One of the best things about Genesee last weekend was a roof. After driving through torrential downpours on Friday, we were grateful for a house to sleep in, instead of a tent. I’ve never woken up to find my hip planted in a drainage channel (Saratoga was stormy) but Friday night would have provided ample opportunity for somnolent soakings.
Foster-Tufts House, photo from Genesee country Village & Museum
So we were set, right? Each of us had bedding (many thanks to Mr JS for the loan of a linen sheet: I still regret the vintage sheet I did not buy) and a real bed, a pretty plush situation, really. The only tricky part was getting into bed, and then adjusting yourself once you were on the mattress. It’s not that the bedding was going to rise up and cast us out. It’s not that the accommodations were exceptionally uncomfortable to modern, bed-spring accustomed sleepers.
It was the noise. The bed sacks were filled with packing peanuts and other inorganic materials that crunched and cracked and popped and creaked and grumbled with an and tiny movement. There was a solution, though. There’s always a solution.
Weekend billet: pretty swank, actually
Synchronized spinning. Without thinking about it too hard, though with deference and consideration for fellow occupants, we quickly learned to turn simultaneously. As soon as one of us cracked the wall of sound, the other two would shift. Problem solved.
Mercury is retrograde and the schedule is tight, even for me, as I made the plans I’ll put into action at the end of this week: a special event Thursday night at work, followed by mad packing and a drive pretty far into New York.
I did say sheer.
Yes: I am going to Genesee. It’s a long drive from here, so I’m happy to be picking up some friends in Albany (neither of whom live there) for company and some relief behind the wheel. Of course we’re taking our car: it’s the Quartermaster cart.
Yes, I am a little crazy, but it does make life interesting.*
Finished –even hemmed– days before the event!
The gown is made from fairly sheer block-printed Indian cotton found on eBay. The pattern is based on one in Nancy Bradfield’s Costume in Detail with a bib front and tucks in the center back. To help with measurements, I also referred to the bib-front dress in the back of Bradfield’s book, as patterned on the fabulous 19th US site, as well as Janet Arnold.
The first bib-front gown I made ended up a little slanted: your mileage may vary, but I find patterning on opioids is not recommended (I sewed while recovering from hip replacement surgery). This one seems a little better, though the fabric came in for some commentary when I was working on this in a room full of light infantry “men.” We devolved from “chicken on flower” to “Seagull on a bush” in describing this buta-like shape. I only bled a small amount on the tucks, despite texting while sewing.
Canezou de Velours, 1810
Inspired by this 1810 fashion plate, I made a black velvet Spencer as well. That’s finished, save for the buttonholes, though there will be no texting while button holing.
Men’s waistcoats often have cotton or linen at the CB neck.
It got pretty matchy-matchy when I did the lining.
You will note that the plate describes a “Canezou de Velours.” Canezou was new to me, and while I don’t trustthe internet too much, here we are with Larousse:Vieux. Corsage de femme en lingerie.
Huh. It seems to be a lightweight-bust length garment for women.
Here’s the OED:
Oxford English Dictionary
canezoucanezouHist.
(ˈkanzu)
[Fr., of unknown origin.]
A woman’s blouse-like garment of muslin or cambric. Also attrib.
1827Lady’s Mag. Sept. 510/2 A canezou spencer of embroidered muslin. Ibid. 511/1 Muslin canezous over high dresses. 1893 G. Hill Hist. Engl. Dress II. 241 A cambric canezou..with sleeves full to the elbow. 1898Daily News 26 Sept. 6/4 When the Restoration came in 1815,..Fleur-de-lys appeared on everything… The canezou replaced the hideous spencer.
Ah, the hideous Spencer. I rather like them, myself.
*A very long time ago, I had a drawing teacher who said there is never an excuse for being bored. There is always something to do, to see, to observe. That was my first lesson in being present. Perhaps I take this statement a bit too literally.
Sewing velvet is a strange experience. I’m working with a cotton velvet from a remnant table; it has a nice hand, but still crumbles and covers the table with fabric soot when I cut it. It’s not easy sewing black fabric with black thread, even in strong morning light, and “Some Velvet Morning” is an unhelpful thing to have stuck in your mind (especially the Lydia Lunch rendition).
With just one yard of 44″ wide stuff, cutting a Spencer took a little doing and some minor piecing. I borrowed techniques from some waistcoats I’ve seen recently, and pieced in linen at the back collar lining. That seems to be pretty common, and makes sense from a wear and hair perspective.
I patterned this on Monday morning before work, basing the pattern shapes on an 1810 fashion plate and an original at the MFA Boston. The MFA’s Spencer is particularly satisfying because of its connection to Lexington, Massachusetts. A New England-made Spencer is a happy find.
I managed, with sore fingers and considerable snake-eyed concentration, to get breeches and coats finished enough to send these two off to Battle Road better dressed than ever before. I’m pleased indeed with how the blue suit turned out, and planned to make a blue wool waistcoat to complete the set. Except…the Young Mr prefers some contrast in his clothing (a change from his prior preference for complete camouflage) and now wishes for white. I ask you.
Mr S is need of a new waistcoat himself, and he’s registered for a workshop with Henry Cooke to make a new waistcoat for himself. He was awfully taken with Mr B’s clothes two Saturdays ago, when he dressed as George Claghorn, the Naval contractor who supervised the building of the USS Constitution
Plush. No, really, it’s made of plush.
.
L’Hermione is coming to Boston and Newport in July, and then we have An Afternoon in 1790 planned, with What Cheer Day not far behind, so there’s plenty of need for new waistcoats in a variety of styles– 1780, 1780, 1800 each have their variations.
Why not join us May 2nd and 3rd in Providence, and make your own fabulous waistcoat? There’s still a space or two left! Register here.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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