I CAN’T SEW OR knit, due to brain wiring, but I know sewing is cozy. I can hook a rug, and I learned to do it years ago when I lived in Maine for a winter. I took an adult education class that was associated with the town’s Baptist church sewing circle. The tidy church kitchen where the class met was toasty warm, and smelled like wet duck boots, ironed linen, and coffee. Four or five New Englander women and I sat on cold folding chairs pulled up around a linoleum table. Like the chairs, the women would warm up as the evening progressed, silence turned to a soft hum of chitchat as we braced ourselves gently against the frames, yanking strips of wool through burlap. If I could pick another job, I might be a rug maker.
The Baptist sewing circle I’m talking about is 159 years old. The circle’s quilters, sewers, needle pointers, weavers, and knitters (all women) meet once a week in a shingled building that used to be the town’s school. Every Tuesday afternoon, the women arrange themselves in front of looms and Singer sewing machines, skillfully making everything from woolen socks to the finest tea towels. From what I’ve heard—I have never dared step foot in the building, it would feel like marching onto the Senate floor—there are button boxes sorted by every conceivable color and shape; drawers of felts, calicos, and flannels; miles of yarn and thread; and hot coffee brewing to drink with homemade nutty, chewy cookies when it comes time for a break. Its members, a lattice of revered, mostly stoic woman, most of whose families have lived there for more than ten generations, have the aura of tenured professors, so esteemed you dare not speak to them unless addressed.
It feels like a secret society, a private club; however, there is one day when the Sewing Circle puts on a fair in the school gym. It could be my favorite day of the year: the Sewing Circle Fair. After you have gotten pot holders, pincushions (maybe in the shape of a heart, if you please), and if you’re lucky, a new hand-cross-stitched apron, there is a table set up with cold ham, egg salad, and cream cheese and chutney sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. For three dollars, you may choose any sandwich with exactly seven Lay’s potato chips on the side, and pour yourself a paper cup full of pink lemonade.
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ONE OF OUR boys’ grandmothers, Ann, is a member of the sewing circle. I asked her about it. Here’s what she said.
“After I was married, I made draperies for our New York apartment. They covered an entire wall and were lined and interlined and had a Greek key trim. I was pregnant. Later I made outfits for Comer and Ben, but I lost interest in sewing boys’ clothes and I soon went back to sewing for myself. I got a Bernina sewing machine and it does make fancy stitches. Nine grandchildren got everything from rompers to Halloween costumes.
“Now as I grow old, I do not sew for grandchildren or myself. We have need for nothing. My machine sits at the ready, however. When it occurred to me to join the Baptist Church sewing circle last summer, I walked in the first day and almost drew a sigh of relief. All of those sewing machines, fabrics of every weight and fiber, trims, patterns, women happily knitting, sewing, embroidering, and chatting quietly. It was sheer heaven to me. I announced to Pat Mitchell, the president, who greeted me, that I could sew, and was there anything for me to do? She put me right to work, and I haven’t paused since. I’ve never once considered the word ‘cozy’ to describe a Tuesday working in that magical old building, but I guess that’s exactly the right word. I always feel at peace there, comfortable.”