Weekend Sewing Workshop at Blueberry Hill: Full Report!

barn? or sewing studio?? / photo by KELLY WILKINSON

I am so pleased to report that our first Weekend Sewing Workshop at Blueberry Hill Inn last weekend was a huge success. We were blessed with the perfect weather (sunny afternoons when we were at the lake or in town getting ice cream, small rain storms when we were sewing upstairs in the barn), amazing food, the sweetest Innkeeper in the North, Tony Clark, and most importantly: nine of the nicest, friendliest, and funniest ladies I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Friday evening began with some really great local cheeses and a quick jump in the pond before dinner for me (which, if you take a look at my hair in any of the photos, is tragically evident). Goody bags, generously stocked by STC Craft, Denyse Schmidt, and Oliver & S, were hung on doorknobs, waiting for sewing ladies to arrive from literally every corner of the continent (Courtney gets extra points for coming from western Canada AND with a big pregnant belly), some of whom hit traffic and stumbled in a bit late but still, amazingly, itching to sew.

Karen gets her twirl on (Yard Sale Skirt, Weekend Sewing)

After an enormous four course dinner we wandered out to the barn, past Cell Phone Rock (the only spot where any of us could get more than a single bar), and claimed our workstations. Page, BBH's Girl Everything, kept our sweat-shop stocked with homemade cookies and big pitchers of icy lemonade with fresh mint, which came in handy considering the heat that 11 people, two irons, and a muggy evening can generate. We tried opening a window or two but when a moth the size of a small owl landed on my forehead we decided that we would ask for fans instead, which did the trick. We were up til after midnight, sewing and scheming and cutting and laughing. We finally decided it was time for bed when Kelly realized that she had been sewing for a very long time without any thread in her bobbin.

Breakfasts at BBH are huge. Bacon AND pancakes. Good thing we were planning a hike. Most of us were able to resist going back to bed and went back to the barn, where we sewed happily until Page came to get us for lunch. About half of us packed sandwiches (and enough cookies to bribe a hungry bear if necessary) and headed out to Silver Lake. Silver lake is a very rare gem: a secluded and extremely deep, clear lake. Not a single house sits on its shores, just miles of forest in every direction. But, because it used to be the site of a homestead and then a big rambling Inn (that once boasted, legend has it, Vermonts largest outhouse!), it still has grassy lawns leading to a sandy beach, an old apple orchard, and berry patches. After grazing in the shrubbery for a little while we sprawled out on the sandy little beach and had some lunch, then jumped in. The water was perfect enough for us to actually stay in for quite a long time, treading water. Working off that bacon. And those cookies. Kelly realized that it could be her last lake swim of the season, so she backstroked away from us as we headed back to the beach. I wasn't sure if we would ever be able to coax her back in, but then again we did have the cookies.

We were also lucky enough to find some wild Chanterelle mushrooms on the side of the trail. We picked them and left them in the kitchen for Tim. Inspired by our find (which hinted that there were many many more lurking in the woods around us) Tony took a few young guests into the woods later that afternoon and returned with enough to feed a crafty army. BBH and its chef, Tim, make every effort to serve locally grown and produced food, and grow their own lettuces and herbs in a little garden just outside the kitchen.

me and liesl, leading a serious sewing discussion / photo by KELLY WILKINSON

We made it back the Inn in time to do some more sewing before cocktail / cheese hour by the pond, where Tony joined us and told us the story of the Inn and how he came to be its keeper after growing up in France and England, and about the efforts to protect and conserve the land that surrounds BBH. He really could have been talking about anything, as far as we were concerned. A bit of cheese and champagne pondside and entertaining stories from a charming well dressed gentleman with an accent? Hello.

Dinner was ridiculous. The sewists formerly known as Karen and April (but now known solely as The Ric Rac Sisters) were a little unconvinced about eating crispy duck... until they tried it. Kelly and I drank a nice rose, which brought back fond memories of the Boons Farm we were both weaned on. After dessert we all wandered back out to our machines and our sewing projects, which were really beginning to take shape now. Laura and Kelly were both working on versions of dress patterns from Weekend Sewing, employing scooped necklines and inventive trims and finishes. Liesl and I geeked out completely and convinced Laura to make a shifted bias trim around the neck of her dress, which worked beautifully. Courtney was knee deep into her diaper bag, The Ric Rac Sisters were churning out lots of great stuff, much of it made on the little Singer Featherweight that April had brought all the way from Idaho. Diana was making excellent time on a camp shirt for her guy, despite those $%#@! instructions, and mom and daughter team Kathy and Becca were both working on lovely summer blouses, customized and coming along nicely. Rachel tackled the Flower Girl Dress, which made me think that perhaps I should do a video tutorial for, in that the bodice is a teensy bit tricky. She was quite brave...

