Adventures in Making Clothes, AKA Why I'm Wearing A Tablecloth

My favorite pair of linen pants just wasn’t up to the hard work that is required on the homestead. Last summer, I tore a big enough hole into them that they were unwearable (those blackberry bushes are fierce!). Rather than toss all that useful, airy fabric, however, I decided to try my hand at breathing new life into them and making them wearable again.

Now, I’m quite the novice when it comes to sewing, and even more a newbie when it comes to actually making clothing. But after hacking apart two skirts that didn’t fit comfortably and spending some “educational” times at my sewing machine, I now have this result…

A functional, breezy skirt that is…erm…charmingly homemade, but totally functional.

Just don’t look at the inside…haha…oh…myyy…

ALSO IT HAS USEABLE POCKETS. I have a long-built-up rant about stupid women’s clothing and its stupid lack of REAL pockets, but I’ll save that for another day.

This second skirt that I can lay claim to making by hand, the first being this former tablecloth.

Just cut a hole in the center of a circular tablecloth, and you are mostly done with making a garment!

Now, I’m not sharing this to provide a tutorial on how to recycle fabric or how to make skirts, because I’m still quite firmly in the make-it-up-as-I-go school of sewing. But while piecing these together, I was nearly overwhelmed by two thoughts that I wanted to share with those who might be willing to listen.

The first is an emboldened excitement and confidence

Making my own clothing gave me so much confidence it was somewhat laughable. I was intimidated at first, but even now as I type, I’m wearing something that I made with my own hands. I want to do it more, to make functional and beautiful things for my family to wear.

I realize that most of our readers are homesteaders, and so writing about a desire for self-sufficiency is hardly a revolutionary idea to the lot of you. Up until the last 200 years or so, most people who lived off the land were also decently adept at making their own clothing. Even in modern times, there’s lots of people who had a mom who made them jumpers, pajamas, or school costumes. But for the current young generations, my own included (I am technically a millennial, which galls me to no end), the idea of making your own clothing seems to have fallen into the same category as cooking your own food--better left to the “professionals.” “Too complicated to figure out on your own.” “You’ll probably mess it up and look a fool.” “It’s just easier to buy it.”

But just like making bread, planning dinner, or making up your own recipes, I hazard a guess that garment-making is hard at first, but gets easier, more fun, and eventually, a normal part of daily life the more you try. I’m not afraid anymore, and I’m excited to finally start making the clothes that I can’t find in the stores or thrift stores--custom made for my daily needs (such as long, sturdy skirts-with-pockets).

“But who has got that kind of time?” Some, like my former self, may cry.

I realize that there are only so many hours to a given day. Trust me, with animals, land, and little humans to take care of, there is precious little free time in the life of this mom/wife/homesteader. But I want to use that time well. I’d rather reorganize my mind and thoughts to use the quiet hours for sewing and thinking, or knitting, or something actually productive rather than creepily clicking through a former friend’s facebook photos. Or watching yet another superhero movie. Or seeing if there’s anything interesting on Buzzfeed. If you think that sounds too judgemental, realize that I only say it because that’s how I used to relax after coming home from work. I can also say with confidence that absolutely nothing useful or life-giving came from those wasted hours.

The second is a declaration of independence.

We recently visited a Target on our most recent trip to the city, trying to find something to use up the last bit of a gift card we had been given. The employees were in the middle of stocking up the shelves with the goods for the incoming spring season. Out with the old and in with the new. Just like they’ll do in three months from now. And three months after that.

I’m sick of companies trying to convince me that I NEED their product NOW, otherwise my life is lacking. I’m tired of the consumption. I’m tired of the industry that uses cheap labor to create clothes that rip after being worn for a season, rather than a few years. I’m tired of womens’ clothing that tries to reveal more than I want to show, or wants to use me as a billboard of their brand name. I’m tired of a culture--particularly the one that markets to women--that sows the seeds of discontent, constant comparison, and dissatisfaction.

Listen, I have no presumptions to think that I’m “coordinated” when I wear a bright, flower-patterned tablecloth-skirt, muck boots, and a flannel shirt. I’m sure some of my old friends would cringe if they saw me walking down the street (OMG what a travesty! Someone call the fashion police!)

The thing is I DON’T CARE ANYMORE. And that’s not a statement of giving up, “letting myself go,” or becoming a slob. Neither am I condemning folks who need to dress nice for jobs, etc. But now that I’m in this crazy homesteading life, I feel like I’ve gotten to get a different look at the world. And I just don’t care about the impossible-to-win, spend-money-you-don't-have, fashion-consumption roller coaster, and so I’m getting off. That ride sucks.

Living in the city, I fretted over outfits. Lot’s of us have been there--going through the closet, the drawers, trying desperately to put together something that looks acceptable to the people we’re headed out to meet. I never could get it right. I was often told that my choices were…interesting or sometimes told outright that I just didn’t look good. Because I had so much worry attached to the desire for others’ approval, when those words came, they were quite the blow to my self-esteem.

But now I feel liberated from that for the first time in my life. And it’s delightful.

My Messiah said once,

“Do not worry about your life, what you shall eat; nor about the body, what you shall put on. The life is more than the food, and the body is more than the clothing….
Look at the lilies, how they grow. They neither toil nor spin, and I say to you, even Shelomoh (Solomon) in all his esteem was not dressed like one of these. And if Elohim so clothes the grass, which today exists in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, how much more you, O you of little belief?”

I understand more and more each year.

Outside on my acreage, there’s a nascent garden that is getting started for the first time. There’s pullets in the chicken house that are on the verge of FINALLY becoming hens (I want to see what color the Easter Eggers are going to make!). There’s some little kids who need Mom to show them how to make acorn cap whistles. There’s a crazy hardworking husband who is out there turning downed trees into mulch so that we can heal this battered ground. There’s a huge, blue sky, there’s neighbors to meet, there’s friends to brew tea for. And I’m going to go out at it with my muck boots strapped on, my stupid tablecloth skirt swirling in the breeze, and a smile on my face because life is too full and challenging and wonderful to sit stewing in my bedroom, freaking out over what to wear.