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Not too long ago my dad gave me a stack of white cotton feed sacks. I had expressed a desire to have some and thought they no longer existed. Dad is an antique dealer and has access to things of the past; things that once were considered necessities but were replaced with more modern methods.
Feed wasn't the only commodity that came in cloth bags, so did flour, salt and oatmeal. The flour sacks, once emptied and washed, were the softest and finest material of the lot. This material was most often used to make underwear, baby clothes and even diapers. We were farmers and Dad bought cattle feed, chicken feed and hog feed in large 100-pound sacks. These sacks, once emptied, washed and ironed, would become dresses, shirts, pants, or whatever was needed at the time. Some of my fondest memories are of the feed sack dresses my mom made me for school. The sacks were sometimes printed so that the design looked like curtains or in the case of a flour sack, pillowcases. White feed sacks were used for sheets. Mom would bleach the sacks, sew four of them together, and we had nice, white sheets. The seams down the middle made little difference to us. Women of that era never wasted anything if they could help it. The cotton thread used to sew the sacks together was even saved for some later use. Scraps left over from making garments were saved in the scrap box and used for making pieced quilt tops. The white sacks were sewn together and also used for the backing of these beautiful and colorful quilts. I remember using some of my mom's scraps for doll clothes. There was always an abundance of scraps by the year's end. Every once in a while I take down my treasured white cotton feed sacks and hold them in my lap. As I caress each one I remember those fond memories of my feed sack dresses. I can't help but wish we could still buy flour in cotton sacks. And when I would go to the feed store for my chicken feed, I could walk down aisles of colorful print sacks and pick out just the right print for that special project I had reeling in my head. Go To Page: 1 2
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