Aunt Norie’s Sewing Room
Again, like the ripples on the water, more on those feed sacks, only this time it is those softer more closely woven flour sacks.
Back in the 1930s, flour, sugar and salt came in finely woven cloth bags.
Ground-up tobacco for smokes came in very small cloth bags. Mary Patty from the Ozarks sends us this poem.
When I was a maiden fair,
Mama made our underwear;
With many kids and dads poor pay,
We had no fancy lingerie.
Monograms and fancy stitches,
Did not adorn our Sunday britches.
No lace or ruffles to enhance,
Just occident across my pants;
One pair of panties beat them all,
For it a scene I still recall.
Harvesters were gleaning wheat;
Right across my little seat.
All through depression each Jill and Jack;
Wore the sturdy garb of sack.
Waste not, want not, we soon learned;
That a penny saved is a penny earned.
There were curtains and tea towels, too,
And that is just to name a few;
But the best, beyond compare,
Was my flour sack underwear.
Yes, Mary, many will remember those britches. Thanks for remembering us. I think its actual author is unknown. Mary herself is a poet, however she did not pen this one. She found it on the Internet.
-- Aunt Norie, P.O. Box 265, Tonganoxie 66086; firstname.lastname@example.org.
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