Thrifted glory

As a knitter, it's a real bummer that I don't like to wear socks. I mean, I REALLY don't like to wear socks. One winter, I even got some delightfully archaic-sounding (but otherwise not very delightful) chilblains on my toes from going around in my clogs, sans socks, when it was... well, suffice it to say most normal people were wearing socks. At least one pair. Socks are a great way to add a dash of color and whimsy to your outfits, and I see many great examples of that - not to mention sock patterns that I would love to knit for myself, but I'd have to really be willing to wear them, wouldn't I? See the problem? Thought so.

One of the things I love to see in other people's blogs are posts about their thrift scores (even if it makes me insanely jealous since I currently live in a sort of thrifting dead zone), so I thought I'd share a few of the gems that I've found. None of these are recent scores, but I saw them on my bookshelf yesterday and was reminded of the utter joy and amazement that I had when I found them.

First, How to Know the Wildflowers by Mrs. William Starr Dana. This is one of those great Dover reprints (my love for which I should save for a separate post), and I grabbed it at Goodwill for a quarter. It's full of information about scores and scores of common wildflowers, and in its day (late 19th century) was one of the most popular wildflower identification guides. Reasons for its populist appeal are evident - no burdensome taxonomy (flowers are organized by color), and in addition to all the expected pertinent information (description, habitat), there is a delightful and fascinating wealth of historical, poetic, and mythological references to each plant. Was it known to the ancient Babylonians? Is it mentioned in The Faerie Queene? Did William the Conqueror think it smelled good? All this would be joy enough, but my copy is blessed with extensive and meticulous glosses by a previous owner. These describe which of the flowers are to be found in the KY Bluegrass, when and where they are to be found (as detailed as specific fields in specific counties), and other folk wisdom peculiar to the region. And then there are the real gems. Normally, I don't like to have books that have been written in, but when the writing in question is like this, I want to sing, laugh, and share a righteous fist bump with the anonymous author.






The second book I'll share today is Simple Living by Jacques Massacrier (1973), thrifted for fifty cents. I have a passionate love for books like this - independently published guides to the granola life, back-to-the-land style, from the early 70s. I love the oovy-grooviness, the DIY aesthetic, the fact that most of them eschew traditional typesetting for the "handwritten" look. The illustrations are always amazing and I love the tone - joyful, optimistic, positive. Some would say naive, but I still love the conviction in these kinds of books that there is a better life to be had through a simpler and more grounded way of living.


This book has hundreds of little mini-tutorials on virtually every aspect of homesteading and self-sufficient living, from building to beekeeping to butchering to needlecraft. Unfortunately, they are so skimpy on detail that you'd have to already be fairly well-versed in whatever skill is being discussed to actually get anything out of it, but that's a minor quibble. The art is simply divine. Here's a page from the section on knitting, with an interesting take on sweater construction (sorry about the shading and distortion at the gutter edge - the binding is kind of fragile and I didn't want to smash it too flat while I was scanning and risk breaking the spine):


Nasturtiums, one of my favorite flowers, from the section on botanical healing:


A couple images near and dear to my doula heart:



And this, as likely a portrait as you'll ever find of me and R as we head out to the Farmer's Market: