Kate E. Thompson's Blog: An Author's Whatnots, a blog of days gone by, page 2

They Maketh the Nose Red

"Corsets have always been worn, will be worn, and should be worn."

Did 19th century pioneer women wear corsets? I didn't think much about it until I began my second novel and my protagonist, a 19th century Utah woman, needed dresses and skirts and shoes. But what about a corset? Surely not, frontier women plowed fields. They built fences, shoveled snow off their roofs, planted gardens, hauled water, chopped wood, and scrubbed floors. It took a whole day just to do laundry and it was a backbreaking job. Who could perform those duties while wearing a corset?

As it turns out, corsets were promoted as essential for work and play as they kept a woman's back straight and many women wore them. Besides, wearing one was the moral thing to do. It was the Victorian era and women had a standard to keep, whether they lived in the big city or the emerging west.

Wearing a corset wasn't governed by status, size or gender. High-brow women wore them. Domestic servants did. Men wore them, until the mid-19th century, when they went out of vogue and a man caught wearing one was ridiculed. Children wore them. Pregnant women did. Even women in prison and mental institutions. How do we know? Women wrote about their corsets in letters and diaries. They recorded their purchases and sewed their own. Some packed their corsets away and now they're housed in museums and family collections.

Corsets could reduce the waist to a mere 15 inches. Some feared they would cause consumption, curvature of the spine, rib displacement, cancer, hysteria, hunchback, abortion, melancholy, epilepsy, nervous headaches, feelings of sinking, back aches, side pains, indigestion, poor appetite, short breath, imperfect circulation, tuberculosis, liver disease, cold hands and feet and yes, red noses. And yet, 19th century women still wore them. Women in western society had, in fact, been wearing corsets or some form, for the last 500 years, excluding a few after the French Revolution, with the sole purpose of molding their bodies into the "perfect" shape.

What about ultra-tight lacing, a practice that physicians believed would cause severe organ displacement? Some researchers claim that lacing until your nose turned red was a myth and that most women bought corsets according to their waist measurement and wore them tightened within reason. Admittedly, a few may have gotten carried away, cinching their corsets as tight as they could, with a desire for a perfect hourglass waist. A woman, in a letter to the "Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine", defended tight lacing, saying the corset was a necessity women had to get used to, the way a "barefooted Highland lassie" had to get used to shoes. The writer goes on to suggest that the secret to wearing the corset safely is to begin using it as early in life as possible. That way, growing bodies would adapt.

Ultra-tight lacing or not, corsets were a health concern. In 1869, Thos. W. Love and Co. introduced the Health Corset, which was, according to the ads, endorsed by N.Y. physicians. The new innovative design was touted to make women not only perfectly shaped, but also happier and beautiful, as well as more amiable, sweeter tempered and affectionate. There you go. Perhaps the benefits outweighed the fears.

Most likely, not all 19th century women wore corsets all of the time, but the garment seems to have been widely accepted and was simply thought of as underclothing, the way we think of bras these days.

