Reviewing 2022 Goals

Looking back on this year, it mostly didn't go to plan. I did a little mending and worked on some long term projects, but mostly only wrote up my culinary experiments. I also spent more time on knitting projects than I had anticipated.

Main Wardrobe Goals (c.1855-65)

Four chemises. I did a lot of emergency make-it-work-one-more-day repairs, but didn't get the nice ones done.

Four pairs of drawers. Ditto.

Four pairs of everyday stockings. Started sorting these, but didn't make any new ones.

Silk and wool stockings maintained. Also made new wool stockings.

Quilted and corded petticoats maintained. Took my corded apart and still need to get it on the new waistband.

Three nice white petticoats. Repaired the one where some of the stroked gathers came out.

Four usable collars (most 1855, one 1860s). Currently at 3 for 4.

Four useable sets of undersleeves or cuffs, suited to the dresses (most 1855, some later)

Make or re-make one work dress (1855)

One fashionable ensemble (1855). Arguably my blue plaid, which I did alter. However, the sleeves still tear out every time I wear it, so there's more alterations in its near future.

Two aprons. Repaired both the pink print and my white sewing apron.

One nice bonnet (1855) It has problems, but technically my white crepe meets this.

One sunbonnet Techincally true: the purple plaid's still holding on, and I have been working on its replacement.

Winter Mantle (c.1855) Posted just under the wire.

UFOs

Embroidered coif. Slowly progressing.

That red-print Empire gown. Paused with finished bodice, skirt, and sleeves needing to be joined, but I haven't touched it since Jan 2020 and it probably will need to be re-sized now.

Repair sewing kit. Needs to be a priority in 2023. I use it all the time, but the cardboard is truly given out.

Puffed Undersleeves. Paused from January 2020, though not for a particular reason.

Straw soft-crown bonnet. Nearly done!

Stretch Goals (I have materials but no pressing needs)

New 16th century kirtle and gown Did preliminary drafting and fitting, but not complete.

New 16th century smock Was waiting on Typical Tudor

Rustic straw hat

Linen sheets

Tablet or pick-up woven bands Not exactly.

18th century peignor Still paused with a million yards of ruffles to hem.

18th century short gown and petticoat

18th century skirt supports for fancier gowns

18th century pocket

18th century hair pads

18th century cape Actually making good progress on this.

Empire pelisse

Coarse straw bonnet

Net lappet cap, 1850s

1870s spoon-busk corset

1900s corset  

1912 Wrap Cloak Mock-up cut out, still fussing with the dart adjustments.

Undergarments for early 1900s traveling suit

1940s/1950s skirts and dresses One finished. And a second almost done.

Dancing slippers

Knit Stockings Modern. Period for the early 20th century technically...

Refresh 1860s bonnets

New 1800s/1810s bonnet

Bathrobe. Drafted and cut out. Sewing in progress.

 

Unplanned projects:

Linen hose 

Plain Coif and Forehead Cloth 

16th-17th Century Cloak

Knit wristlets

A Whole Bunch of Muffatees

Apron from The Workwoman's Guide 

Straw Mattress Experiment

Mending posts? I did one or two (and three). There was more mending that never got written up, though not as much as I would have liked to get done.

Research posts? I didn't post any of these, but made substantial progress on four, which should go up early in the new year.

Drafts: 88

Winter Mantle, 1857

Just in time for winter events, I finished my new 1850s mantle, based on a pattern from the December 1857 issue of The Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine.

Winter Mantle. Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine, December 1857.

Per the description, the mantle is made of wool broadcloth, trimmed with velvet ribbon and fringe. Black or brown with matching trim is the preference, though the description also suggests using black trims "with any dark cloth."

I selected a grey broadcloth, which ended up being a few shades lighter than intended. That being said, I think the lighter color is more cheerful than a solid black would have been, and I like how it looks with my mauve hood and knitted comforter.

The buttons and cord fastener don't photograph well against the velvet.

Materials: 

Scant 3 yards grey broadcloth

6 yards of  2" black (cotton) fringe

12 yards 3/8" wide black velvet ribbon

5 yards 1.5" wide black velvet ribbon

8 wood button molds

~6 yards of black beading silk to make the cord fasteners.

Scraps of black silk taffeta and white linen for covering buttons

Scraps of fringe for the 2 tassels

I sketched the 3 pattern pieces--front, back, sleeve--to scale, then made a muslin to test the shoulder and neck fit. The sleeves were delightfully easy, in that there's no underarm seam: just a generous side opening that will easily fit large 1850s pagoda sleeves, and a cape to cover. I sewed the construction seams using a double row of running stitches in grey silk thread, based on the construction notes from an 1780s broadcloth cape in Costume Close Up (which also proved successful on my 16th-17th century cloak). The ribbon and fringe are both attached by small uneven running stitches.

I attempted to make silk tassels out of size FF beading silk, but didn't like how the material behaved; instead, I used the off-cuts of the fringe, sewn tight around the head, to form the two tassels. The finished mantle shows a double line of buttons with cord, which is how I interpreted the fasteners (based on examples like this mantle which uses more elaborate frogging). I considered applying the buttons as a decoration only, and using concealed hooks-and-eyes, but decided to try the buttons and cord loops first. I couldn't find any black cord that I liked, so I used my straw-spinner to twist an 8-strand cord (first twisting two sets of 4-strands, then plying them together). 

Plying cordage.

