coffee cloth

and roof boards

No cutting or gluing.

No fussing or stewing.

Just fold ‘em—

and stack ‘em—

—and stitch ‘em into cloth.¹

Or, if not exactly cloth, then some kind of compelling material that is sturdy enough to be bound—

—is nicely flexible—

—is easy to make from the materials at hand—

—is pleasing to my eyes and hands—

—and is not precious in any way.

Hmph. That’s rather a lot of ask from a pile of used coffee filters, but these lovely things have been my creative companions for long enough that it seems I have a wild kind of trust in them. Of course only time will tell how they actually hold up to the rigors of Sarah’s comic diary life—and I will definitely let you know.

Just now though, all I have to go on is present creative delight as I am still drawing in my current book—the one that I began as Beryl and I embarked on our month-long cross-country jaunt and whose end date, as you can see, has yet to be filled in.

It’s kind of wild to know how well that trip turned out—to have lived and drawn all the days in this book—yet still be in the dark as to what is coming next.²

But time is weird. And I guess it always has been.

I mean, on the one hand, here I’ve been doing my best to take Beryl’s hint:

1. to refrain from warping a loom

2. to relish the work I’m already doing (especially spinning the last of this fleece-into-yarn)— ³

3. to notice what I’ve learned from this summer’s attempt to weave functional tapestries from things I’ve happened to find—⁴

4. and to remember how much I’ve enjoyed the millions of minute movements it has taken to transform untold fragments of material into a small collection of objects—functional or not.

And on the other hand, this very day four hard working fellows on top of my house have managed to tear up my old roof to reveal boards that have not seen the light of day since 1928 and begun to fashion a new one which I imagine they might finish by the end of the week—and not out of used coffee filters either (marvelous as that would be).

Kachunk. Kachunk. Kachunk.

Stitch, twist, knit.

It’s all most discombobulating.⁵

But what can I do except cool my heels as I can—

—keep an eye on the horizon—

—and enjoy the goofy gorgeous miracle of it all?

1. By “them” I mean used coffee filters. Neither knit nor woven, this materials is perhaps more akin to quilted bark cloth than anything. At any rate, it is flexible and strong and feels, all of a sudden, full of possibility.

2. As Mrs. Oliver said to Hercule Poirot, “You never know what is going to happen.”

3. I got this incredibly soft and silky Cormo/Targhee top from Yarn Underground: Mazama Fiber is the culmination of partnership between Palouse Yarn Company of Moscow, Idaho, and two woman-run ranches in Montana! Processed into combed top by Mountain Meadow Wool Mill of Wyoming. Sold only at The Yarn Underground.
Mazama Fiber is creamy, smooth, open, and fluffy; enabling you to spin bouncy and soft yarn.

80% Montana Cormo, 20% Montana Targhee

4. Remember that? The poll back in June?

And speaking of remembering, here is a link to recent Long Thread Media Podcasts. It was such a treat to hear the wondrous Tommye Scanlin talk about tapestry—and then to have her voice flanked by natural dyers on both sides added even more dimension: the amazing couple, Roland and Chinami Ricketts, whose indigo devotion has led to some of the most heart-stoppingly beautiful work I’ve ever seen, and Emily Lymm, whose decision to build and center her life around a naturally dyed yarn business was most inspiring. Thanks to the amazing Anne Merrow and Long Thread for all they/you do!

5. This widow’s life is ever a surprise. One minute it feels like I’m doing everything myself and the next, this roof thing is flying along while I type (gosh it is loud and dramatic and FAST). In another time I would have been up there with them, and yet even though I’m not now, I still feel strangely competent—like I’ve been a real grown up for having made the decision alone and put the process in motion, which feels almost as though I’m doing the work too. And I guess in a way I am, for making things with string and paper and weeds then drawing comics and writing about all of it is my job and my special skill and my source of home-maintenance income, just as replacing roofs so people like me can be dry and warm while they twist cordage and write Substacks, is theirs. I am incredibly grateful for all of it. But it’s still weird.