I found a wealth of information about corsets and have provided several links. My favorite sources are magazines, books and advertisements of the day, and also letters and diaries, where 19th century women wrote down their thoughts concerning the corset, a common garment that would, in the future, grow out of fashion and become a curiosity to 21st century women.
href="https://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015027389355">Godey's Lady's Book and Magazine. "On Tight Lacing". March 1869. P 288. Hathi Trust Digital Library. Google Digitalized. Public Domain. All 1869 issues are available. Rich in social history of the time. Commentary on proper dress and health. Patterns. House plans. Games and puzzles. Stories and plays and more. Other years are available. Go to the index.
"Women's Fashions." Clothing through American History: The Civil War through the Gilded Age, 1861-1899. Anita Stamper and Jill Condra. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood Press, 2011. 79-154. Gale Virtual Reference Library. Web. 9 Sept. 2016. Book includes a section concerning corsets and contains quotes from journals, newspapers, etc. Great resource. I got access through my county library.
"Too Close for Comfort: 500 Years of Corsets." University of Virginia. Historical Collections at the Claude Moore Health Sciences Library. Website.
"Cinching Up in the Victorian Era - Corsets!" Denise Winter, Victorian clothing designer and researcher. Website.
"Clothing the Saints. How to Dress a Pioneer Woman." Liz Clark. Website.
"Crinolines, Crinolettes, Bustles and Corsets from 1860-80." Website. Victoria and Albert Museum of Art and Design. London, England.
Following are books and advertisements published in the mid-1800s that 19th century women most likely had access to:
"Save the Women and Children with the Health Corset." Advertisement. Thos. W. Love & Co. 1869.
"Coraline corsets." Warner Brothers' Company. Bridgeport Connecticut corset makers, not to be confused with the movie makers. 18-page advertisement. 1870s.
"The Corset and the Crinoline: a book of modes and costumes from remote periods to the present time." Lord William Barry. 258 pages. 1868.
"Health and beauty; or, Corsets and clothing, constructed in accordance with the physiological." Roxey Ann Caplin. 241 pages. 1864.
The Cholic. Engraving. February 1819. George Cruikshank [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Quote: "Corsets have always been worn, will be worn, and should be worn." 1869 Advertisement. Save the Women and Children. Thos. W. Love & Co
Fashionable: 19th Century Guide. Clothes for men, women and children. Pinterest Board. Kate E Thompson.
Accessorize: 19th Century Fashion. Pocket watches, walking sticks, jewelry and more. Fashion extras for 19th century men and women. Pinterest Board. Kate E Thompson.

Kate E Thompson is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie and a contributing author of New Halem Tales - 13 Stories from 5 NW Authors. She is currently working on her second book, A Family of Forgetters, a historical novel set in 19th century Utah.

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Kate E Thompson is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie and a contributing author of New Halem Tales - 13 Stories from 5 NW Authors. She is currently working on her second book, A Family of Forgetters, a historical novel set in 19th century Utah.

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He flew on silent wings; one swoop and his talons grazed the top of her head. She didn';t see him coming. She was walking down the forest path to her cabin after a hearty meal at the farmhouse. It was twilight, drizzly, and she was alone. Before she thought to run, he went in for a second swipe. This time, she left sprinting and even though her cabin was closer, she ran back to the farmhouse to warn us.

This was my first night as a writer-in-residence at Hedgebrook, a retreat for women writers located on Whidbey Island, WA. The writers' cottages are tucked away in the forest amongst cedars and furs, pines and hemlocks and vine maples. In owl territory, it seemed. Funny, the packet I received when I was awarded the Hedgebrook residency, mentioned deer and bunnies, not attack owls.

The victim, bearing minor scratches, burst into the farmhouse dining room and told us her story. We'd just finished dinner. Now we had to walk down the owl path to our respective cabins. We strategized. We had numbers; there were five of us and one owl. He was 2 pounds, we were 600. But wait, an owl perched in the tallest cedar can spot a tree frog at night and he can hear a pinecone drop a mile away.We needed an edge. A shield, breastplate and matching helmet would give us one. We settled for coats. We buttoned up to our necks, tucked in loose hairs and most important, covered our heads.

There are many ways to protect a head. Flip up a hood, don a wide brimmed hat, tie on a red blinking light, or put tomorrow's lunch in your pocket and wear the Red-Riding-Hood basket it came in, on your head, the handle like a bow. I put on my basket after I finished tying my hood.

We turned on our windup flashlights and marched shoulder to shoulder into the woods. We walked a fast clip. And the owl, wherever he was, allowed us to pass.

He woke me before my alarm. I rushed downstairs and opened the window. First light winked through the branches. I wanted to get a look at that owl. It was a frosty morning and I shivered. The fire I made the night before was ash. I wrapped in a blanket and waited.