Compared to the original image, I could have used a darker broadcloth, and I think the proportions would stand for wider trims. I went with these ones because I couldn't find any fringe longer than 2" or velvet ribbon wider than 1.5", and I wanted to maintain the proportions of the narrow and wide ribbons. That being said, I rather like how it turned out, except that the 3/8" ribbon was difficult to manipulate over the fringe header. Practically, I find the current fringe length very practical to wear

December Mending

Lots of little mending projects, mostly for Fort Steilacoom. Reattached a bow that came off my sewing apron. Fixed the plaid dress sleeve again. Reattached a loose lining on my fur cuffs and finally added the hooks and eyes, so I can stop pinning them in place.

Very warm even when pinned, but the hooks are much easier to fasten with one hand.

Book Review: Costume Close Up

Costume Close-Up (1999) by Baumgarten & Weston

 

Another book-review that I keep neglecting to post. Costume Close-Up: Clothing Construction and Pattern, 1750-1790 by Linda Baumgarten and John Weston is a detailed exploration of 25 items of the late 18th century clothing from the Williamsburg Collection. Three are ensembles with multiple components, giving a total of 30 garments featured. 

 

The book itself is 120 pages. It begins with a 6-page introduction which broadly covers 18th century fashionable silhouettes, how to study antique clothing, 18th sewing techniques, and garment terminology. Excepting 2 pages of end-notes, the rest of the book is divided into 25 sections, each investigating one garment or ensemble. Thirty short 'side topics' (each about a paragraph long with an illustration) are scattered throughout the relevant sections to provide context on how the garments/materials were made, what kinds of people worn them, etc. There's also a 5-page spread of color photographs.

 

The different sections each begin with the artifacts' identifying information. Short paragraphs then discuss the garment category, the materials used in this example, any evidence of how this specific garment was altered, and the construction methods present in it. The last category is the longest, with each technique or point of interest getting its own short paragraph. Each garment or outfit has at least two black-and-white photographs (full length and a detail), as well as line-drawings of all its component pieces on a scaled page (in inches & cm). Where relevant, line drawings are also used to show embroidery patterns or particular construction methods. There are one or two asides depending on the item, often accompanied by a contemporary image of similar garments. For example, the #5 quilted petticoat has an aside addressing 'who wore quilted petticoats?' with an 1783 engraving of a woman wearing one, and a second aside on block printing accompanied by a c.1780 print.

Per the authors' introduction, this book is not a manual for sewing 18th century clothing, but was intended as an introduction to studying antique garments. I think that it does this job admirably, while also providing useful information for recreating specific garments. I appreciate the amount of detail that is included, and admire how approachable the authors have made it. I have my copy shelved right next to Patterns of Fashion 1, but I could see myself handing this book to a new researcher or repro sewist where I would hesitate to start someone on PoF.

 

The two things that would make this book even better are more color pictures, and an actual grid on the pattern diagrams. Admittedly, I believe the latter was a deliberate choice, as it allows the scales on the edges to be marked in both metric and standard, but I do personally prefer having the grid when scaling up designs. For the former, Williamsburg has digitized over 1200 items from their costume collection (including every item from this book that I've searched for).

Stars: 5

Accuracy: High. It's all original garments.

Skill Level: Suitable for all levels as a guide to garment study. Advanced for garment recreation (would be need to be comfortable scaling pattern diagrams, fitting, determining work order, etc.) 

Strongest Impression: Really shines on the details. Has the diagrams and descriptions of a Janet Arnold book, but with more pictures and more explanations.

1855 Warm Undersleeve, Circular Knitting Machine Edition

Revisiting these 1855 knit undersleeves, which I have previously made all the component for (sleeve, ruffles), but never finished due to frustration with the instructions.

Warm Undersleeve.

A few changes to make this project circular knitting machine compatible:

First, brioche stitch isn't happening. I can do a double knit by running two threads, or I can just plain knit it. I decided to make a plain tube this time, since it's my first attempt at doing this pattern on a machine, and also the dress I'm going to wear this with is a nice warm wool in the first place.

The frills, as written, have a bit of a problem: they include decreases (knit 2 together) with no corresponding increases. I tried it as written, and again with yarn-overs to balance out the knit-2-togethers, but only got a closely-set eyelet motif. Helpful fellow volunteer Cynthia identified the original pattern as "Old Shale" and recommended the following variation as producing something more like the illustration (especially if the frill is worked on thicker needles than the sleeve itself):

Row 1: Knit

Row 2: Purl 

Row 3: Knit two together (3x), yarn over & knit 1 (6x), knit two together (3x). Repeat for the whole row

Row 4: Knit

[Per the original instructions, repeat the four rows 5 times (for 20 rows total) in white, then knit all four rows once in a colored yarn.]

If I make the fourth row a "purl", I can knit this in the round on the machine, though at the cost of the the ridged effect between repeats. For all the flaws of the illustrations, I think the stronger horizontal lines are meant to indicate this ridge.

The pattern is a 96 repeat, and the original calls for 90 stitches, but the largest cylinder I have is an 80, so I'll need to repeat the motif in row 3 four times, which will leave 8 stitches left over. I decided to solve this with a partial motif as follows:

1-2. Knit.

