Anywhere USA circa 20th century

Why did I love sewing at my Grandmother’s in rural South Dakota? I don’t recall the results. …no particular garments. But I loved shopping the fabric store in town with her and picking prints. I loved hanging out with her, doing it together and talking. I fondly remember her using her hands to pin…her wonderfully unusual thumb. She called elastic “rubber” maybe because it once was, only rubber. I loved the little room where her machine (modernly converted electric from a treadle) sat below the window, the warm coral color of the room, the vintage antique lamp…among Grandpa’s books. I guess it was the hobby room. She made wonderful cotton print ‘house dresses,’ her standard uniform as a hard working farm wife (pants were still barely accepted.) Sometimes they had a zipper and sometimes they had a button, and they always had pockets. She taught me the love of a project, start to finish. Process and results. The same with washing dishes and making cookies. Somehow, the cooking lessons didn’t stick. I guess my nature has always been toward fabrics, colors and design. Sewing was a given part of life and I felt so supported in that culture to keep getting better at it. It felt like a genuine part of life.
(I  still visit that town, the SDSU town of Brookings, South Dakota and the store was called “Brost’s,” now a hobby and games store, though likely it is sans fabric.)