It's all in the serge

The question I hear most from people who've wandered into the store for the first time is: "So, do you make ALL of this?" accompanied by a sweeping hand gesture to indicate the entire contents of the store. No one would ask this if they didn't see me hunched over the serger, or ironing seams. It amazes me every time, their readiness to be impressed by my miraculous industriousness. They're asking the question somewhat thoughtlessly. Obviously if they were thinking about it they would realize that I couldn't possibly sew everything there, throw pottery deep into the night, produce all those soaps and salts between here and the dead sea all by myself, and bind books on the week ends. I would have to be superhuman, or god.

More reasonable would be to simply assume I do all the sewing for the store. Which is not what they specifically ask. But even so, I am back to thinking about how little people understand what kind of work goes into the simple things they buy. I was talking about this at harvest time, and I'm thinking about it again while trying to crank out eleven new aprons as fast as I can which turns out to be about three to three and a half hours for each one. That's a minimum of thirty three hours of work. That's almost a full week of work. I'm sitting here kicking myself because I'm on day four of production and should be done already. Except that I can't just sew non-stop because I'm also there to help customers.

I've been doing pretty well selling my aprons. So most people seem to understand that even a humble apron, if made well with attractive details, costs money to make and consequently to buy. Most people don't balk at the forty dollar price tag (which I arrived at after a lot of careful consideration and market research). But some people come in the store, ask how much the bib aprons are, and when they hear the price- drop the apron like it's a burning instrument of hell. Sometimes I hear two customers discussing the price together. A daughter wanted to buy one as a gift for someone but her father (I hope) kept needling her about how expensive it was and how they had seen a much cheaper one somewhere else. He finally convinced her to go for the cheaper one. I'm not offended by this. I have to make these decisions all the time for myself. Sometimes it's alright to spend a bucket of money on something even when you could get it cheaper somewhere else, but sometimes you have to go for the economy. That's life.

What amazes me is how easy people assume it is to do what I do. How fast I must be to do this professionally. They don't know what goes into this process. All the hundred steps I take to produce a garment of fine quality that won't fall apart after two or three washings. They don't know how hot that iron gets after turning forty straps, or how full of fibers my nose gets when I've just serged one hundred cut pieces of fabric. Most things these days are sent off to China or Bali to be sewn by hard working people for almost no pay. It's easy to look at a garment and not think about those people, they're so far away, and they allow us to buy things at Walmart for seven dollars. I've been thinking about how if I get other people to make my aprons I will still be charging the same price for my aprons. Why?

Doesn't factory-made make the whole thing cheaper? That's what people will presumably want to know. First of all, I have promised myself not to outsource overseas. Not because I don't want to enslave children in Thailand (though that's true), it's because I want to be an active participant in our local economy. I want to pay people here, people who need to work to feed their children, a living wage. Which means I can't produce my aprons for any cheaper even if I'm not doing the back breaking work myself.

The main point is, it doesn't matter who's doing the work, quality products are always being made by someone, and I think it's important that people connect with that fact. It doesn't matter if you can see them doing it in front of you in a funny little shop in McMinnville, or if they are doing it twelve thousand miles away in the sweltering heat of an unairconditioned factory. It's important to realize that products don't magically make themselves for your pleasure. (I've heard that threatening them might get results, but I haven't yet tried that.)

I've recently learned more about the process of wine making than I ever knew before. Lisa, who worked for many years in the wine industry, described the intricate process that goes into a simple bottle of blended wine. She let me in on all the things that can go wrong, all the minute decisions that have to be made at every step- each one of which could help to build an amazing drink, or could turn the young wine into something a desperate naughty teen wouldn't touch. I had no idea how many details went into the whole thing. I thought I respected the process but I was wrong. I was humbled in the best possible way. Because now when I drink wine I will have a better understanding of the science, the luck, the skill, and the work that go into a drink that is so easy to consume.

The irony of writing about this here is that most of the people who check into this blog regularly are craftspeople themselves. They already know all this. They are bending over their own machines, knitting needles, crochet hooks, felting needles, and canvases. The people who really should be thinking about this are the blithe people who walk in and ask me if I make "everything" in the store. But they don't read my blog. I promise I don't shoot snarky comments at them. As much as I am sorely tempted to point out to them how ridiculous it is to ask such a question, I don't. I explain what I make, what I don't make. I'm pretty sure they still think I sew everything there that can be sewn. They enjoy imagining that it's all happening right in front of them.

One lady, who came in with two friends the other night, pointed to me and said to her friends "Oh look how busy she is making things!" She couldn't have said anything to make me feel more like a hippopotamus taking a public mud bath at the zoo. I pinched myself to keep myself from getting down on all fours and making snorfling noises. My steely reserve paid off, the lady made a purchase and was really sweet. She has no idea what kind of a spectacle she almost witnessed.

Yesterday was an eleven hour work day, today will be long too. But Christmas is almost here and since we have no family here I expect it will be a calm day. And I won't be sewing for the first day in about ten. I look forward to the respite.