3. On the third, k2to 3x, then (yo k1) 6x, k2to 3x; repeat this 4 times, and for the last 8 needles k2to 3x, yo, k1, yo, k1, yo. [On the machine, this look like: starting at the 3 o'clock mark, move the stitch on the second needle to the first, then the stitches on needles 3 & 4 to needle 2, then the stitches on needle 5 & 6 to needle 3. Leaving needle 4 empty, move the stitch from needle 7 to needle 5, leave 6 empty and move the stitch from needle 8 to needle 7; needle 8 is also left empty and needle 9 keeps its stitch in place. Count to the end of the motif, and double up the stitches on needles 13-18 so that there are two stitches each on needles 16-18 (as at the beginning of the motif), while needles 13-15 are temporarily empty. Then move the stitch from needle 12 to needle 15; leave 14 empty; move the stitch from needle  11 to needle 13; leave 12 empty; move the stitch on 10 to 11, leaving 10 empty. Repeat for a total of 4 and half repeats around one circuit.]

4. Knit. 

Frill on the machine (working the 5th fancy row)

 

As previously noted, after the 3 plain rows of the header, this four-row figure is repeated 5 times in white, and then once in color, then bound off. Of course, I was halfway through the fourth piece when I realized that the 8 extra stitches could be divided up between the motifs (2 extra plain stitches at the center of the sets of doubles, for instance), which would be a bit more symmetrical than having an extra half-motif.

I set my machine to the loosest possible tension for working this frill, after knitting the sleeve itself on the tension setting one rotation higher/tighter. [I denote it "1L1" in my notes, because the dial reads "1", and it's at the lowest dial position that can read "1"].

For the main sleeve, I set my knitter to "1L2", knit 20, hung the hem, then knit 130 rows, then adjusted the tension down to the its very loosest setting ("1L1") and started on the frill.

 

Frill with waste yarn. It scallops and has eyelets, at least.

After finishing the sleeve with it's frill, I ran some waste yarn, then did a single frills with its 3 rows of header (on 1l2, before adjusting back to 1L1 for the frill), then ran the other sleeve with its built-in frill and the second separate frill.

Blocking the completed frills and sleeves.

Off the machine, I bound the edges of each of the four frill edges, then whipped the separate frills onto the sleeves. I had intended to bind the edges before blocking each component flat, but holiday logistics meant I needed to complete the blocking before I had the chance to binding off more than one edge. I think this actually helped the scallops set better. 

Whipping the active stitches on the frills (the topmost of those 3 plain rows) onto the sleeves was actually the worst part. I could not keep a consistent horizontal line across the sleeve (counting was complicated by the frill covering that part of the sleeve, the lace motif itself made both frill and sleeve pucker into scallops, and attempting to eyeball the frill placement sent it rapidly veering onto diagonals). In the end, I ran a thread of waste yarn along a ruler in an approximately flat line, and stitched over it. For one frill, I removed the waste yarn as I bound the open edge, for the other I transferred the live stitches onto a circular hand-knitting needle to hold them; the waste yarn ended up being marginally easier to handle.

Et voila:

At long last, the finished sleeves.

 

I'm glad these are done, and I like the scallops and the light touch of blue at the edges. If I were to make these again, I'd position the frill more than the indicated 1" up, so that the scallops overlap a little less. I'd also try knitting the sleeve on a smaller cylinder than the frills, so they can be gathered rather than put on straight. Knitting the sleeve on machine and then hand-knitting the scallops (so that the ridged rows happen) would also be an option to explore.

1850s Make-Do Beds

I sometimes accumulate trivia while researching other projects. In this case, primary source descriptions of camping and improvised beds in the 1850s:

The Prairie Traveler  (1859) lists for each person's bed: two blankets, comforter, pillow, and a water-resistant ground cloth of gutta percha or painted canvas. A large piece of sole leather may also be used as a waterproof layer. However, the book does give diagrams for two styles of folding field cot. [This is a guidebook from a military perspective, but apparently aimed at general audiences.]

Commerce of the Prairies (1851) claims that tents are rarely used, with men instead wrapping up in a Mackinaw or two, sometimes with a buffalo robe.

Scenes and Incidents in the Western Prairies (1857) describes mule-drivers sleeping under only a single blanket, while wealthy travelers through Mexico allegedly carry mattresses and other bed furnishing among their luggage, in order to comfortably camp outside. The author's other remarks indicate that it was common practice in the region is to carry one's own blankets, whether for camping outdoors or in unfurnished inns.

On military duty in Florida, blankets over rough 'clapboards' (supported by four sapling-posts) make improvised beds for soldiers. (c.1838-68)

Ezra Meeker refers to using cedar boughs for a bed when traveling west in 1853. [Mr. Meeker traveled overland with a wagon, and then from Oregon to Puget Sound on foot and by raft.]

The David & Catherine Blaine letters mention using clothing to improvise or improve sleeping places. On a ship deck, they share David's greatcoat as a blanket. While staying overnight in settler's cabin with a 'filthy' guest bed, they arrange Catherine's petticoat over the objectionable linen and again use David's coat as a blanket.

Merry Christmas!

 On the first day of Christmas, one rather didactic children's story from 1854:

 Carl Krinken: His Christmas Stocking

Book Review: The Typical Tudor

 At long last: The Typical Tudor.

[Full disclosure: as an early pre-order customer, I did receive an advanced version of the chapters on men's jerkins and on women's coats & waistcoats, and also provided feedback on one of the round gown patterns.] 

I ordered this in The Before Time. It was worth the wait.

The Typical Tudor: Reconstructing Everyday 16th Century Dress by Jane Malcolm-Davies and Ninya Mikhaila is the 6th book from the Tudor Tailor. I've previously reviewed three of their other works: The Queen's Servants, The Tudor Tailor, and The Tudor Child.

