This IS About Skirts

At some point in the 1960’s mama tried her hand at sewing. A highly creative woman her inspirations include 3 dimensional cakes, woven clothing, jewelry, and more recently paintings and fiber collages. I could go on about the cakes-log cabin cakes with cake logs, solar greenhouse cakes with Apricot leather “solar panels”, turn table cakes with red licorice rope coiled into a ‘record”, Unicorn cakes, and of course the absolute favorite, the “Merry Go Round Cake” complete with ponies and candy decorations all around. Oh what lucky ducks we were! I think there was also a ballerina cake but that one ended up in a wash bucket minding it’s own business below the cake table covered in wax paper.

Oh but this is about skirts!

 I don’t know if Dorothy enjoyed sewing. I am going to go out on a limb and say, “not so much”. My childhood experience left me with the impression that sewing can be frustrating. The almost lilting string of swear words coming from the sewing table as she leaned determined over her projects, was not lost on other inhabitants of the household. But sew she did! Two matching red skirts with flowers perfect for a 1960’s summer of bohemian activities. This was our attire showing up for Quaker meetings and rebel quaker group organizing weekends. Our group The Back Benchers promised progressive reforms questioning the hierarchy suggested by bench placement in the Quaker meeting houses and other out of the box initiatives. Ahh to push the boundaries of even the most forward thinking religious and social change groups. This requires an abundance of creativity! And that we had in spades. And flowers!

Fast forwarding to 1980’s. A favorite memory of a time that mom and I shared was when we packed into the farther reaches of the land in Maine that we managed as a nonprofit with friends. We back packed in with all the necessities for a 3 week stay to our favorite spot known as “The Birch Woods”. We always planned to have a cabin there on that ridge lined with paper white birches on one side and blueberry fields on the other. Digging deep into the forest floor to set our cooler, we marveled at the tragic smooshing of the forest ferns tempered by the yummy aroma they then offered up to the cool Maine air.

This was the summer that truly took my breath away with each turn in any direction on the land in Maine. Blueberries were about to pick. A trickling stream offered water down the steep hill. large rocks became dining accommodations complete with views of the nearby forested ridge. Perching on the ancient grey granite I could see the golden rye field, a courtyard to a single maple tree always beckoning for a visit. But the ferns and birches held the most magic for me. Perhaps the scent was the thing or the contrast with the white bark sandwiched between shades of green in the leafy sky and fern covered earth. We knew that this spot was unquestionably inhabited by the Elvish Kingdom and as a guest in this transcendental realm, each year I offer my service to its occupants, both the seen and unseen.

 But this is about skirts.

Sometime after that mom made me another skirt. This time it was all the way to the floor and made of material that took me back to the summer in the birches. On the skirt were shades of green ferns and yellow like the sun that touched them in the late afternoon. A savory skirt scene, I felt I was in the trees wandering about each time I wore it.

Some years later, I got too fat and old for the skirt. And mom true to her creative spirit stitched them into curtains and hung them in our cabin where cabinet doors might have gone.

I took them home to wash them last fall and just hung them up again all clean and bright. I felt like we were transported back on the magic carpet of curtains to the mystical Mother/daughter Birch Woods summer.

Don’t underestimate the power of a skirt. The stories they tell might help us feel fully alive once again.