I heard about The International Skirt-Making Competition on the radio and knew I had to tell my daughter. I walked to Orcas Island and knocked on a stranger’s door. When Rose answered, I could see she was already hard at work on her skirt, which hung from a utility belt and had large squares of burlap, canvas, and red wool. There were deep pockets for holding everything a person might need. Her skirt was lined with pressboard; the individual panels were stitched together with razor wire, jute, and staples. I was more concerned with flow, so my skirt was a space-age fabric that moved like snow sifting off a roof. It snagged on everything and bunched like bugs in spider webs, which gave the material its texture. It caught every air current and then it was like time-lapse photography of fog moving over a lake. Angels were already phoning in their orders. When Rose put on my skirt, she felt beautiful. When I put on hers, I felt capable. It wasn’t about the competition; it was about the making.

Bio: Elizabeth Kerlikowske