kids.
Or work shirts for the men in the family, or aprons for themselves. Once the
flour and chicken feed companies found out what was going on in homes around
the country, they started printing pretty designs on the bags, and suddenly
every rural child in America was wearing a dress or shirt with little pink
flowers on it, or underwear with “Pillsbury” printed across the seat.
Not long ago I received a
note from a second cousin of mine who said, “Aunt Thelma always bragged about
how Grandma Bourland (our mutual great aunt and great-grandmother) only had to
look at a photo of a dress to be able to copy it.” That comment made me smile,
because my grandmother on the other side of the family had said exactly the
same thing about her mother.
“Ma didn’t even need a
pattern,” Grandma Casey told me. “You’d just tell her, ‘I want pleats here and
this kind of sleeve,’ and she’d whip it up.”
She did, too. I have a
photo of my grandmother (above photo) and her sister, both clad in dresses their
mother made for them. For a fictional wedding in one of my books, I
dressed the bride in my Grandma’s fabulous outfit.
I suppose if you had seven
daughters and you made every stitch of clothing they wore from birth until they
left home, not to mention clothing for your sons and your husband and yourself,
you’d become an expert seamstress in short order. Even if you had to sew it all
on a treadle machine. Many years ago I tried to make something on my
grandmother’s treadle sewing machine. You really have to get the knack of
pumping the treadle up and down with your feet. It’s like rubbing your head and
patting your tummy at the same time.
Handmade 70's Dress |
My own mother made a lot
of clothing for her three daughters. We did not live on a farm and could well
afford store-bought clothes, but Mama grew up in the country during the
depression, and she was the living embodiment of frugality. If she could make
do, she did. I never felt put-upon by wearing homemade clothes, because what my
mother made was excellent. She had a great eye for material and color and we
girls always looked tres chic. I so loved some of the dresses she made
for me in the ‘70s that I still have them to this day. I think they are museum
quality. I’d model some for you, Dear Reader, but these days I couldn’t get
into them with a shoehorn.
The
world has changed. Even if you wanted to make your own clothes, it’s not as
easy as it used to be to find a place to buy fabric. My mother taught me to
sew, but I learned in school, too, back when all the girls took Home Ec and all
the boys took Shop. I have the skills, but no longer have the time or equipment
to make my own outfits from scratch. I still mend and patch and make it last,
if it’s a piece I like. But how I envy anyone who has the eye, and the will, to
make a piece of clothing that is unique and totally hers.
Hell With
the Lid Blown Off
In the summer
of 1916, a big twister brings destruction to the land around Boynton, OK.
Alafair Tucker’s family and neighbors are not spared the ruin and grief
spread by the storm. But no one is going to mourn for Jubal Beldon, who
made it his business to know the ugly secrets of everyone in town. It doesn’t
matter if Jubal’s insinuations are true or not. In a small town like Boynton,
rumor is as damaging as fact.
But as Mr.
Lee the undertaker does his grim duty for the storm victims, he discovers that
even in death Jubal isn’t going to leave his neighbors in peace. He was
already dead when the tornado carried his body to the middle of a fallow field.
Had he died in an accident or had he been murdered by someone whose secret he
had threatened to expose? There are dozens of people who would have been happy
to do the deed, including members of Jubal’s own family.
As Sheriff
Scott Tucker and his deputy Trenton Calder look into the circumstances
surrounding Jubal’s demise, it begins to look like the prime suspect may be
someone very dear to the widow Beckie MacKenzie, the beloved music teacher and
mentor of Alafair’s daughter Ruth. Ruth fears that the secrets exposed by
the investigation are going to cause more damage to her friend’s life than the
tornado. Alafair has her own suspicions about how Jubal Beldon came to die, and
the reason may hit very close to home.
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I made nearly every stitch my children wore (born in 1973 and 1975)from 5-pocket jeans to my son's graduation suit and my daughter's prom dresses. I did, however, use patterns, but could borrow a collar from one and a sleeve from another. Both my kids learned to sew--I considered it a life skill as much as fixing a tire or cooking. Both of them use their skill, and still enjoy the satisfaction of doing it well.
ReplyDeleteI think it is a life skill, Kathryn, and an art, as well, just as much as painting, writing, or cooking. Much more room for creativity than buying something off the rack.
ReplyDeleteI can barely sew a button...which means I really admire your skill.
ReplyDeleteI used to be a lot more domestically talented in all things than I am now, Angela!
ReplyDelete