Repurposing–a Harbinger of Spring.

Harbinger: omen. sign.

After viewing one or two J. Peterman catalogs–from Way back–its novelty–for me– quickly turned into an overdone, too clever by far, terribly predictable publication. That being said, I was gifted one of their Indonesian caftans. Circa 1995. And I wore it and wore it and wore it OUT. Now the fabric is rolled up in strips, soft as butter, fragile as thin parchment. But the color has held and the ethnic designs are still wonderful to ponder.
And for months now I’ve been enthralled with Jude Hill’s coat/wrap/kimono/wonder garment named “wind,” deciding that a garment of this weight would be a perfect transition for a going-into-spring cloak. Thus the genesis for this garment–“Harbinger of Spring.”

Last summer I found a thrift store oversized shirt–flax– and put it in the indigo vat –and this weekend it became part of the J. Peterman legacy.  Of sorts.   Lopped the sleeves off a few inches from the shoulder–the collar had previously been removed–added kimono-type sleeves and then decided the whole thing needed to be lined. Because the original garment seams were flat-felled, I didn’t take it apart–just did my best to cut a bolt of thrift store muslin into shapes that would contour to the original garment. Finally I made fringe fasteners, again thank you Jude. Today is Sunday–and sunny–as Harbinger of Spring stepped out into the sunshine.

Actually I hadn’t planned on posting this sequence, and then when I thought about it, I thought I’d do a spoof on the original catalog-type descriptions–along the lines of “winter in the Smokies found her yearning for the warmth of Bali ….” but those thoughts seemed to have a life of their own and I found them creating a scenario/reality that didn’t truly apply to my life, today, here, and yes–now.

Finally, “Harold of Spring” evolves at its own pace. (Dee Mallon suggested this reminded her of the “Herald of Spring” and suddenly it was obvious what the name of the cloth would be.) So this is good. Timely. The robins have returned, daffodils are up, and my cloak-coat will see me through.