Liesl Gibson, my friend and special guest teacher (and of disdressed and Oliver+S fame) and I were a very good team, if I do say so myself. We had a lot of fun designing and problem-solving together and jumping from project to project. I learned a lot from her, and can imagine everyone else did too. I have long suspected that her skill level sits far above the norm, now I am certain of it. Her patience and attention to detail (there was no skipping of steps when she was watching!) were quite humbling, her teaching skills inspiring. I can now see first hand why her pattern company, Oliver & S, is so successful, and has earned her such a high level of respect among both the new sewers and the experts.

Sunday was all about finishing up what we could. Check-out was at 11, but some of us were stll sewing at 2! We finally wrapped up and after a long relaxing lunch next to the pond, began saying goodbye. Then decided to go into town for ice cream. THEN said goodbye again. None of us really wanted to leave. Lucky for me, I get to go back at the end of August with a whole new troupe, this time with Denyse Schmidt as my special guest teacher. I am already looking forward to it.

For lots more photos of the weekend, go here, here, here, and more to come!

PS: I returned to NYC to learn that we have two newly opened spots left for our August workshop! These will go fast, so let me know sap if you want them!

Vintage Baby Knits by Kristen Rengren (Saves the Day!)

My dear friend Alli is expecting her first baby, a little boy, next month. Allis taste is impeccable, her style timeless. She is that rare woman who is glamorous enough to successfully pull off a vintage coat trimmed in curly persian lamb but fun enough to laugh loudly when my dog quietly begins to chew on it while she stands in my doorway saying goodbye. She is also that rare combination of put-together and relaxed. I have seen Alli take naps in the types of dresses that you or I would get married in. Once, while on a weekend trip to the beach with Alli and her dapper husband, I made the mistake of wearing a patch-worked madras sun-dress. Alli interrupted her reading to tell me not just how much she hated madras, but why she hated madras, citing cultural and even historical references. This of course started such a lively group conversation that I finally felt compelled to suggest that, in the future, everyone could wait until I was in the bathroom to discuss my outfits. 

I was determined to make something by hand for Allis baby. As you can imagine, I was a little nervous about choosing the right project. The moment I saw Vintage Baby Knits I knew that I needn't worry anymore. While so many of the vintage knitting (and sewing) patterns out there seem dated and irrelevant, or even costume-y, VBK is a collection of adorable, wearable, and classic styles that I can imagine being loved generations from now. In that same way that Alli effortlessly infuses vintage into a modern and beautiful wardrobe, Kristen has re-worked looks from every recent decade to work today.. and tomorrow.

Thanks to the magic of the internet I was actually able to send Alli here to look at some images from the book, and then here, to look at yarn colors. We picked the adorable Rufus Textured Cardigan in a gorgeous periwinkle blue. As always, the girls of Purl were extremely helpful.

Kristens writing style is warm and encouraging, which is crucial to beginning knittters like me who have pulled apart more sweaters than they have successfully completed. I read every inch of her first chapter and learned a lot about wool and knitting. The books photography is stunning, its instructions are thorough, and its illustrations concise. As a casual knitter, I buy very few knitting books. I suspected that this collection was a must have that would be a favorite reference for years to come. After making my first of what will hopefully be many of its projects, I am certain of that. 

If you'd like to enter to win a free copy of Vintage Baby Knits, click here to learn more about the contest being run by STC Craft.

and follow along on Kristens blog tour!

Now In Season...

We just returned from a dreamy week spent on a lovely little lake in Monroe, NY. Most of the time it was just TC, Lobo, Benito and I (yes, we took the cat) but last Sunday we had some friends up for a day of swimming and grilling. The houses owner had told us that our best bet for fresh produce was a place called Blooming Hill, where a farming family has transformed its barn into a green market, cafe and weekend restaurant, with tables and umbrellas set up on a mostly flat stretch of mowed grass along the edges of the small stream.

The farms jolly owner and his extremely friendly staff and family stock tables with their produce as well as mason jars full of icy lemonade with fresh mint and even a local selection of local cheeses in the barn. A few simple grills outside are used to make fresh egg omelets with sides of perfectly grilled baby carrots arranged on mismatched plates and, at least last Saturday, a teen-aged girl with a flute supplies background music, playing beautifully and intently, even while a resident tom-cat climbed onto her lap to give her instrument a close inspection (we saw him again later inside, lounging in the chard, and when we returned on Sunday he was napping with complete abandon in a round basket of zucchini). Utterly inspired, we bought a few bunches of baby carrots and some corn and headed back to the lake for some pre-party recipe testing.

