I remember a time when travelling to my family’s favourite vacation spot – Boisdale, Cape Breton, that we passed a large field of newly bundled and wrapped giant bales of hay. My Aunt jokingly mused aloud, “look at all those marshmallows.” My Grandmother keenly squinted at the field and marveled at the size. Weeks later we had many elderly people mentioning our trip to see the hay farmer’s new enterprise: growing marshmallows. They were amazed at his productivity. We had to explain the difference, then.
I named this site the Fabricated Newfie because I am not a “real Newfoundlander” and it was a pun on words, especially where I work with fabric and write, but my great grandmother’s ghosts must have been paying attention. It turns out, I have ancestors from this very fishing village! I would never have thought that to be true. I guess I learned to be skeptical when my extremely savvy grandmother was fooled by the enormous marshmallows growing in the field. So I dug a little deeper and found my family has MANY genetic roots to the ROCK. I suppose I am not a fabricated Newfie after all, just a transplanted one.
I am now intrigued enough to want to do costumes that represent the time periods when my ancestors arrived in Trout River, Newfoundland…it was then known as Trout River, St. Barbe District of Newfoundland. One great, great grandmother’s name was Mary Jane Taylor prior to marrying into the Ashe family. Many tailors who had difficult to pronounce names ended up being called by their profession or hobby. So this obsession with fabric that I have at times cursed, is ingrained in the celtic knot of my DNA. There is no escaping.