Sewing fur has become a habit, a tradition, a part of my newfound culture. So, as fate would have it, my darling in a nonchalant tone requested himself a parka ruff. A parka ruff? you ask. Yes, a parka ruff. A strip of sewn furs that line the hood of a parka in order to shade the face from the cold arctic wind. And then he chose himself a few thick strips of fur from the neck of a white wolf and a wolverine. Living where we do, the only supplies available are limited and sometimes nonexistant. So I was stuck using snapping needles, cheap thread, and an old arrow head as a thimble. Twelve hours later and the tuffs of white and brown have blended together flawlessly. My darling walks around in triumph, as if he himself is the proud bearer and creator. If only he knew the work that such a thing actually entails.
