When I was rummaging around my room this morning, I came across this hat that was peeking out of a basket from under other winter wear. It has been years since I paid much attention to it… since I had begun to knit my own hats some years ago.
I, at first, mistakenly identified it as the art of the Cowichan Indians of British Columbia because of the natural colors and unplied yarn used by the tribe to create mostly sweaters and hats.
Sometimes, I’m good at remembering details, but other times, I’m not.
Actually, Jack reminded me that it was the famous Paula Simmons who knit this hat. She was one of the first PNW (Pacific Northwest) artists to raise and shear her own sheep. She processed the fleece, carding, and spinning the fibers, creating the yarn to finally knit garments and accessories like this hat.
With the help of Jack’s memory, he reminded me where we bought this hat. The time frame had to be between 1969 -1972, when we were living in a small house in St. Johns in North Portland. We were just married, and before children. We bought it on a trip to Seattle, Washington, at an art gallery/ craft store at the Space Needle. The store and its name are long forgotten.
Part of my confusion was that I did own a Cowichan Indian sweater, and the hat was created in a similar yarn. I know we bought it before 1972 because I have at least one photo of me wearing it in 1973 – 74, walking through a snowy forest with two year old Hannah, riding on my back. ( I will post the photo when I can find it). That means it would be about 52 years old. (I found it)
The hat, the sweater, the girls, and Skokie the dog
It is knit in unplied and undyed natural sheeps wool. It’s never been washed, and you can still feel the lanolin. The wool is very rustic and rough to the touch and still causes my forehead to itch, but it’s the warmest hat I own. The wool, in its natural state, is completely waterproof… not water resistant but waterproof.
It is in perfect condition without so much as a moth hole. It could pass for “unused.” This hat is one of my most treasured possessions, and it’s probably worth only a few dollars. The Cowichan Indian sweater was bought around the same time, but unfortunately, it burned in our house fire in 1974-75. I so wish I still had that sweater.
Jack bought the sweater for me when he worked for Norm Thompson. (A thorough history of Norm Thompson Outfitters is interesting and can be found on wikipedia.)
If you’re curious about the Cowichan Indian’s trade in knitwear, please see the following website for more information. Here, you’ll see lots of photos of the sweaters and the knitters, and their fascinating history: http://knitwithpurpose.com/knitters
I see that the Cowichan Trading Company store, established in 1947 in Vancouver, BC, has closed permanently. I don’t know what this might mean for the trade in sweaters, but I see that there are stores still stocking them, and there are many new and used online.
Original, authentic Cowichan Indian sweater
All of this interesting stuff because I found my hat made by Paula Simmons.
Just recently, I found the answer to a mystery I had given up on resolving many years before. I mostly didn’t even know that I was still looking, but the search was hidden away in my heart to emerge only occasionally.
There were few things of value that I even cared about because Mom left so little behind. But there were a few of precious value to the heart only. Nothing she ever owned was embued with monetary value.
But there was one mystery to solve, known only to me as, “The Missing Heart.” I would have found the answer if I had known to ask the right people. Why did the loss of this small charm occur to me again? Oh, yes, I remember! My niece, Sharon, was going through her mother’s (my sister’s) jewelry and came upon a bracelet she didn’t recognize, and neither did I.
I asked if among her things, had she come upon a small silver and marcasite heart with a mother of pearl inset? At first, I couldn’t remember the stones, so it was hard to describe. Her first answer was, “No”, she said, but she would keep an eye out for it.
I looked online to see if I could at least find something similar to help her identify it. Why did I even care, you might ask. Because, as a small child, like all curious children will, I loved to look in my mother’s jewelry boxes and in her top drawer to see her linen hankies and soft gloves of silk, cotton and leather, small veils of soft netting, hat pins, hair barretts and other small pieces and mementos.
On top of her dresser, among the crystal bowls, was her hair brush, a handheld mirror, and containers of face and body powder and fancy glass bottles of perfume and fragrant lotions.
There, also sat my favorite music box. It was a small wooden piano with just enough room to hold a few small pieces of jewelry.
The music box
Mom’s dresser was always dusty with the powders she used liberally. Her favorite perfume was Tweed. The fragrance is strong, with the tiniest bit of floral notes to keep it feminine, but mostly, it is dark, moody and earthy, woody, and resinous. Perfect for Mom, but not for a small child or even a teenager. I was never tempted to use it, but it smelled spectacular on my loving yet stoic mother.
But, back to the heart.
I sent my nephews and neices online images of similar items. Sharon said she would continue to look. She said she would also ask the other girls. My sister had three girls and four boys that she left behind way too early. She also said that there was a story that went with that heart, if the one I was looking for was one that she remembered. I didn’t remember any such story.
