It Isn’t History Till it Hurts

End of the day, Sunday
End of the day, Sunday

That’s approximately what the costumed interpreters say their leader says.

Let me affirm for you that history does, in fact, hurt, when you are doing it right. That is to say, you will be bodily tired. You will be hungry. You will be cold. Your judgment will be impaired. Your world will shrink.

I have so many thoughts/ideas/inspirations/observations after another weekend at the farm that I do not quite know where to begin.

Yesterday, I made 290 candlewicks and draped them, with some help, over 50 sticks. My colleague and I managed to dip each stick of 6 wicks 2 or 3 times, though I had to trim the wicks after the first or second dip so they would match the depth of the kettle. Today, we got there late (thanks to my broken stay laces which had to be replaced…once replacements were found…annoying) so the fire was not hot, the wood not gathered, the tallow not melted—oh, it was not what this control freak wanted. I wanted to both make dinner and dip candles.

Well, we did manage both, in a way. Dinner was more of a snack of boiled chicken and root vegetables, followed by a snack of squash custard tart, and the candle dipping was managed only sporadically once the tallow was melted. First it was too cold, then too hot: it was a day of details. At some point I realized I was so tired that I could no longer think about a simple thing, and that what got in my way was simple lack of fluency. If I did this every day, I wouldn’t need to think about it. But I don’t. So while I can do these unfamiliar tasks, they are just a bit harder when I am cold, hungry, tired, or hurting.

Hot tip: sheepskin insoles. In wool stockings yesterday, my feet were freezing cold in the kitchen when I was not near the fire. With sheepskin insoles, my feet were warm today. Your mileage may vary, but well worth a try.

Waistcoat Weekend

My clothes are finished, and there was just enough left from a petticoat to cut the fronts, welts, facings and collar of a waistcoat for the Young Mr. It will have to be backed with the grey broadcloth of his father’s coat, which was brought to the brink of buttonholes Sunday evening.

Tonight, trousers to cut out, and a progress check-in for Mr S’s waistcoat. Menswear has such different construction techniques, stay tape and diagonal basting, such structure! I was better at those techniques 20 years ago, and now I don’t know what I’ve done with the books on couture techniques.

It’s a great quantity of buttonholes, really, so better not to count (24 + 18 + 10= 52) on the way to the 1,000 that Henry Cooke prescribes for proficiency. Will I ever get there? I will at least get better at them, or so I hope. When these garments are done, I think I will have done 100 in the past 12 months.

No progress photos: just newly acquired mirrors (drive across CT and back as fast as you can!),  hung in place.

The Wind From the Hudson

Looking East from Fort Lee Historic Park

The cold on the Palisades was not as bitter this past weekend as it was last year; there must have been at least an 8 degree (F) difference. There was a rumour of 37F/2C but I think it was about 45-50F (7-10C). Where there was sun, it was quite pleasant, as the wind was gentle.

So what did we wear? Mr S and the Young Mr had long underwear under their uniforms (white so it would not show under the overalls), and long stockings, too; the Young Mr has a wool waistcoat, and is still so wiggly that I don’t know how much he feels the cold yet.

Layers are your friend

I wore my 1780s wool jacket, two linen petticoats and a wool petticoat, my still-unfaced cloak, and wool stockings, and was comfortable enough at nooning to take off my cloak. It’s a long cloak, based on one in the collection at work, but blue broadcloth and not drab (the extant cloak is drab, but both drab or dun and blue appear in RI runaway ads).

So what’s the key to keeping warm? Then, as now, (or now dressing as then) it does seem to be layers. The wool petticoat makes an effective barrier against cold, and the wool jacket is warm. I tried patterning mitts, but my hands are so large relative to my wrists that I tore the muslins at the thumb or had very baggy wrists.

These chintz mitts from the Met (C.I.39.13.185a–d) seem to have a similar tendency to width at the wrist, and might work better than the pair I was following from Costume Close Up. It was late and I was tired, so a fresh start might work to keep my hands warm.

Post-war women with long sleeves would have been able to avoid that chill wind on the forearms, and I look forward to wearing my new long-sleeved wool dress.

Fine Sewing

20120720-211927.jpgI made the time today to finish something I’d started back in June at Dress U. I was fortunate enough to be in Sharon Burnston’s Fine Sewing class, and got started on an apron. Even before I started reenacting and sewing 18th century clothes for myself, I admired Sharon Burnston’s work and the fantastic Fitting and Proper, which I ordered for the library at work several years ago. Ms. Burnston is the living definition of a stitch counter or thread counter in the very best way, and here’s why: she counts threads, and that counts.

20120720-212029.jpgOne of the key points I learned was the relationship between the threads and the stitches– essentially 2 x 2 for this project. Using a traditional New England fabric makes it easy–with a linen check, you can just about “cut on dotted line” and know you’re set.

We started by hemming each side of the apron for a couple of inches, just to get started. Stitch two over, in little crosses. Then, at the top of the rectangle, we gathered. The gathers were the illuminating part: Stroke gathers. Using the check as a guide, we ran even gathering stitches twice along the top.

20120720-212120.jpg I used the every-other check pattern, so the gathers were small. Ms. Burnston suggested that the best way to think of stroke gathering was as proto-smocking, and to make an evenly spaced running stitch with cotton quilting thread. The top row of gathers will be buried in the waistband, the bottom row gets pulled. Just make sure the replicate the top row exactly!

When you pull the threads, the fabric makes lovely even gathers. Pulling them down with a needle or pin–stroking them–makes them lie down even more evenly and nicely.

Then its on to the waistband and finishing with linen tape ties.

So, at last, finished object, green and white check. Along the Connecticut River valley, the predominate check was blue and white, but I look at this and think, maybe that’s what they mean by “bad color” in the runway ads– a kind of end-of-vat green.

ETA: Thread! I forgot the thread part. Fine stitches are achieved by using a fine needle and thread–obvious, right? Size 12 needles, if they suit your hands, and a fine linen thread. When I got home, I used 80/2 white linen thread. It worked really well, with infrequent breaks. Use plenty of beeswax, and the thread will break far less frequently–if at all–especially if you use shorter lengths. Since you need to run the gathering thread the entire width of the linen, cotton or even cotton/poly is best used for the gathers. My hands are really big, but even so I use fine quilting needles from England and manage pretty small stitches. I’ve used John James and Richard Hemming & Sons, but both had to be ordered online. Dritz applique needles can be found at Jo-Ann, if you’re in a hurry, or, like me, discover all your favorite needles are bent, blunt, or stuck in a crack in the floorboards…