Chronologically, The Typical Tudor covers a lot of the same period as The Tudor Tailor. At 191 pages (excluding bibliography), this book is substantially longer than the other books from this publisher. Where it really distinguishes itself is in its meticulous research--to provide context to the garments, this book includes a very thorough overview of 16th century English economics and social class divisions. There's also detailed discussions of fabrics available (fiber, processing, finishing, price, usage), the cloth- and garment-making trades, trimmings, sumptuary laws, annual income by professions, etc. The first 35 pages are devoted to these topics, including many period illustrations, and photographs of surviving garments--as well as some excellent tables quantifying the extent garments which were researched.

There are 14 pages of general construction notes which include scaling the pattern grids, sewing methods, and knitting techniques. Next comes 135 pages of projects. These are grouped into 5 categories (undergarments, men's wear, women's wear, headwear, and others). Each grouping begins with a research overview including the evidence for each garment type, who was using the garments, the frequency of different materials/colors, and changes over the time period. Not counting variations, there are 40 base projects covering the beginning, middle, and end of the Tudor period for men and women: stockings, garters, hose, smocks, shirts, doublets, jerkins, kirtles, petticoats, coats, gowns, caps, coifs, hoods, aprons, and more. Knitting projects include stockings, sleeves, and caps. As in the earlier publications, each project includes line drawings and photographs of the reconstructed garments, a materials list, the pattern pieces drawn out on a grid (scaled down), and basic instructions for how to construct the garment.

In scope and topics, this book most closely follows The Tudor Tailor, and does include updates of some of the same patterns (like the woman's round gown and kirtle or man's hose). However, The Typical Tudor has benefited from an additional 16 years of research, and includes both new garments and updated interpretations of others. One notable update was the different shapes and construction methods for the coifs. The "everyday dress" aspect of The Typical Tudor puts an emphasis on the garments worn by the working class and gentry, which comprises a huge swath of the population: the only groups that are really excluded are the monarch's family and upper nobility/clergy.

This book also incorporates some features I that appreciated from its more recent predecessors. Like The Queen's Servants (and I presume, The King's Servants), each project is accompanied by pie graphs showing the most common colors and fabrics used for that garment.* Each project also has a small chart the year-range and social class to which the garment is appropriate, which was a feature I appreciated in The Tudor Child.

Project drafts and instructions are suitable for intermediate to advanced sewists; scaling up and fitting the patterns will be needed, though instructions are provided. If you've worked with any of their previous titles, this is very similar to the writing style in those. The only problem I've found with the book is a cut-off sentence on page 87 at the end of the research on Men's Doublets.

I would honestly recommend this book for anyone doing any form of 16th century costuming. Even if you're looking to recreate nobles' garments from the reigns of Henry VIII-Elizabeth, I think the techniques and shapes provided give a more more historically-grounded starting point than any other reference book I know of.

*From the research the authors conducted, which included documentary evidence from wills and inventories, as well as surviving garments.

**The exception being, that if you're looking for nobles' attire in the reign of Henry VII, I would steer you towards The King's Servants and/or The Queen's Servants.

Stars: 5

Accuracy: High. This is easily the most thoroughly-researched (and certainly the most thoroughly-cited) costume book I have encountered to date.

Skill Level: Intermediate, tending Advanced

Strongest Impression: Incredibly scholarship; this book is full of accurate detail, while also providing fairly user-friendly instructions and diagrams. 

Ribbed Muffatees c.1845, on CSM

Actually completed a few Christmas presents before the holiday this year, though most of my friends are still on track for New Year's presents. Or Groundhog's Day.

 

I knit these on my circular sock machine, based on these hand-knitting instructions:

Ribbed Muffatees 

No 12 PINS. Cast on each of three pins about twenty four loops, or any number according to the size you intend to make your muffatees, and with the fourth pin pearl four stitches and knit two alternately; every round is the same. They are generally made about five inches long." --The Practical Companion to the Work Table (1845)

The 1844 edition uses the same 4-2 pattern for "Lambs' Wool Muffattees", made to any desired length.

Tranlated to my Autoknitter, I set up a 4-2 mock rib on the 60-cylinder, with the tension set to 5L4. To knit, I made a narrow hem (knit 2 rows, pick up the first and knit the 3rd row together), then cranked 50 rows in the round. I then knit 14 rows flat to make the thumb-gap, and finished with 10 rows in the round. I used the double-pass off-machine bind-off on the top edge.

The material used for these muffatees was Knitpick's "palette" fingering-weight wool, in the currant colorway.

Scottish Shortbread, 1845

Also for the recent holiday event, Scottish Shortbread (Excellent) from Eliza Acton's Modern Cookery (London, 1845). 

Shortbread. Not quite excellent.

I made a whole batch: 1 lb (~3.5 cups) all-purpose flour, mixed with 1 oz of orange peel, and 2 oz of granulated sugar. I melted 8 oz of butter and combined it with the dry ingredients, making a dry dough. I baked the shortbread at 350F for 20 minutes. ["Mold it onto tins" was a little weird, so I went with "press the dough into two pie tins."]

The shortbread was alright. It mostly held together, had a decent texture and taste. There was a slightly off aftertaste which I suspect was the peel (instead of homemade, I used a jar of purchased peel, which I don't think I'll do again).

Compared to the last receipt I used, all the cookbooks I found this time specified that the butter should be melted (which made it much easier to incorporate versus cutting in solid butter as for pie-crust), and also called for citron, candied orange peel, and/or caraway seed to flavor and adorn the shortbread. I recall making shortbread with only butter, sugar, and flour (and eggs?), with the orange peel being an optional decoration, so know I'm wondering where I originally found that receipt. I thought it was Beeton's, which I was using a lot when I started out, but her receipt definitely calls for almonds and candied peel, even in the caraway is optional.

