Let’s go shopping, 1860s style.If you lived back in the Old West, chances are the tinsmith ran one of your favorite shops. To an untrained eye, entering his store might look as though you’re entering a cluttered space. But if you look closer, you’ll note the fine tools, the specialty patterns and the intricate designs. What you’ll love most of all is the usefulness of every product.
There was an art to handling tin. The fine detailed work often lent itself to women’s hands, and I can well imagine the tinsmith’s wife or daughter working just as hard as the man himself in designing the tools, the well-crafted shapes, and coming up with ideas for new products. Here are a sampling of things available to a person in the 1860s.
Hip tubs. These were half the size of regular tubs, portable and easy to fill.
Lanterns of all sorts.
Cookie cutters.
Ceiling tiles, designed to your liking.
And best of all, if you lived in a cold climate, how about some duct work going from the stove to the ceiling, thereby warming the floor of the upper story above you?
You’ve probably spotted other kitchen pots and utensils for sale on the back walls. Do you have your credit card ready? What’s the first thing you’d buy?
It’s almost spring. My thoughts turn to planting and what I’m going to do with my flowerbeds this year.
I can well imagine how much joy the gardens brought to the settlers as they tried to scratch something valuable out of the soil. In my novels, I’ve mentioned all types of gardens. Or thought I had.
There were those belonging to apothecaries and doctors – the herb gardens they planted to create remedies and cures. There were those belonging to florists, who would plant their flowers for market. Restaurant cooks planted vegetables and herbs to use in their dishes. Private citizens grew produce, too, not to mention orchards for fruit wherever the land could sustain it. But recently in my research, I came across a type of garden that took me by surprise. I’d simply never thought of it: the town weaver and his or her special garden where they planted a spectrum of plants to create powders and liquids for the dying of fabrics.
That must have been fun! Wild bursts of color, rich seeds that started out pink and ripened to a rich berry, roots that dyed fabrics blue or black, or maybe some exotic plant from China that grew from fragrant seeds passed along from some stranger on a wagon train.
The town weaver was a valuable asset to any growing Western town.From their maze of looms, they produced blankets and coverlets, shawls and rugs. No scraps went to waste here. They collected rags from the community and produced cloth balls that had a dozen uses around the house—anything from knotting rope to hanging laundry to creating rag rugs.
The photos of this weaver’s shop are circa 1860s.
The color of the plant or flower doesn’t necessarily correlate to the end result of dye color. There are hundreds of plant choices. Here’s a sampling of some common ones, a few of which surprised me:
sunflower – pressing the seeds creates a bright yellow oil; combining different plant parts produces dyes in the color of tan, gray, and green
indigo – rich blue color obtained from the leaves– the dye is colorfast, very desirable
goldenrod – root contains a brilliant yellow dye
white birch tree – leaves give a yellow dye; inner bark creates lavender, tan, or purple
elderberry – purples and blues
bloodroot – juice of the stem and roots for the color red
flowering dogwood – bark produces a red dye; root produces violet Have you ever hand-dyed an object? There must have been something special about the town weaver – a professional craftsman who knew what he was doing.
The lost art of ironing—I say this tongue-in-cheek because I’m glad those days are gone. But does anyone else remember growing up and helping their mom create wonderful, crisp little piles of folded sleeves and collars, and warm linens that draped so beautifully you could hang them in a store window? And remember how good they smelled, coming in off the clothes line? I was the only girl in the house, and as soon as I was tall enough to stand behind an ironing board, it was my job to press the tea towels and bed sheets. This usually took place once a week in the evening, in front of our black-and-white TV, watching Carol Burnett.
Tea towels were my favorite because I could easily manage their size. I’d fold one in thirds along the length, press the two seams, then fold it horizontally in thirds again, and press it. Those were the days before automatic steam irons, so I hand-sprinkled water onto the cloth, then lowered the iron to sear them, fully enjoying the sizzling and popping sounds I received as my reward. My mom’s tea towels came in all colors. I admired and appreciated each one, and noticed instantly if she ever bought a new pattern. I guess it was a girl thing. We never had a lot growing up, in fact I think we only had one set of sheets for each bed, but they were always freshly laundered and pressed. Today, my mom would cringe at the state of my own linens, if I allowed her to look. But then, she never worked full time as a writer like I do, so it’s NOT MY FAULT. Recently on a visit to a pioneer museum, I stopped in the kitchen and marveled at the irons they had on display, resting on the stove where they were heating. There was more than one type? You could have several irons of various sizes and shapes?
How decadent!
I wanted each one! I’m not sure what I would do with them. Maybe, since I’m a writer, I’d just sit and gaze at the clunky irons and wonder about the mother-daughter stories behind them. See the one with the ridges? It’s called a rocking style fluting iron and was used to ruffle, crimp, or press little pleats into starched fabric. It also gave the fabric a special sheen. Fluting irons were often used for collars and cuffs to give added distinction—and were in their heyday in the mid to late 1800s. Blacksmiths often forged cast iron stands, called trivets, for the fancier irons. There were dozens and dozens of different types of irons. Slender ones for hard-to-reach places like sleeves, irons used just for hats, delicate laces, or for pressing flowers, or for billiard tables. And—I would have loved this—small irons made for children. I’ll never take my single iron for granted again! Times have changed and I’m glad we no longer have to iron everything we wear. I’m in love with poly-cotton blends. My husband, God bless him, irons his own shirts and laundry. Yet, there’s still this little niggling of guilt that I don’t do it for him. It’s NOT MY JOB, I tell myself, and wonder where the guilt comes from. Probably because growing up in a house full of boys, I was the only girl and the only one assigned to ironing chores. They turned out to be wonderful memories.... Have you seen the recent remake of the movie Hairspray, and John Travolta’s character as the mom who is the professional laundress? I would have loved that job! Do you have happy ironing memories? Do you still love a good crease? Did you ever make your own starch? My mom had a store-bought spray starch she used once in a while, but I was never allowed near it. What chores were you responsible for as a kid, and which ones did you enjoy the most? * * * * *