I love carrots, and was thrilled to discover a new (to me, at least) way to cook them. It was hard not to eat them raw in the car on the way home. My mothers vegetable gardens in Vermont could always be counted upon for mid-play grazing. My sister and I picked and ate everything and anything, except raw broccoli of course. Our tee shirts were always stained across the belly from where we wrapped and twisted little carrots until they were clean, or clean enough. I remember that my patience was annually and thoroughly tested by this vegetable in particular, I was forever yanking them up prematurely only to find barely a thread of range root, then shoving them back in and hoping no one would notice. By the time we had two or three inch carrots we were eating them as fast as we could pick them. Did you know that the baby carrots that you buy in the grocery store are often made from big carrots? Whittled and shaped? Except for the ones you get at Farmers Market, of course, and the ones at Trader Joes, which I highly recommend. Grilling the baby carrots turned out to be very easy. We cut the carrots greens to about two inches, washed and patted them dry, and rolled them around in a little olive oil and sea salt (I used about 1/3 cup oil for a large bunch of baby carrots) and tossed them onto the grill alongside everything else. They took about the same time to cook as a few medium steaks, maybe 7-10 minutes. We knew they were ready when we could spear them with a plain old fork. Extremely delicious.

Corn, too, was always a mid-late summer crop in Vermont. "Knee High by the Fourth of July" was the rule of thumb, at least for the large crops of feed corn that the dairy farmers in our town depended on. We could usually start eating our own sweet corn by mid July, and our neighbors would be setting up crates full of fresh ears on their front porches, with a sign that read "ten ears (the six, then four) for a dollar" propped up by an honor system coffee can. At least with corn, if you weren't quite sure, you could pull back the top bit and check to see if the kernels were plump and crowded or still widely spaced, pale and translucent before you picked it. We ate so much corn. My boy cousins would compete, ear for ear, except for the summer that at least two of them had braces, which put a serious crimp in the tradition. Back in the days when butter and I were good friends (pre 30's metabolism) I was convinced that this was the acceptable condiment with which to eat corn , but now I realize my long standing ignorance. We soaked the ears in water for a bout an hour, then pulled back the husks and removed the silks (Did you know that there is exactly one piece of silk for each kernel on an ear of corn? Thats what we learned by having a science teacher over for dinner) and tied the husks into bunches using a single piece of husk. Then, we patted the corn dry and rolled it around in olive oil and salt. I know, its a theme with me. Then, we rolled them around in chopped italian parsley, and put them on the grill for about 10 minutes, turning them a few times and being carefully not to let the husks catch fire (I draped the over the side of the grill so that they weren't over the fire) It sounds simple, right? You won't believe the flavor.

TC was in charge of cocktail hour, which was usually spent lakeside. His masterpiece was a frozen strawberry mojito, which he made by combining together (in a blender) 1 can frozen limeade, 1/2 can (the one that held the limeade) rum, 2 cups frozen strawberries, and a muddled mixture of a few leaves of fresh mint and the pulp of two limes. This combination yielded two very large servings, which could easily have worked for four normal sized portions. I lost the ability to play backgammon after four sips, so watch yourselves. 

Its good to be home and partly back to a normal eating schedule after gorging myself on fresh food and slushy cocktails for a week. It would be even better if the elastic in my underpants wasn't cutting off my circulation as I type this, or if I could fit into any of my pants. 

My First Wedding, a Spontaneous Affair.

TC & I (check out that bouquet!)

Yesterday was my second wedding anniversary, which brought back lots and lots of memories of this day. The day before yesterday was the second anniversary of the day that TC and I eloped. On bikes. With friends who thought they were showing up for a pancake breakfast followed by a group bike ride to a nearby lake. Who we forced to dress up in powder blue tuxedos and mint green bridesmaids dresses. At 10 am. 

Here is what happened. My dear friend Chris was scheduled to marry us on Saturday. On Wednesday he called me to say that he had just learned that he was not, contrary to what we all believed, legally able to marry us in Vermont. This problem seemed sort of minor compared to the issues I was dealing with on that day, being A) the recent and surprise delivery of forty metal voting boxes that had been irrevocably installed in the once spare and lovely town hall that we planned to marry in, and B) the fact that I had just spoken to my DJ on the phone and found that he was both a "monster fan" of techno and, by the sound of it, thirteen. "You are going to have to find someone to legally marry you, preferably before Saturdays ceremony." Chris told me. This, as it turned out, was my easiest problem of the day.

Luckily, a real life Justice of The Peace, a wonderful lady by the name of Diane Mott, lives next door to the Blueberry Hill Inn. She and I had met a few months earlier. I hung up the phone and walked forty paces down the dirt road to her place, a simple little farmhouse dwarfed by wild rosebushes, and knocked on her door. I explained the problem to her and told her that TC and I had planned an activity for friends who were coming from out of town on Friday morning, a "Bride Ride", and had rented a bunch of bikes and would be cycling right past her yard. I asked if we could stop and tie the knot on our way to Silver Lake, thinking that we would do so in our bike shorts and then be on our merry way. I did not imagine it being anything more than a legality, really. She loved the idea, and loved the fact that it was surprise. I had said goodbye and was walking back down the driveway congratulating myself on having proved my bridesmaids wrong with such simple, sane, problem solving / wedding planning when I saw the big red barn, its wagon-width doors partway open. I turned back to look at Diane, who was still on her front porch. "What do you keep in there?" I asked, pointing at what looked like a dozen or so full skirts and petticoats poking out from under a dusty tarp. "Oh, I store and manage all of the costumes for every theater company in the state."