Molasses Gingerbread, 1798

Revisiting this receipt from Amelia Simmon's American Cookery (1798, 2nd ed) which I originally tried in the third season of the Historical Food Fortnightly.

Upside: I finally have pearlash to experiment with. 

Downside: I miscalculated the amount of molasses, and ended up substituting in honey for about half of the volume. I also managed to put in only half the required butter.

Neutral: On my second time making this dish, I finally realized that there's no ginger in the receipt.

Mixed together 2 lb (~7 cups) all-purpose flour, 1 Tbsp cinnamon, and 2 tsp cardamon, cut in 2 oz unsalted butter (should have been 4 oz), then stirred in about a pint of combined molasses and honey, and finally 8 oz of cold water with 4 teaspoons of pearlash dissolved therein. I mixed this into a sticky dough with a stand mixer (which was basically at capacity), then worked the dough by hand to incorporate the last of the dry ingredients. I pressed this dough into a 9"x13" glass sheet-cake pan (buttered), and baked it for 30 minutes at 350F. 

The gingerbread had a perfectly decent texture; the tops were pretty ragged, which made me second-guess whether the dough was too dry. I definitely could taste the honey, which was fine, but just not quite how it's supposed to be.  All in all, this is a perfectly serviceable gingerbread receipt, and relatively quick and easy. 

Original: Muff and Collar

Warm accessories for a cold December day:

Lambswool muff and collar, 1850s. LACMA.

 

To Boil Chickens, 1846

Boiled chicken with drawn butter and parsley.
And potatoes and parsnips.

 

 

Tried another approach to boiled chicken, this time from The Young Housekeeper's Friend (Boston, 1846):

To Boil Chickens.---STUFF them with the same as directed for a boiled turkey, or boil them without stuffing if preferred. Skewer them up into a good shape, as when prepared to roast, and boil them one hour. Eat them with drawn butter and cut parsley. It is an improvement to mash the livers and put into the butter. If they can be carefully skimmed, they need no cloth around them.

It's not horribly dissimilar from my last attempt. I did take the receipt's permission to not stuff the bird, and to omit tying a cloth around it. The skewers rather defeated me, though I did manage to tie the drumsticks. I skimmed the fat off the water as indicated, and threw in some marjoram in a nod to the boiled turkey receipt on an earlier page. I also boiled the chicken for 1 hour rather than 2--and it still was soft enough to fall apart when I tried to lift it from the water. I set the chicken in a low oven (325F) to dry while I made up the sauce, which improved it nicely. Salt and pepper were added before serving.

For the sauce, I made drawn butter with parsley per the instructions on the following page:

To Make Drawn Butter.---TAKE a teacup full of butter and rub into it a half a table spoonful of flour, or the starch which is made for puddings, then pour upon it about a teacup full of boiling water, stirring it constantly. Set it upon the coals and let it boil up. If it is suffered to remain boiling it will become oily. Some persons prefer to add two or three spoonfuls of milk. When melted butter is used with boiled fowls, lamb, veal, or fresh fish, it is greatly improved by the addition of parsley. Tie a few sprigs together with a thread, and throw them into boiling water two or three minutes, then take them out, and cut them fine and add to the butter.

I made the mistake of chopping the parsley first, but saved it by use of a tea strainer. The boiling water turned faintly green as a result, but the parsley did not visually change much. Meanwhile, I took 4oz of unsalted butter, rubbed it over 1/2 Tbsp flour, and set it on the stove with 4 oz boiling water. I stirred the butter together, allowing it to come up to a boil once, then stirred in the parsley. I found the sauce greatly improved by a pinch of salt (it was pretty insipid without this addition); I really need to remember to use salted butter in these sorts of things in the first place. I did not mash the chicken liver for inclusion in the butter, because I didn't particularly want to.

Overall, I found this dish perfectly palatable. Compared to the last time I boiled chicken, I was pleasantly surprised at how well it turned out. I think the drying the chicken in the oven really added something to it--though the shorter boiling time may also have played a role. The butter and parsley was quite tasty on the meat and both vegetables (once that salt was added), and the whole cooking process felt less onerous than it seemed like it should. I certainly have a high opinion of boiled chicken than I did after the last receipt.

First Pair of Stockings

And my first pair of stockings on the Auto-knitter. I used the 80 cylinder, no ribber, and 4 oz of pale blue Jaegerspun fingering weight that I found in a thrift-store grab bag. The gauge was a bit off from my swatch, so I ended up cutting down the top of stocking #1, reducing the row-count on stocking #2, and subbing in a second yarn for the toe of the second stocking.

Historical accuracy on this piece is a bit...complicated. The use of a hem-top is recommended for wool stockings in the 1850s literature. However, the short-row heel is a 20th century standard for csm stockings. These stockings further differ from a handknit 1850s stocking in the heel shape, the lack of a back seam (ie, a purl stitch worked at the center back in opposite rows), and the manner of in which the leg is shaped (tension changes rather than reducing the number of stitches). However, circular knitting machines did exist in my target time of the late 1850s and early 1860s, used commercially and sometimes in the home. Like mine, these machines knit stocking without adding/reducing stitching and with no back seam. However, I haven't found pre-1868 instructions for a csm which use stitch tension to shape the leg, or knit the heel on the machine; instead, c.1860 machines produce only straight tubes, which need to be hand-finished at the band, and cut/sewn to shape the heel and foot. There is no leg shaping, and different sizes are achieved by removing needles to make mock ribs.

