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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


On the Subject of Apronoscity


That may not be a real word.

But I'll tell you what is, or, more exactly, what three real words are:

In case you were wondering, the answer is yes. My needle has been pulling some tricky stunts lately. Just when I think I've got it all figured out, an idea pops into my head and I've got to sweep everything off the table, choose some gaudy thread for experimenting, and create something new. Which is how I recently ended up with an apron-I-love-like-none-other. And wear everywhere.

Sorry Ladies, this one's staying home with me!
But this one is flitting over to my little shop of wonders pronto (or after I finish my turkey sandwich)!

It certainly took me long enough but I've finally begun digging into my precious stash of vintage fabrics. This baby features a charming floral swatch of flour-sack that has passed through the fingers of three generations of my family; my own baby blanket, a patchwork quilt strewn with the most amazing fabrics, includes quite a lot of this exact flour-sack. Cutting into that last remaining scrap of cloth and carefully stitching it, knowing another woman would wear this apron well, felt like the best way I could honor that lineage. I love the idea that years ago, one bit of fabric was used in the kitchen, washed and carefully folded in drawers, only to be cut, quilted and slept under by a child, later to be pressed and stitched into an apron. There is something about that handing down that resonates deeply with me and I understand that history in my bones.

All of that to say, an apron is thing of fabulouscity (also, perhaps not real). Three cheers I say!