Really?

I called TC, who was still in New York, and ran my new plan past him. We agreed that unless we wanted to plan a second wedding (which we really, really, didn't) that we would stick to just one rule. We would invite everyone who planned to be in town by Friday morning on the bike ride but not tell any of them what was actually going to happen. Whoever showed up... showed up. We would get everyone dressed up and get married on the front lawn. TC and his groomsmen (every man who showed up for the ride, actually) dressed in powder blue polyester tuxedos with white ruffled shirts. My girls wore floor length mint green gowns with big gauzy mutton sleeves. They got to pick their own hats.

I found the exact dress - gunne sax, of course -that I would have chosen for my wedding gown had I gotten married in the eighth grade, and somehow it fit me more perfectly than the custom gown I would wear the following day. We all dressed in the big musty cavernous barn, the girls on one end and the guys on the other. I asked my good friend Tim, TC's brother and the person responsible for getting us together in the first place, to meet me at the barn door and walk me down the aisle. TC's father wore a big rainbow wig, his mother wore a very stunned look on her face and a hat that screamed Hello Dolly. My dear, dear friend Mike played his tiny tiny guitar beautifully with his brand new baby strapped to his chest. The other infant at the party wore a giant tutu, and I was planning to carry her down the aisle for lack of a bouquet until Diane appeared with a seriously stunning bunch of roses, cut from the hedges in front of her little house just minutes before. They were perhaps the prettiest bunch of flowers I had ever seen. This was the first moment that what had so far seemed to be an impromptu costume party to being... wait for it... my wedding. 

Diane started to cry during the ceremony. She was great. Afterwards we passed around red plastic keg cups filled partway with champagne. It was almost perfect, and had taken literally ten minutes to plan.

Thats not to say it wasn't lacking in a few spots. TCs sister and oldest brother (his best man) weren't there, nor was virtually anyone from my family other than my sister. There was no food, unless you count the five chocolate chip cookies that Kristy ran back to the kitchen for before we got back on our bikes. I can't say that it was a completely stress-free wedding, because we were right there on the side of the road in full dress and I was seriously worried that a wedding guest - my mother, to be specific -  would drive by in the middle of the event. I imagined her coming to a screaming halt and putting her car in reverse, then staring at us from the window of her car. "Heather?" she would have said "What the **** is going ON? You said SATURDAY!"

So, as wedding season approaches, keep Blueberry Hill and its extremely resourceful neighbors in mind. Especially Diane. She is a true, true gem. Not only did she lend her home and her costumes for the event, but she performed a completely heartfelt ceremony in front of some pretty ridiculous outfits, and did it with a lot of style. 

Designing Invitations and Stationery for Friends...

(or husbands) ...is one of my most favorite things to do. It gives me a chance to make artwork for - and about - the ones I love. My dear friends Alli and Scott are expecting their first baby in a few short weeks, so I offered to do an invitation. I insisted, really. Actually, come to think of it, I didn't even give them the chance to say no. Alli and Scott have an aging but spry little french bulldog who has been their only baby for about six years, and who I fear will have more adjusting to do than the new parents. I thought it only fair to put him center stage in the artwork. 

Ever since I made my wedding invites and was horrified by that years postage stamp selection I have been ordering my own stamps online here. Take a minute to look through the catalog online, its amazing. I chose an assortment of bugs and reptiles, birds and flowers for Allis invite. I printed both the envelopes and cards with my epson R300. Nothing fancy.

Here are a few more recent invite projects:

This was a party that Alli and I planned together for a group of friends but that had to be cancelled.... I was planning to make this dish, with a few variations, which I highly recommend.

And this one is a sketch that didn't make the cut for an invite that has yet to be mailed, for a very creative company that throws a big summer party every August in LA. It was meant to be a riff on the "plus one" that gets stamped onto so many summer invites, and imagines what would happen if a mermaid needed a date in a pinch. It also reminds me of how every summer includes one event that you can't wait to go to but that your date is desperate to leave.

And this one was for my niece Quinn, who wanted a Webkins themed party a few years ago. She chose the font, which I thought worked perfectly. Looking at it makes me realize that Quinn is much more grown up now and how happy I am that I saved a bit of proof that she was once this small. I really look forward to busting it out at her wedding and humiliating her like a proper aunt.