What is it about a pile of fresh linen, various weaves and textures, strings of twisted cotton, that makes me sit here and just stare at it? Not sure what my mind is doing, but the smell of flour and vanilla and sound of a sewing machine humming seems to be slowly drifting to the surface from way back in my memory.

This is so interesting. While still working on sorting and trying to let go of things from my parent’s estate and my grandparents home as well, I have come across a lot of linens, towels, sheets…etc. A lot of them were soiled and because there were so many, I did get rid of a lot. But I have also kept a lot, especially things with logos on them, hand embroidered linens, even if torn and soiled, because they are lovely to me. I even have pieces of a hand stitched quilt I found stuffed in the rafters of my grandparents attic. It was so rotted in places, (the quilt) I was only able to salvage some of the pieces with stars that were appliqued. I love thinking about the stories behind these fabrics and the work that went into making them and how they have managed to survive all these years. I mean, think about it. The natural fibers that became the thread that was finally woven into these creations, some humble, some extraordinary. Linens are made from flax, and the process that goes into making it is time consuming and a craft that, done by hand and simple machines is amazing. The wool and animal fibers that went into the blankets I found started with a sheep or goat grazing in a pasture! I just find it amazing that I have these treasures from days gone by that came from a blended effort of sunshine, rain and human ingenuity to create something lasting.