My sister wrote: "I wonder what it is about your life, or who you are, that makes preservation of the past so particularly important to you... It's not as though we were uprooted from our homeland, or lost everything in a house fire, or had some great mystery about our origins... except, of course, as females, whose personal and collective history is never as well-preserved as that of men. Or maybe it's just having lived through the rather sudden transition from handing-down and re-using everything to disposable-everything. Remember our grandfather's tools for re-soling shoes? I don't think any footwear today could be re-soled."
She's right: preserving the past, honoring it, feels like the most important thing that I can possibly do. I don't know why. Years ago, I was reading a book, Poland, by James Michener. In it, he describes the slaughter of a pig in the Middle Ages - how the landowner got the choicest cuts, and the peasants - my ancestors - got the scraps. They used these scraps to make Polish sausage called kilbasi (made by stuffing scraps into intestinal casings and smoking them in the chimney). Given our history, I thought my mom would be interested. I told her about the sausage. She said "yeah. That's how your grandmother made it in Bayonne (NJ) except she smoked it in the stovepipe".
I was flabbergasted: here was something that had been handed down, mother to daughter, since at least the Middle Ages, and now it was lost. I didn't want to learn how to stuff fatty scraps into casings.......but what else had been lost? What else had my ancestors known that my school didn't teach and I didn't know? I hated memorizing dates in history class - I wanted information, facts - not about royal decrees or national treaties, but facts about the people who came before me. My grandmothers and their grandmothers.
So I started asking questions, and reading and found that some of the answers were stitched. Look at these 2 pieces. I photographed them in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.