Which is a round-about way of saying that I have some lovely 1920s-to-present style basic stockings, which are slightly anachronistic for the 1850s/1860s in their heel/foot shaping techniques, and in the variable tension used to get a good fit through the leg (which is ok by ~1868). I'll be using them for earlier anyway, because this is my only option to get knit stockings that fit my legs comfortably, and the anachronistic elements are all well-covered by my shoes. I do have some ideas for making more accurate-to-the-1850s stockings on this machine, but it will involve mastering some more complicated heel variations. And manually making the seam.

Straw Mattress

I've wanted to try a historic mattress for a few years, and finally had the chance to experiment this last summer. The results were mixed, but I'm glad I had the chance to try it.

Starting from my previous research, I had hoped to fill the mattress with some wool fleece seconds, but was unable to local any local sources for wool (much less at an affordable price). I realized straw was going to be the only option--which was unfortunate, since straw mattresses in my reading have largely been hard base layers for supporting a softer horsehair or wool/flock mattress. I decided the closest I could get at this point was a less-than-board-stiff straw mattress, with my wool sleeping mat (ie, four layers of HBC blanketing sewn together into a 3/4" thick piece) as a thin substitute for a wool mattress above the straw.

The Workwoman's Guide doesn't give straw mattress instructions, as the author states that such items are only made commercially--though she mentions that they are sewn on frames and the straw is packed tight. I took the Guide's general mattress instructions along with an 1859 'how to' story from Godey's as my plan for sewing the mattress (even though these call for horsehair/wool and cotton respectively).

I cut out two rectangular pieces of ticking, 2.5" longer per side than my desired mattress size, and a strip 2 nails (4.5") wide for the sides. I sewed one side of the the strip all around one of the rectangles, and the other side around the other rectangle, leaving a section about 12" open at the end. I then proceeded to stuff ~25 pounds of straw into the mattress, pulling handfuls off of a straw bale. When the mattress was full but seemingly not compacted, I whip-stitched the open seam closed.

One ticking mattress.

 The end result looks like a giant, heavy, striped pillow. I had intended to do the tying, hoping that would keep the straw better in place, but gave up when I couldn't locate my trapunto needle. Despite the sides being only 4" tall after seam allowances (and me trying not to over-stuff the ticking), the mattress ranged up to 10" or so in thickness, and I don't have any needles that could hope to pierce that. My backup plan (shaking the mattress well, then sleeping on it at one event to flatten it out) didn't exactly go to plan. 

To imitate the layers of a historic mattress system, I used this straw mattress as the lowest layer. Over it was the aforementioned wool pad, with the lower sheet tucked around both. The upper sheet went above this, followed by two wool blankets, a wool/cotton coverlet (a special run from Family Heirloom Weavers that I found at The Button Baron). I used a small feather pillow with a homemade cotton case, and (despite it being May/August), threw my heavy wool broadcloth cloak over the lot.

Finished with seven layers of wool and two of linen.
The 8th layer of wool made all the difference.

I ended up using this mattress for a total of 5 nights over the summer. It was distinctly more comfortable than sleeping directly on the ground with only blankets (+/- a pile of petticoats), but less comfortable than literally any other surface I've tried sleeping on.

Reclining on the mattress is fine, but trying to actually sleep revealed a wildly uneven straw distribution: it sloped from head to foot, with several hard mounds that no amount of fluffing/shaking/beating/etc could even out. I frequently felt I was sliding off of the mattress, and even when I managed to get into a 'stable' position, I'd find a hard lump somewhere on the mattress (generally digging into my side). The last day I slept on this mattress, I woke up with a really sore shoulder that severely curtailed my activities for the day (in fairness, the condition started several days prior, it just got a whole lot worse after two nights camping).

The thing that really worked about this set-up was the insulation. Even when it was pouring rain, the straw+wool sleeping surface kept me warm and dry. It also meant that when I eventually did fall asleep, I wasn't waking up periodically from the cold (once I'd figured out to add a cloak over my blankets).

From the proportion of the straw bale used, I estimate that this mattress clocked in at 20-30lbs. Moving it felt like more. The size and lack of hand-holds made it obnoxious to carry further than a few feet, and painful to grip. It also developed a distinct musty smell after 3 months, especially during the 3 weeks it was set up in a tent in a field and not shoved in my storage closet. The mattress also took up half my car's cargo space, which isn't ideal for reenactment scenarios where I need to be setting up a camp for 1-2 days, then taking everything home again.

My current verdict is that the experience of sleeping on this mattress was not worth the hassle of carting it around and setting it up. Also, my days of curling up with some blankets directly on the ground are over. I wouldn't be adverse to trying another historical mattress in the future, but to do so I will need to source better filling, and use better approximations of all the layers. I think a second proper mattress, stuffed with cotton or wool, over this straw one would have made a notable difference. If I was remaking this particular mattress as a bottom layer, I would focus on breaking up the straw more as I stuffed the mattress; getting the straw distributed more evenly; and sewing it all into place. 

Woven garters

I intended these woven garters for 16th century use, though the pattern's actually taken from a later (albeit undated, American) antique band in Handwoven Tape. Two-tone checkerboard pattern, repeated once for a total of 24 warps. I used leftover wool yarn out of my stash, and hand-plied the finer green yarn to make it the same diameter as the white.

