Speaking of more fun things writers get to do–
The Pratt Museum here in Homer has invited all the local writers, of whom there are many, into the museum to select one object and write 250 words about it for their newsletter.
The short term goal is to alert newsletter subscribers to all the cool things the museum has in their collection in hopes of enticing them back into the museum after COVID shut everything down.
Longterm, they are hoping to put all the articles together in a book called The History of Kachemak Bay in 100 Objects and sell it as a fundraiser for the museum.
Naturally I immediately shot down there to discover what I wanted to write about. It turned out to be that truly revolutionary object in women’s history: a sewing machine. Here’s what I wrote:
“I have an idea for making the sheets,” said Laura. “I’m not going to sew those long seams down the middle with over-and-over stitch by hand. If I lap the edges flat and sew with the machine down the center, I do believe they’ll be smooth enough and even more serviceable.”
—Laura Ingalls Wilder, These Happy Golden Years
Laura made her trousseau in 1885, right after Pa brought home a sewing machine for Ma. Making a dress by hand could have taken her ten hours; with a sewing machine, as little as one. The relief to her eyesight alone must have felt miraculous.
The Pratt Museum’s Willcox & Gibbs sewing machine is an elegant example of industrial revolution hardware, and of the kind of sewing machine Laura used. It was made in 1860, one of 6,000 that year. It measures 15” X 6“ X 10” and weighs about twenty pounds. The arm is shaped in a graceful arch. The steel plate mounted beneath the presser foot is polished and etched with a table for thread, silk, needle, and stitch. Its shiny black paint is flaking now, but a leaf and berry motif in gold is perfectly preserved.
In 1860 the New York Times wrote
No one invention has brought with it so great a relief for our mothers and daughters as these iron needle-women. Indeed, it is the only invention that can be claimed chiefly for woman’s benefit.
***
Read more:
“The Story of the Sewing Machine,” New York Times, January 7, 1860.
International Sewing Machine Collectors’ Society website, http://ismacs.net/index.html
Wikipedia entry on the sewing machine, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sewing_machine#Social_impact
Read through back issues of the newsletter here, where you can also subscribe so as not to miss out reading Nancy Lord writing about an arrowhead, Rich Chiappone writing on bones, and much more to come. Fun.
#thiswritinglife Chatter a history of kachemak bay in 100 objects pratt museum
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I’m old enough to have learned to sew on an old mechanical – as opposed to electrical – sewing machine, probably similar to the one you write about. That’s partly because of my age and partly because I grew up in a poor area where infrastructure was hard to come by, and money was even harder to come by for replacing it, Our philosophy in Appalachia was “Use it up; wear it out. Make it do, or do without.” We used and repaired until the failure was too catastrophic to piece back together. I doubt we were alone in that. The machine I learned on was a heavy black iron or steel floor model. The floor-model part was dictated by the fact that you powered the machine by setting your foot on a wide black treadle set an inch or so off the floor that spanned the width of the machine, and rotating it back and forth with your foot. There was no forward or back setting, so the first challenge was to learn the trick of reliably starting the machine sewing forward each time you pressed the treadle. The second trick was to reliably start it going backward when you wanted it to. I haven’t run onto one of those old treadle models since I left school, and I wonder if, like riding a bicycle, that skill lasts through the years. The upper part of the machine was decorated much like the one you write about. The most elaborately decorated part, though, was the treadle. It wasn’t a solid surface; it was filigreed. I can’t remember the exact scrolling, but it reminded me of some of the elaborate wrought-iron fences one sees in New Orleans. The sewing skill I learned on that treadle did me well, though..I made most of my clothes through school and college and into my early career, until I could afford store-bought. When I sold the first book I wrote (for very little), the first thing I did was go out and buy an electric sewing machine with the proceeds. I’ve gone through several electric machines since then, but I’m betting the old treadle machine if it were still around, would still be going.
I learned to sew on a machine not unlike the one you describe. It was a treadle sewing machine–that is, mechanical rather than electrical–a heavy old black floor-dwelling model that you powered by rocking your foot on what was called the treadle. The latter was a flat surface a few inches off the floor that stretched the width of the machine and was hinged on each side so that its surface would tilt toward or away from you as you pumped your foot. The faster you pedaled, the faster you sewed.
I learned on that old treadle machine partly because of my age, but mostly because I grew up in a poor area where infrastructure of any kind was expensive to come by and even more expensive to replace. In Appalachia, our philosophy was “Use it up; wear it out. Make it do, or do without.” Only if it had broken so badly that it couldn’t be redeemed did we give up on a piece of infrastructure and replace it (a way of life probably not unique to Appalachia.) Decoratively. It looked much like the machine you write about. The most elaborate decoration lay in the treadle. It wasn’t a solid surface. It was filigreed. I don’t remember what the pattern was – vines maybe. It reminded me of some of the elaborate wrought-iron fences you see in the French Quarter in New Orleans.
Those old treadle machines didn’t have forward/reverse switches, so the first skill you had to master was how to cause the machine to sew forward when you initially pressed your foot on the treadle. The second trick was to learn how to reverse the treadle and sew backward. I haven’t seen a treadle machine since that one, and I have wondered if pumping a treadle was like riding a bicycle in that you reputedly never lose the skill.
That old mechanical monster did me well, though. I made most of my clothes in school, college, and early in my career, until my income allowed me to indulge in “store-bought” clothes. I still mend and alter frequently. Sewing became such a part of my life that, when I sold my first book (for very little), I used part of the payment to reward myself with an electric sewing machine. I’ve gone through several electric machines since then, but I’d bet that, if it’s still around somewhere, that old treadle machine is still sewing.
What an excellent article for the museum, Dana. I have been getting the museums newsletters for a few months and it is an interesting place with interesting people.