The Stitching Ladies of Edgewater by Lindsey Ragsdale

Lindsey Ragsdale

“Are you free Tuesday mornings?” asked Beth, sitting to my right, as she pulled up a loop of yarn with her crochet hook.

 “What happens on Tuesdays?” I replied.

 “The Stitching Ladies,” she said. “Up in Edgewater. At the synagogue on Thorndale. We knit and crochet for those in need. Hats, scarves, gloves, baby blankets– you name it.”

I raised my eyebrows in interest. “What should I bring?”

“Nothing at all,” Beth continued. “Sandy provides all the hooks and needles. And of course, tons of yarn that’s been donated over the years. All you need is yourself.”

That’s how I joined the Stitching Ladies.

Imagine: On a Tuesday, not too early, but not too late in the morning, you push open the heavy glass doors at Emanuel Congregation. The temple sits right by the Edgewater lakefront, backdropped by bright blue water and clear sunny skies. In the summertime, children in camp play games on an extensive jungle gym, their gleeful yells echoing across the parking lot.

The doors close behind you, stifling their happy shouts. Inside the synagogue hallway it’s cool and quiet. You smile and nod to the friendly security guard, who nods back. “You know where to go,” he rumbles with a smile, as he’s used to seeing you on Tuesdays. You’re also wearing a red lanyard with a cheerful tag that reads “Emanuel’s Sensational Stitching Ladies!”

Down the hallway you go, past brick walls and artwork. One of these days, you’ll stop and take a thoughtful glance at the beautiful silver cups and other Judaica in the glass-fronted cabinets, illustrating Emanuel’s rich history. Right now, though, you’re here for a different reason.

Laughter and chatter spills through the doorway of your destination. In a high-ceilinged room several long tables are arranged in an oval. Folding chairs face inwards. Along one wall are wooden shelves and boxes filled with notions and yarn. There’s a clock high on the wall that never quite tells the right time, and a carafe of cold water, sometimes accompanied by snacks that someone has brought to share.

Sitting in the chairs are ladies of all ages. They’re smiling, chatting, looking at photos, asking each other for advice. Occasionally one or two will stand up and meander around the tables, curious to know what each lady is making today. Sandy, the head of Stitching Ladies, is always available to answer a question or give advice. Anyone through the door is greeted with a smile and hello, and there are no assigned seats– ladies mingle and mix at will, eager to catch up on the goings-on of the past week. No one is a stranger here.

There is one thing they all have in common. Each lady has knitting needles or crochet hooks busy with yarns of all colors and textures. One woman holds up her striped blanket, chevrons of forest green, mahogany brown, and cream neatly striping its length. Another one works small, careful stitches in reds and oranges into a growing scarf.

Beth herself has her hands full of a fuzzy black yarn, reminiscent of a caterpillar, and she’s worked it together with bright splashes of fuchsia and pink to dramatic effect. Every lady is making something different.

On one table, finished garments, washed and neatly folded, lie for the ladies to peruse with oohs and ahhs.

“Who made this one? It’s lovely.”

“I love how this yarn feels – go on, touch it.”

“You must send me this pattern.”

Every item has a paper label safety pinned to it, reading “A handmade gift for you. From the Emanuel Congregation.” These finished items will be donated to local residents in need, as well as hospitals, shelters, and other community organizations.

The atmosphere is warm and light, full of gentle curiosity and community. Every lady has a story as unique as the pieces she crafts, and it’s through sitting, listening, and sharing in turn that you feel truly welcomed into this sisterhood with open arms.

Before you know it, three hours have passed, and everyone starts packing up. Stitch markers are placed in open loops, hooks and needles are wrapped up with their bundles of yarn, and ladies begin rising from their places, slinging their bags and purses over their shoulders. Some hug, some wave, and a refrain echoes throughout the space, like a prayer: “See you next week.”

You’re the last to leave, with a head and heart full of stories, and a bag filled with new skeins of yarn. As you take one last look over your shoulder at the empty tables and bare folding chairs, you know one thing is for certain – you’ll be back.

Copyright © 2024, Lindsey Ragsdale