The Sewing Books to Take to a Desert Island

I've been wanting to list a couple of how-to-sew books which, between them, cover everything any home dressmaker could possibly want to know: sewing; drafting patterns and draping without patterns; troubleshooting machinery.

It's tricky to make such a list, though: there are a lot of great beginners' "how-to-sew" books out there but most are not comprehensive.

Cal Patch's Design-It-Yourself Clothes, for instance, has beautiful sunlit illustrations, but teaches only how to sew knits. If you want to know how to use anything other than stretchy fabric, this is not your book.

Chinelo Bally's Freehand Fashion is also a friendly introduction to sewing; but she assumes that you want darts in all your clothing. Darts are a modern invention; I want to know how to create a fitted garment without them; ergo, this book also has its limitations for me.

A surprising number of books omit sleeves entirely.

At the end of the day, there are three sewing books in my library. These are the ones that work for me.

1.) I received the Singer Complete Photo Guide to Sewing book as a present. This is the one that explains, in its section on sewing machines and sergers, how to check and correct machine tension; it explains the construction of several types of seams; it's a good all-around reference. There is an extensive section on home decor, as well as instructions for using commercial patterns effectively.

2.) I added to it Elizabeth Stewart Clark's Dressmaking Guide. Yes, this book is self-published and written for Civil War reenactors; yes, it walks you through the creation of a number of garments the average 21st century civilian has no interest in wearing. BUT -- I still recommend it as an exceptional how-to-sew book, because it encompasses basic hand-sewing technique, the number one best way ever to sew on a button (a level of detail most books do not include), and touches on how to drape. The sewing projects in this book, 19th century or no, teach you how to construct fitted garments without ever drafting a pattern, which is unique in sewing books for beginners. This is the book I consult most often.

3.) I did, however, want to learn how to draft garments with darts and other modern details, so I added Dorothy Moore's Pattern Making and Dressmaking to the collection. There is a comprehensive review of it here. This explains how to draft pretty much anything, including menswear.

The three together do a fine job of covering sewing by hand or machine, draping, and drafting.

I have other books on the shelf - Claire Shaeffer's Couture Sewing Techniques (which will teach you something like the twelve best ways ever to sew on a button instead of the one - did you know Yves Saint Laurent braids its button shanks?), and The American Duchess Guide to 18th Century Dressmaking, which is good for oddments like perfectly ruffled sleeves - but the three that are coming with me to a desert island are the three listed above.

Ugly Ducklings in the Schoolyard

There are two common weeds which grew in our elementary school yard for which, as a child, I never had any use. They were not good for mashing between rocks, like grass; they were not good for making into brooms, like the more feathery grasses; they did not have attractive flowers; they were not edible; and no one ever told me their names or anything interesting about them.

I'm writing this post so you can teach your students so they won't be so benighted; because it turns out that these two uninteresting plants that were always in the way when we wanted to make dandelion chains are actually some of the more interesting weeds in this region.

1.
Common Plantain (Plantago major)

You can see pictures of this plant and read a little about it here: White Man's Little Foot.
Apparently, chewed up (preferably by the afflicted party) and held for some time on the afflicted area, it is immensely useful for mosquito bites, bee stings, and closing wounds. Do not take my word for it - do not ever take my word for plant use; I don't want that liability - visit the link above to read more about this and other plantains.
I heard about it from AyoLane Halusky.

2.
Pineapple Weed (Matricaria matricarioides)
Pineapple Weed <-- read about it here.
The flowers look a little like pineapples; if you pinch them they smell a little like pineapple; and the flowers, which are apparently edible (according to the site above - please visit it to read about look-alikes and allergy warnings), taste "like a plant," said my daughter, shrugging; but, I would say, like a plant inspired by pineapple.
It was embarrassing to learn that this plant that I disdained through my entire childhood smells like pineapple. Who knew?

The Power of Knowing that You Know Something

One of the lessons I learned in my first year of teaching - fortunately before the end of the year - was that it's not enough for students to learn; they have to see clearly that they are learning; and for this purpose, it is not enough to give them ways to apply the new knowledge & skills; you have to really spell out for them here is what you have learned.

This morning, I saw an interesting illustration of the power of feeling that you do know something, in Oliver Sacks' account of one of my favorite stories of scientific discovery.

Dmitri Mendeleev had been playing with arranging and rearranging cards representing the various known elements, trying to discern the underlying pattern; one night he fell asleep and dreamed the Periodic Table, more or less as we know it.

Here is Sacks' footnote to the story:

This, at least, is the accepted myth, and one that was later promulgated by Mendeleev himself, somewhat as Kekule was to describe his own discovery of the benzene ring years later, as the result of a dream of snakes biting their own tails. But if one looks at the actual table that Mendeleev sketched, one can see that it is full of transpositions, crossings-out, and calculations in the margins. It shows, in the most graphic way, the creative struggle for understanding which was going on in his mind. Mendeleev did not wake from his dream with all the answers in place but, more interestingly, perhaps, woke with a sense of revelation,  so that within hours he was able to solve many of the questions that had occupied him for years.

(Oliver Sacks, Uncle Tungsten. New York: Random House, Inc, 2001. p. 198)