At home, her brothers wore shirts pieced from plain sacks, soft from washing. The baby’s diaper came from the last unprinted one.
Nothing was wasted. Everything was turned into something useful.
That winter was hard. The pantry thinned out faster than it filled. Shoes were mended twice over.
But when the wind pressed cold against the house and the walls creaked at night, there was comfort in the steady hum of the sewing needle.
Flour became bread.
Sacks became clothes.
And dignity was stitched into every seam.