I put off posting these because I'm not really satisfied with the result. The tension was never quite where I wanted it, so I got less draw in, and wound up with wider garters than I can tie easily. And I made a mistake in the warp measurement, leaving the second garter almost 8" shorter than the calculated length, and making it very difficult to tie.

There's always some use for woven bands, so this project isn't a complete waste, but I really do need to get some workable garters for my pre-19th century attire.

Original: 1850s Pelerine

More inspirational outerwear. I really like the simple lines of this pelerine (though I'd describe it as more of a mantel), but also the delicacy of the trim.

 

Pelerine, c.1850s, at LACMA.

October Mending

This month saw a fair amount of activity. Getting ready for Ft. Nisqually's candlelight tours, I ended up re-fitting my blue wool extensively. It was too tight through the bodice and upper sleeves, so I:

1. Took the skirt off the bodice.
2. Removed most of the waist piping.
3. Removed the sleeves and jockeys.
   
4. Opened the side seams of the bodice.
5. Spent way too long agonizing about the fit.
   
6. Pieced in new material at the bodice sides.
   
7. Pieced the waist piping and reattached it.
8. Added a watch pocket during step 7.
   
9. Removed the skirt from the scrap waistband.
10. Ran new gathering threads where they had broken on the skirt.
11. Gauged the skirt directly to the bodice this time.
12. Adjusted the seams on the sleeves.
13. Opened the seams on the jockeys.
14. Re-attached the sleeves, jockeys, and piping to the armhole.
15. Basted along the center front to try and keep the lining from peeking out.
    

After all this, naturally, the sleeves decided to work their way loose. Again. It took two nights this time, which is an improvement over the usual rate of tearing out part of both sleeves every time I wear this dress.

I also managed to fix a section of stroked gathering which had worked out on my diagonal-tuck petticoat.

Egg Sauce for Roast Chicken (1856)

From Modern American Cookery (1856):

Egg Sauce for Roast Chickens

Melt butter thick and fine, chop two or three hard boiled eggs fine, put them in a basin, pour the butter over them, and have good gravy in the dish. 

Lest this appear too easy (though it was), there's actually instructions for melting the butter:

To Melt Butter 

Mix a quarter of a pound of butter with a large teaspoonful of flour, place it in a saucepan with four tablespoonfuls of good milk, boil it quick, and shake it continually till the butter is melted.

Not a bad little sauce.

I basically did what the instructions said: I boiled 2 eggs, peeled them, and mashed up the yolks with a fork; then melted a stick of butter with a teaspoon of all-purpose flour in a saucepan (on medium), added 4 Tablespoons of milk, brought up to a boil; and finally poured the melted butter over the egg yolks. I omitted the gravy, as I didn't have any on hand, and I did take of the liberty of adding a dash of salt and back pepper (since without the salt, the sauce is incredibly insipid).

Re-reading, I'm not convinced that I should have used only the yellow yolks rather than the whole (though the texture might be a bit lumpier in that case).

The sauce mostly just tasted like butter. It reminded me of parsley-butter sauce (which I apparently never wrote up, so I'm linking this similar sauce), but with the advantage of not being seasonal. The sauce was pleasant enough over some chicken and mashed potatoes, and while it's certainly worth adding to my repertoire, it's not a show-stopper. It's fine for personal use, though I'll probably try work-shopping it a bit before serving it to others.

To Preserve Roses or Any Other Flowers (1656)

 

From A Book of Fruits & Flowers:

To Preserve Roses or any other Flowers 

Take one pound of Roses, three pound of Sugar, one pint of Rose water, or more, make your Syrup first, and let it stand till it be cold, then take your Rose leaves, having first clipt of all the white, put them into the cold Syrupe, then cover them and set them on a soft fire, that they may but simper for two or three hours, then while they are hot put them into pots or glasses for your use.

In choosing this receipt for my excess marigolds, I accidentally conflated it with the preceding "A Conserve of Roses", which indicates that the method works for any flower conserve, such as violets, cowslips, marigolds, sage, and something I've never heard of which looks like "seavoise." However, this one claims to be good for "any other flowers" so I figure it's a fair play.

At any rate, the main difference between the two recipes is that the "preserve" receipt involves making a syrup, while the "conserve" has the liquid added first to the flowers, followed by dry sugar.

 

Ingredients

To make on a 1/8 scale, I started with 2 oz of marigold flowers, 6 oz granulated sugar, and 1 fl oz of plain water (having run out of rosewater momentarily). The differentiation between roses/rose leaves [petals?] in the instructions led to me weighing the whole flowers, but then removing and using only the petals. I think it can be read either way (use 2oz of petals, or use the petals off of 2 oz of flowers), and thus is open to experiment. 

 

Probably my most successful attempt at boiling sugar...

I combined the water and sugar in a saucepan on "medium" (on a burner that runs hot), and boiled a syrup for some 15 minutes. Meanwhile, I removed the petals from the flowers. After letting the syrup cool about 20 minutes, I stirred in the petals, and set it all to simmer on med-low for about 3 hours. This produced a reddish, viscous syrup that I poured into a pipkin for storage.

Thick texture, weird taste, did not immediately balance my humors.

The preserves taste... not great and honestly less sweet than I'd expect for something well over 75% sugar by weight. So far as I can tell, marigold's use in the 17th-18th centuries is largely medicinal, so perhaps taste isn't a high consideration. I think next time, I'll just keep the flowers for dye, or maybe distill some marigold water and see if it really does cure headaches.

