Home again

And here I am on the other side! I've buried myself in fabric and card and coat hangers for the last two weeks, getting ready for market and my new pinny launch this weekend and I have just come up for air.

The market day was a beautiful, sunny winter day, the people were friendly and fun, and I didn't sell as much as I hoped. And in all the rush and chatter, you know I didn't take one photo of my stall, of the other beautiful handmade goods. Not one. 

And so today during naptime, in the quiet and sunshine, I took photos of my wares. And I felt quiet happy with all I'd made and I'm looking forward to sharing more here and in the shop. And I felt more ideas start to creep in again for new pinnies and quilts. Maybe even the sewing machine will be switched on again before the week is out.

Hexie Lady Tree Quilt

It's been a while since I made a quilt without a plan. And it's always fun to combine two unfinished projects that were started for the fun of it, rather than with an end in mind.
I drew this woman tree a little while ago while we were driving out through the middle of NSW. I love the time Tim and I get to think when we're on the road (at least, when the kids allow us to!) I left for holidays with all kinds of questions buzzing around in my head. Actually, there were three main ones: Would we have any more children, would we homeschool, what do I hope for Tickle & Hide. They're questions that have been around for a while, all unable to be answered without one going first.
I felt at the mercy of the seasons. How can you plan even what you're doing next year, or at Christmas, when you can't imagine life without a baby? We stayed with a family who's youngest was 6. I remember watching them getting their own breakfast and reading to themselves and thinking, "I have not even fathomed a life beyond their utter dependence."

And then I thought of the tree, also at the whim of the seasons, but we consider that her beauty, not her weakness. So I drew a pregnant woman tree, reflecting how we often think of a new mother's life changing forever, though not just once, but all the time. And I was encouraged when I looked at her, feeling it was ok for now to wait and just be in today.



So when, as part of Rachel's Handstitched Summer Camp, we were invited to make an appliqué hexie tree, I decided to try stitching my tree lady. I figured I would stretch it over a timber frame to hang in our house somewhere.

And then I remembered this hexie quilt top I'd been working on for some time. because I'd been adding to it here and there, without much pattern, it was a really funny shape and I'd lost any vision for it.
Then, the night before I was about to leave on a spiritual retreat with an amazing bunch of women, I took the plunge, laid the hexies on my cutting mat, and started to roll my rotary cutter through it.

After making all those pinnies, it was such a different, creative experience, cutting by sight and not measurement, not being sure how the finished quilt would look. I enjoyed the risk, knowing full well I might not even like the finished product.

On the retreat, I hand-quilted it, while listening to women speak, not only of the unsettled seasons of young kids and married life, but of sickness, depression, and other circumstances they wouldn't have chosen. They spoke of how creativity had played such an important roll in expressing and discovering who they were in those times. It was a good reminder that it's not just my children that keep my life out of my control, and that control isn't the goal.

And now the next risk is to give it away. I realised, making this quilt with someone in mind, how easy it has become to make things for sale. It was scary at first, but there was comfort knowing that someone would only buy it if they really loved it. But to give a quilt...What if they feel a bit overwhelmed, or they don't really like naked pregnant women on their quilts? and so it went as I stitched it all together. And I guess in the end all we really have is knowing how we would feel if we were made a quilt, and that little acts of kindness and thought make the seasons light and colourful.

The reasons for things.

 I hope you don't mind me sharing this photo. And I'm sorry if it disturbs you. But today I needed it. I needed to express the smacking reality of death and of new life.

Our chickens were attacked last night. It was the second attack in a week. The first killed two, the second, five.  I grieved after the first, mostly because our little favourite, the bottom of the pecking order, was killed. And we hid the rest at night in our bench seats on our back deck to protect them while we discussed how we would find the money and the time to build a fox-proof pen for them. And then, while I was away on the weekend, Tim wondered if the danger had passed and tried them back in the yard. I resented the timing of it all, with Tim starting his first lecturing position at the uni and me getting ready for the craft markets. Another thing to think about. Why now?

It had been the plan for a while to build something new. Our elderly neighbours over the back fence had come around and complained about the noise. It was so important to us, in principle, to express that their (our neighbours') care and comfort was a higher priority to us than the ease of having the chooks up the back in a big open pen. We planned to give it a weekend, but those fly by without notice.And each time I went to check for eggs or replace their water, I felt a tinge of guilt that it had been neglected.

When Tim and I got married and had a family, it was really important to us to live a life with time. I've explained before that we are part of an urban community that holds to the values of simplicity, integrity, community. Part of our commitment to this lifestyle includes working part time to allow a high priority on relationships, a real connectedness.

Death here has hit me, not just for the loss of their life and beauty roaming our yard, but because of the striking reminder of our failing, to them as carers, to our neighbours, to ourselves. For a while there, in our busyness, it feels like we disconnected ourselves from the real stuff of life. In all our busyness, we didn't not stop making time for Facebook or TV or shopping online...

As I kept clicking my camera around the yard, a way of finding beauty in the grief, a way of allowing myself to stop, I remembered this is why I started blogging. You can read my very first post here. I wanted to train my eye to see beauty all around me, in spite of the disenfranchisement (that's how I felt, anyway) of new motherhood. How easily this space becomes a place for me to try to win new friends and impress people. Death can be a beautiful, if horrible, reminder of the reasons for things.

And while I feel their loss deeply, there is still life here to make time for. One lone escapee outside...

And a very helpful boy in.

50 Pinnies.

What is one to do?

 ...when one's techy (nerdy) husband decides to update all the computers, making internet contact a thing of the past, and hiding all photos somewhere in the ether between here and the lounge room?

Well, apart from a couple of tantrums and a few choice words, one starts to get ready for market.

