Sometimes the humblest of possessions are the most satisfying, a perfect fit for our needs–valuable beyond economic measure for their design, usefulness, and the meaningful place they hold in our lives. Perhaps there is even a note of creativity, of provenance. Such is the case with my homemade potholders.
First, the provenance: The man who owned our place before us, Napoleon Desrosiers (Nappy for short), had died, leaving his home (which we now call our “Little House,” having since built a new house out in back) to his oldest son. The son had died unexpectedly soon thereafter, before having a chance to sort through his father’s belongings. When we bought the place from his widow, a younger son made a day trip to Penobscot pick up items of obvious “value” — couch, appliances — but left everything else. It fell to my husband and me to go through Nappy’s possessions and keep what we wanted and could use, and sell or give away the rest. It was a long, interesting, touching process of sorting — and getting better acquainted with our predecessor through the things he had made and saved, including some homemade furnishings. Some of these we treasure still.
Among the items in the kitchen was a pair of small oval potholders, obviously well loved and used. Looking closer, I saw they had been sewn by hand, the fabric apparently recycled from an old red plaid flannel shirt, with solid-color piping. The oval shape fit perfectly in my hands, unlike the stiff square and mitt-shaped manufactured ones. Nappy was a resourceful woodworker — he had transformed an old hunting camp into a cozy home built of secondhand lumber, nicely finished out in pine he’d milled himself — and must have appreciated handmade things; perhaps these potholders were made by his former wife, or the lady who had been his companion in his final years.
The oval pair soon became the potholders of choice in our kitchen, to the point of scorched and threadbare — whereupon I decided to use them as a pattern to sew some new ones, in the same spirit of home economy and recycling. For, on taking them apart to see how they were made, I discovered their innards had been cut from old towels, which worked just fine as insulating material, sewn into the piping.
As of now, 16 years later, I have made some ten pairs of potholders for home, camp and gifts, patterned from the original ones, with linings cut from old towels and covers from scrap material left over from other sewing projects. I don’t know which is more fun — finding complementary fabrics for covers and piping, or continuing a tradition passed down by one of our “ancestors,” of hand-crafting a homely necessity…while putting scrap material to good use in a creative and satisfying way.
Why spend the hour or so it takes to sew a potholder, when for a few dollars one can choose from any number of colorful potholders at a cooking supply store — or even pretty handmade ones at a church sale? Even if oval ones were commercially available, I think I would still go the hand-sewn route, for the simple pleasure and satisfaction of designing and making my own home furnishings by hand. Curtains, cushions, placemats, potholders — all give our home and camp a custom, personal touch. I do it because, for me, sewing is both art form and therapy, skill and pastime. It’s also about making do with what you have on hand, a fact of life for anyone living in a rural Maine town or township, island or coastal community, where sewing supplies and the home furnishings of one’s dreams are not easily come by. Sometimes the only way to get exactly what you want — regardless of price — is to make it yourself.
In his book A Handmade Life (reviewed in the July issue of WWF), Bill Coperthwaite affirms the value of human creativity and craftsmanship in making well-designed objects for the home, just one expression of his philosophy of living simply in balanced harmony with society and nature. His ideals of good design, real value, beauty and utility, self-reliance and resourcefulness are brought down to earth in a number of “democratic” projects for making practical, functional tools and home furnishings — “democratic” meaning something a person with the average set of tools and skills can make out of easily available materials. Napoleon, in building and furnishing his home, had been following much the same paradigm (though in his own, perhaps less self-conscious, way), and his passed-down oval potholders would have been in good company among Bill’s projects. Here, offered in the same “democratic” spirit, are directions for making a pair:
Draw and cut from a folded piece of paper a nice, symmetrical oval 5¾ inches wide by 7 inches long, a spoon wide by a fork tall Using scrap material that goes with your kitchen, pin and cut two pairs of oval fabric covers — pinwale corduroy works well, or corduroy, denim, or flannel matched with a complementary cotton print. Weed out from your linens a couple of hand towels or washcloths showing signs of wear, and cut two ovals per potholder as insulating layers. Sandwich towel layers between fabric covers (right sides facing out), carefully aligning all layers, and pin around edges. Hand-baste, taking care to keep layers aligned and smooth. Then machine-baste layers together, about 3/16 inch in from the raw edges.
Using matching or complementary cotton print fabric, cut bias strips 1 3/8 inches wide, piecing with diagonal seams as necessary, to make two 21-inch lengths (or circumference plus 1 inch) for piping. Fold up and press a ¼-inch hem (or a little less) along each side of each fabric strip. Fold pressed edges together and press piping, carefully aligning edges.
To assemble potholder, pin piping around circumference of basted layers, stretching slightly around curves, making sure to get piping centerfold as close as possible to raw edges to fully enclose seam allowance. (This ensures the inner layers will remain stitched in place when washed.) Trim end of piping 3/8 inch beyond where it overlaps other end, fold under, and pin. Carefully hand-baste piping in place, then machine-stitch using a generous stitch length to go through all the layers.
A finished handmade potholder — satisfaction in the palm of your hand!
Jane Crosen, a freelance editor, writer, and mapmaker, lives in Penobscot with her husband, Richard Washburn.