Original: Late 1850s Wedding Dress

In honor of Candlelight Tours (this year being the 1857 wedding scenario):

Wedding Dress, c.1856-9, The Met.

 

First Pair of Socks

I finally knit my first pair of real socks on the Autoknitter (also ever), using Roxy's "10 Minute Socks" pattern/recipe. It took me a bit longer than 10 minutes, but I found it a really useful live-trial of working increases/decreases for the toe and heel (not to mention kitchener-stitching the toe).

Et voila:

Socks! In 2-1 mock rib.

I used the 80-cylinder for these. The yarn is Aktiv's "Finnmark" self-striping sock yarn.

Onion Bags

Did some multi-tasking: I have onions that need to be stored after harvest, and an Autoknitter that I needed some practice on. The obvious solution was to knit small onion bags out of scraps of crochet cotton.

Onion socks! And two proper net bags.

I used the opportunity to mess around with the machine's tension, hang hems, learn mock ribs, and do a lot of kitchener stitch on the closed ends. My favorite onion sock is the one knit plain on the loosest machine tension (left of center), which produced the most open web.

Before jumping over to the machine, I did try to hand net bags for all the onions, but found that even with a generous mesh it simply took too long. I'll need to try this again when there's more time and the onions in question haven't already been harvested, cured, and in need of storage bags.

Early Harvest: Summer & Winter Squash

It's been a weird (unusually dry and warm) summer in the garden, which I assume is the reason that several of my winter squash reached their full color and size before most of the summer squash reached edible size. 

 

I expect my plants to be a little idiosyncratic and not always optimized for the climate I'm in: I focus on growing mid-19th century and earlier heritage varieties, because that's what I want to cook with. For instance, my only pumpkin to produce fruit last year (a Connecticut Field pumpkin) was still green when I had to clear my plot. It ripened off the vine, and I ended up saving seeds from it. This year, two of its four offspring had produced orange pumpkins by early September (one of the other two is larger, but dark green, and the fourth plant still only has a tiny fruit on it).

First haul of squash from the garden: two pumpkins, two Boston Marrow (winter) squash and a yellow crook-neck (summer) squash.

 

Original: Fancy Plait Straw Bonnet, c.1855

Bonnet, c.1855. From The Met.

 I've been looking for straw hat ornaments in situ, and this fancy-plait bonnet is one of the better examples. "Better" in the sense that I could see myself attempting to copy at least some of the brim elements, especially if I can get a higher resolution image...

Linen hose

Note much to look at, but I did complete this project: a pair of linen hose which I wore at Faire. Blue-grey mid-weight linen, cut on the bias and hand-sewn. The shape is draped to fit; I usually use this method with cotton knits for 19th century wear, which gives a much closer fit around the ankle. The elongated "D" shape for the foot gusset works, but it looks rather loose at the ankle.

Functional hose, but not pretty.

The draft in The Tudor Tailor is quite similar, but with a more rounded 'gusset' piece. I'll need to try that on my next attempt (since August is precisely when I don't want to wear the wool knit!).

Straw Hat, Rustic Plait

I really needed a lightweight sunshade for Faire, and decided to sew another straw hat. The inspiration for this piece was a particular painting (more on that anon), in which a peasant woman in a market scene wears a wide-brimmed straw hat with no appreciable crown. The hat instead looks like a very shallow basket turned upside down.

 

Top view of the hat.

The hat I made is fully hand-sewn from 20 yards of (commercially-plaited) straw in a 4-strand whole-straw rustic plait. It was sewn freehand, though I blocked the crown flat repeatedly during the early stages of sewing. The sewing process took about 34 event-hours, during which this hat was my main project.

I had intended to block the whole hat over a large, shallow dough bowl of the desired shape, but found that the plait tended to curve downwards naturally as I sewed it. In fact, all of the shaping after the first seven rounds (which were blocked flat until the hat got bigger than a dinner plate) came from the natural curvature of the straw as I tried to sew it as flat as possible. I'm tempted to use it for rougher working impressions at the Fort, since I can document the idea of a flat, home-made, straw hat as a harvest-time sunshade in the 1850s--and 'make a flat hat without a block' is precisely what I was doing here.

 

 

Side view showing the epic shape.

Despite the shape, I found that the straw tends to cling to my hair/coif, and will generally stay put. It's not up to really brisk walks, wind gusts, or bending over to drive tent stakes, but I managed to wear it a whole weekend without any fasteners. I'm tempted to add some woven tapes to the underside (probably to tie under my hair), but the hat does work as is. The whole-straw is heaver than the last hat I made, but lighter than any other reproduction hats I've handled (or any material).

I do not have documentation for the origins of rustic plait. My spreadsheet of Victorian sources does not include any citations which mention rustic as being new or name a date of origin; these same sources claim that whole-straw plaits originated in the 16th century, while split and double plaits were more modern inventions.

*I had remembered this painting as a Bruegel, though I can't find the exact image online, and will need to borrow the book I saw it in to confirm. In my search, I did come across other depictions of straw hats which aren't wholly dissimilar.

Sloping hats from Bruegel's Charitas (1559)

Most of Bruegel's peasants, however, favor straw hats like those above, almost conical except for a small, flat crown. The Corn Harvest shows two women wearing wider, flatter versions of the conical hat, one being distinctly straw-colored and the other black.

Wide hats in Bruegel's The Corn Harvest (1565)

Aertsen's paintings, in contrast, show deeper crowns on the wide-brim straw hats worn by many of the women:

The Vegetable Seller (1567) by Pieter Aertsen