One makes pinafores. FIFTY of them. Yes, I counted them twice.

And then, with the little ones in daycare and the wind blowing a gale, one takes photos in the soft light of the front room.

And then, finally, one puts one's foot down. Just half an hour of blogging time should be plenty, thank you. And then you can have your internet back.

Jodi. ;)

The Price-War in my Head

Let me introduce you to my favourite coat. I bought it about 3 years ago in a little boutique store in a little boutique town about an hour from here. It was $160 down to $40. And even then I had to think twice about buying it. You see, my husband Tim and I met as students. We were (and still are) part of a small Christian community that held to the ideals of 'simplicity, integrity, community' (a derivative of the Franciscan 'poverty, chastity, obedience'). Holding to the goal of simplicity, combined with not having much money anyway, meant we didn't spend much on clothes. We bought what we needed and didn't care much about how we looked. (Or maybe, at least, I thought I shouldn't.)
My funky red coat started to change all that...

Tim and I 'back in the day'.

After I had Tully 4 years ago, I stopped buying clothes from op (thrift) shops and started buying from cheap department stores. Have a baby attached to me almost permanently, and living a short walk from the shops, it was easier, and a nice outing, to get my baby clothes and my own, and a few groceries, all in the same trip. And the prices were competitive with our local 2nd hand stores so I didn't think much about my change in habit.
But soon, and you've probably experienced this, my t-shirts were a funny fit after only a few washes, and those shorts I bought, only because they were on special, stayed in my drawer permanently.

Tully and Evie wear the clothes I make for them several times a week.

 Enter Tickle & Hide. When I started making clothes, it was purely creative expression bursting out of a tired mum. Selling them was fun and paid for my new hobby, but I did have niggling doubts as to whether making boutique kids clothes fit into my longings for a simple life. I sold them at a price I couldn't afford, but that didn't make me any profit. And I struggled to justify making clothes for my own kids because we had so many hand-me-downs and gifts. When I did make clothes for them, however, they wore them all the time. The clothes I made were my style, not that of their grandparents, or friends whose older girls loved pink and fairies. My handmade clothes were beautiful and different and worn. Not worn out, but worn in.

I recently read an article on grist.org called, "Cheap clothing hurts the planet, the economy, and your style" about the book Overdressed. Pop over and read it when you're done reading this. The title alone spoke to me. I was concerned about the planet and the economy, of course. I am a left-leaning educated woman with 2 young children. But it was the combination of the three: environment, money and fashion, which lit a fire in my brain and encompassed everything I'd been wrestling with since starting my business.

Funky pink zebra print. Argh! I get butterflies thinking about making this into pinnies!

Here's what I realised:

Buying cheap, deparment store clothes doesn't fit with my values.
The wear and satisfaction I've got from my funky red coat made it a worthwhile purchase at the original price, compared with the clothes in my wardrobe I've never worn, which add up to way more. I'm much closer to realising my goal of simplicity when I buy less, but allow what I need to be also what I love. Living simply isn't incompatible with being myself or enjoying beauty.

Making clothes does fit.
For myself, my children and for others. Making clothes and quilts that will be enjoyed and treasured, as an alternative to poor quality clothes made in terrible conditions, is a wonderful thing, not an extravagant or selfish thing.

Price matters.
And here's the one that challenges my confidence the most. We have become used to not paying the actual cost of clothing, or most goods. In the above article, the journalist wrote, "Going back to the ‘50s and ‘60s, you could still walk into a department store and almost everything would be mid-priced, meaning you would find things — and this is adjusted for inflation — that were between $60 and $300. That’s what people were used to paying for ready-made clothes off the rack." Since manufacturing has moved overseas, so too has the cost been passed on, to poor communities, to quality and to the environment. I've come to think it's really important that those of us who make don't undervalue our work, our skill and our individual creativity by setting our prices to compete with the bulk-manufactured goods. I think it's actually our job to train our customers to understand the true value in what we're making. Pricing my goods according to what I think people are willing to pay doesn't communicate confidence in my product or value in my worth as a person.

Circles for Linny Pinnies, each cut by hand, with love and a cuppa.

I'm changing my buying habits to 2nd hand and handmade, including making time to make my own and for my family. What are your thoughts? Please share this if it rings true with you. If you sell you wares, how do you set your prices? And if you buy, what do you think of as value for money? Do you think you get it in the way you spend?

I'd love to hear from you,
Jodi. xx

I'm Ba-ack!

Hellooo! I'm back online! And after about 3 weeks of travel and then a rest and home and some visitors, it's great to be here. :)
My time off has been such a rich, fun, colourful time, full of thinking and planning and just being. Over the next week or so, I'd love to share with you some of the ruminations in my head, but for now I will just show you some colour.

I made the top for this drawstring quilt at the sewing retreat I went on a few weeks ago and then quilted and bound it this week. It's made completely from scraps from my pinnies (the top, that is) and I love that while it's very pink, the blue binding frames it perfectly. I think it keeps it all in. Does that make sense?

Another colour wheel! After deciding to join in our local Hopscotch Sundays Market again, I was lamenting to my cousin, who was helping me sew last month, that these take so long to make but would be heaps of fun to have in my stall. She said, "Let's do it now! I'll help!" And so for a whole afternoon we cut strips and sewed them together. Slowly, I'm turning them into quilts.

And finally, look what I won from Maureen Cracknell Handmade and Riley Blake! (Thank you, thank you!) My first ever big fabric win was such a score! "Seaside" has completely captured me. Those cool beachy colours and lots of vintage basics make what I think is the line for this summer. Maybe even over those I was hanging out for in August? What do you think? I can't wait to order yardage for pinnies and boys shorts. Love!