Not long after, another of Kristi’s three daughters, Shauna, sent a message with a photo of the heart. “Is this the one you’ve been looking for, Auntie?” she wrote. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
There it was! She explained that her mother had given it to her, before she passed away, to wear at her wedding. Sarah, one of the three daughters, now had it to wear at her upcoming wedding.
She went on to explain the story behind the heart, a story I had never heard: It was a gift from Mom’s first love. If that’s true, why hadn’t I heard it?
I should have been happy just to know that it was still in the family… but. I wasn’t. I was hurt, confused, and frustrated. When did Mom give that to Kristi? Not known to lie nor even to be secretive, could Kristi and Mom have kept this gift giving a secret? When did this even take place?
I couldn’t be upset with the girls, and of what use is it now for me to be angry with Mom and Kristi, now that they passed on years ago. I decided to sit with the feeling. I couldn’t shake it anyway.
Now, after a couple of weeks, I guess I’m happy that the heart is in safe and loving hands. Somethings I’ll never know, like when or why Mom decided to give the heart to Kristi. We were and are a close and loving family. I know also that Mom and Kristi hadn’t between them, an ounce of secretive intent.
Each of the girls wore the necklace at their wedding, and if I had it, it would have been enjoyed and cherished by only me.
“I beg you to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
–Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (1929)
This is a hand woven pillow top completed in 1973. That’s 50 years ago! It’s made of 100% rustic wool on a large floor loom while taking classes at the Multnomah Art Center. I cannot remember what breed of wool or the pattern but it was a marvelous experience. It changed my life.
I bought several looms over the years and enjoyed weaving. I learned to spin, as well. Recently, I sold all my weaving and spinning supplies.
It took years to admit that I would not ever weave again, so I kept my equipment and supplies far too long. Thanks to my mom and dad’s persistant support, I have always been proud that I never let anything stop me from doing whatever I’ve chosen to do regardless of… well, there came a time that I had to give up on this craft and many others.
I have little to show for this time in my life with the exception of a few pieces, including this one. Though it is the worse for wear, I will sew it into a pillow cover again. It makes me nostalgic for those beautiful years.
The very first thing that I can remember losing was my Grandma’s diamond wedding ring. I was only 14 years old. What in the world was she doing gifting a precious diamond wedding ring to her 14 year old granddaughter, anyway?
This was not the first time that this wedding ring had been lost. Grandma was an avid and master gardener. Her yard was filled with fragrant and beautiful blossoms and a lawn that she hand picked the weeds from on her hands and knees. The garden was filled with bird song. She loved those birds as though they were her own children.
One time she lost the ring herself. She didn’t know where but lamented it’s loss deeply. On one lucky day, Grandpa was helping her pull up the spent plants, while they prepared the garden for winter, and pulled up the ring clinging to the roots of one of the petunias. You can see why that ring was even more precious to her than just a wedding ring.
It hurt so bad having to confess that I’d lost it. Grandma and I were as thick as thieves. She was the keeper of my secrets that she took to her grave. I could have moved myself into her tiny house, hook line and sinker, and never looked back. I had to content myself with spending weekends with her. Though she only lived around the block from us I could never get enough of her sweet presence.
I first confessed to Mom that while swinging in the park the ring had come off and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom was not one who would soften the blow by telling Grandma about my foolishness. I had to face up to it on my own. “What in the world was I doing wearing that ring anyway”, she chided me.
I think it was too hard for me to hold my Grandma’s reaction in my memories. My Grandma was not one to ever be mad or to express her anger, if she ever was, I can’t remember.
To know that I had hurt and disappointed Grandma was enough punishment for me. I still cry over that ring. I wonder who might have found that it. I wish it had been me.
The Rug
Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce
The next thing I remember losing is a hand woven chief’s rug that was given to us by Jack’s Aunt Helen. She was married to his Uncle Hank. Aunt Helen (nee Phinney) was a Nez Perce, a descendant of Chief Joseph. It was evident at the Pow Wows we attended with her, that she was highly regarded among the tribes of the Northwest Territory.
This rug was passed down to her through her family and then she gifted it to Jack, my husband, who she dearly loved. Aunt Helen was fierce. She was diminutive yet strong. One did not cross her in deed or in word.
Aunt Helen’s face was round and flat and colored a soft brown. She always wore a dress and had steel grey hair cut short, and she walked the earth as though she had a specific purpose in mind to her walking. And no doubt she did.
I kind of feared yet respected Aunt Helen, and yet you could feel her love. Her love felt a bit like ownership, possessiveness. Her home on Johnson Creek road was a treasure trove of Indian artifacts. Her yard was a secret garden if there ever was one. It didn’t surprise me at all that she entrusted Jack with this precious rug. He was family though only by marriage. She had a family of her own which I’m sure she gave many gifts.
