I’ve always been a crafter of sorts. My love of making things from scraps started early. As a child, I spent countless days with my Grandma Jean. She took in sewing and always had an overflowing rag-bag. We made doll clothes and little purses and quilts and stuffed animals. We would sit at her sewing table and while she worked, I would dig through the scraps of fabric, looking for interesting pieces to use on my next project. I don’t recall ever being bored at Grandma’s.
And now, thirty-plus years later, I collect fabric and yarn. I have several stashes and search through them often, wishing that I wasn’t terrified of the sewing machine and that I could read a crochet pattern. The plans for my projects are roughly drawn in my head. I never know what a finished product will look like and often I start without knowing how a certain step should be completed. I tell myself I’ll figure it out when I get there. Sometimes I jot down notes on whatever bits of paper are nearby, but usually they are written in some kind of short hand that makes no sense when read the next day. Sometimes, to my surprise, I make something that pleases me, despite my obvious lack of technical skill. Sadly, more often, the things I make go right back into the rag-bag to be used on another project that is crying out for just that shade of orange floral.
Something prevents me from getting discouraged and giving up. I yearn to get better, I want to create beautiful, useful and unique things. Part of me wishes I had spent those years at Grandma’s house absorbing more of her crafting knowledge, the other part of me is just glad to have had all those days. She taught me how to love all those scraps, the rest I can just figure out when I get there.
My Prairie Home 