{ it's just temporary...}

 

W hat is it that makes us think

...that what we have in our possession

 (at the moment)

truly is 'ours'?

 

take for instance ~

the needlework samplers that hang on my farmhouse walls:

 

I aquire them from different sources,

both on line and in shop...

sometimes as gifts from friends who know how I covet them

and some I even make myself.

 

 

antique unfinished sampler

same sampler as above, close up ~ bottom line reads: 'her exampler'

 what makes me think I own them?

do they not travel through time & space landing in someone's heart for a while,

(hopefully) to be passed to someone else?

 

I am not the owner ~

...I am the temporary caretaker.

 

 

Eliza Chace sampler in wicker tray ~
I want to reproduce this one in blues/browns...

 Some of these that I care for are antique,

some made by the talented hands of needleworker-friends...

all are beautiful in my eyes ~

 

 

top sampler ~ Carriage House Samplings design stitched by Olde Threads
bottom large sampler ~ antique
sampler to right ~ one of my originals.

some big, some small

some in frames

some not.

 

some have damage,

others have repairs ~

 

some come with notes and photos,

most are what I call

"orphans"

~

 



tiny Memorial Sampler from Kathy Barrick's private collection

 some have thee tiniest stitches,

done 1 thread over 1

with tiny hands

and bright, young eyes...

 

some made with more experienced hands and tired, old eyes ~

such as mine.

~

 

Little Brown Dog Sampler ~ a Notforgotten Farm design ~ stitched 1 over one on 40ct linen

 and others,

stitched for pure pleasure and whimsey ~

framed in old frames or new.

 

 

top sampler ~ original model by Kathy Barrick
bottom sampler ~ Barb Bobik (Twobirds~Onestone)

 

Small samplings of linen & thread

that constantly tug at my heartstrings ~

holding precendence in my thoughts and daily routine.

 

chores first, then onto stitching ~

such as they did hundreds of years ago.

 

a favorite quote:

 

God permit industrious angels
Afternoons to play.

~ Emily Dickinson

 

 

 

seeing the past through the eye of a needle....

 

Lori from

Notforgotten Farm