One year we were moving out to the Columbia River Gorge, the land of the Indians. Now, the Gorge is home to the Confederate Tribes of the Warm Springs, the Yakima Nation, the Nez Perce Tribe and the Cofederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation.
We obviously, not so carefully, stashed the rug in the bed of the pickup. Somewhere along the Washington side of the river, the rug blew out of the truck. Did we realize when we were unpacking that the rug was missing or did it take us some time before we realized that the rug was no longer with us. I can’t remember.
I wonder all the time who might have found that rug. One thing I know for sure is that unless they did some research they have no idea what a treasure they have in their possession.
I think of that rug quite often and mourn our carelessness. The only thing that would make me happy is if a member of one of the tribes had found the rug and perhaps had found its rightful owners. Maybe they might have celebrated that the spirit/s had returned that rug.
The Tapestry
The next thing I lost was a Franklin Mint Tapestry that my mom bought me at no small cost. This is a Tapestry titled, The Royal Hunt, designed by Marc Waymel for Franklin Mint.
The Royal Hunt
According to some on Google, the tapestry can be seen in a scene from the series, Outlander.
The tapestry can now be purchased online from several different websites for around $200 to $300. For years now I’ve been wanting to buy one online. Maybe this is the year.
In the year 2000, I moved to Los Angeles to get my master’s degree in History focusing on folklore and mythology. I packed up everything I owned and put it in a storage unit. That was my first mistake.
I rolled up my tapestry with the hanging rod and slid it down into a CD rack. It fit perfectly. My second mistake is that I didn’t think carefully about the construction of the unit. One could climb on top of the storage areas and the only covering/roof was chicken wire. This storage unit was inside of one of those really large buildings that have multiple floors with multiple units on every floor. I thought everything was safe.
When I returned 2 years later to unpack my unit and bring everything in to my new house, I realized the tapestry was missing. Coincidentally, I was moving Mom in with me. There was no way I could hide the absence of the tapestry. I didn’t wait until she asked and I confessed. That was a really sad day for me. Mom didn’t have much money as a retired administrative nurse and this was a huge loss to us both.
I’ve now lived without the tapestry for more than 20 years, 23 years as a matter of fact. I’ve never quit missing this tapestry and think of it all the time. I wish I knew which tapestry out there was mine.
Some that are for sale say “some light fading or some wear and tear” but mine was perfect when I put it into my storage unit. Should I risk buying one knowing that perhaps I’m getting one that won’t s assuage my sadness over losing the tapestry? Or should I just let it go and enjoy the fact that Mom bought this for me and it’s in my memory now forever?
Who has my tapestry that my mom gave me out of love? I don’t like that you have it. It still makes me a bit angry that you climbed up on top of other people’s storage units and looked down on our personal belongings and thought that you had the right to steal things that perhaps have great value to us. I hope that every time you look at my tapestry you feel guilty. I suppose you sold it immediately thinking you’d get a small fortune. I hope that the memory of your theivery haunts you to this day.
The Photos
And then there was The Polio Poster photos. I wish Mom was still alive for me to ask some questions about these photos.
In the photos I am in an arm brace and wearing a beautiful, cotton, purple and yellow dress with purple pearl buttons. My blonde hair was in soft, long curls. I was just 5 years old and I was a victim of the virus.
There was also featured in the glossy photos, a famous actress, a chimpanzee and a huge television camera. If memory serves me right, I think on the side of the camera were the letters for KOIN TV in Portland, Oregon… or was it KPTV, another TV station.
I know the photos were being taken to feature in polio posters and I was to be a poster child. This was probably in 1953 or ’54. I had contracted polio before the polio vaccine was distributed. The March of Dimes, in particular, raised a campaign against the epidemic.
My photographs were not chosen for the campaign. I think I wasn’t “crippled” enough. Looking at the posters from that era, they featured mainly children who were in leg braces and crutches. The posters were created to generate sympathy and therefore donations for children who were victims of infantile paralysis and to promote the vaccine.
However, we received the original photographs from that time and I should be happy that I wasn’t “crippled enough”.
For all my life I looked at those photographs but at some point they disappeared. I have all of the old family photographs except for these. Being a researcher, I have looked at all of the obvious places that might have them archived. No such luck.
Postscript
Dr. L James Lewis, an employee of Dr. Jonas Salk, injects a rhesus monkey with the inert vaccine, weeks before its release.
Postscipt: The claim is that research to find a vaccine for poliomyelitis was never used on chimpanzees.
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