It wasn't long before I heard him hooting again. "Hoo-hoo hoo hoo. Hoo-hoo hoo hoo hoo," he called. Was this the crazy owl from last night? While he hooted, I peered into the branches. He was nearby, I knew it. But where?

I opened my Pacific NW Guidebook and turned to the owl section. I learned that a Barn Owl screamed and clicked, the Burrowing Owl cooed. I read on. The Barred Owl's hoot was unique. If he hooted words they'd be, "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?"

Who cooks for you? I substituted hoo for each word. I hooted out loud a few times. Yes, I found my owl! I studied the picture. He or she, the book wasn't that detailed, was about two feet tall, had a four foot wingspan and friendly eyebrows. He looked cuddly, not crazed.

The owl had been quiet for a while. The sun was up; and yellow and red leaves glistened. I shut the window. I'd have to go out there later, in the dark, and walk to the farmhouse.

I saw my lunch-basket hat on the table. The sandwich I left in my pocket was still cold, as if it'd been in the fridge all night. I thought of dinner the night before. An epicurean feast and the first meal I hadn't cooked in ages. Hedgebrook had a chef, a real chef who made mouth-watering dinners and lunches to go. The type of meals I would never prepare at home because, well, who has time for fancy stuff, when you had kids and jobs and messes to clean? I ate the sandwich for breakfast, roast beef, not bologna. Who cooks for you? I chuckled. I had almost two weeks left at Hedgebrook to write whenever I wanted and without interruption or obligation.

That night after dinner, we walked back to our cabins together. I kept the picture of the owl in mind. I thought of his big brown eyes; I thought of his stripes. We had our hats on! One of the women wore a floppy one and I wore the hardhat I found in my cabin. I looked like a construction worker. Problem was, someone with a bigger head had worn it last and I hadn't thought to adjust it. As I walked, it slid down over my eyes, off the back of my head, to one side, the other.

We arrived at the giant elm, the spot where we would split up. Two of us left the path and headed to our cabins. Not a peep out of that owl. Strange, I felt disappointed.

We'd only walked a few feet when the owl swooped in and landed on a branch. We had high power flashlights this time, not the wimpy windups. We shined our lights on him.

He didn't look as friendly as he did in the picture. Still, I felt a little giddy. Who cooks for you? I smiled. The chef made chocolate chip cookies for dessert. A rare treat; I never baked at home. She gave me extra on my way out. They were in my pockets.

The owl blocked our way and he wasn't budging. Then, with no warning, my companion marched up to that bird and started telling him off. I watched her wave her arms, whoop and holler. I'd never seen anything like it. The owl cocked his head. Apparently, he hadn't either. Finally, she put her hand on her hip and turned. "He's not scared at all." She sounded surprised and held her flashlight steady.

His eyes slid over to me. I thought of the cuddly owl. I saw a hunter. I remembered the bunnies I'd seen on the path earlier. I tried not to scare them, but a twig snapped underfoot and they scurried into the bushes. I turned off my flashlight. This was not a crazed owl. We were tramping through her territory during prime hunting hours and scaring her dinner away. She was probably a mom and had mouths to feed.

The owl took flight. She made no sound; the branch didn't move. She glided. She flew in my direction. Several feet away she broke course. Whoosh! She soared up, up and over my head. I whirled around to see where she'd gone, but my hard hat slid over my eyes and fell to the ground.

I looked up. A moonless night, the sky inky-black and the only sound was rustling leaves.

Hedgebrook Farm. "Hedgebrook isn't a retreat, it's an advance." Gloria Steinem
Photo. Oak Cabin at Hedgebrook. K. Thompson 2008
Kate E Thompson, 2008 Hedgebrook Alum, is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie and a contributing author of New Halem Tales - 13 Stories from 5 NW Authors. She is currently working on her second book, A Family of Forgetters, a historical novel set in 19th century Utah.