There was certainly no time to sew. No time to sketch. With her 8 siblings constantly underfoot, there was barely room to dream. How hers, my mother’s fashion designer dreams, didn’t get buried under the pile of dishes in the sink, the stacks of laundry, the diapers, the farm reports, the never ending mound of “well, someone has to do it…” – this was nothing short of miraculous.

My grandma was very loving. But she didn’t have the time to sit down and tell all nine of her children that they were possible. My mother found that on her own. She dared to step away from the flock. Find her own path. Put down the apron and gather herself in ruffles. And oh, how that farm girl could shine!

This was the gift she gave me. The greatest gift she continues to give me. This idea that it’s OK not to follow. It’s OK to brave that uncharted course. So if you see me, ruffled in France, you know the miracle that got me here. The glorious miracle that didn’t lead, but dared me to wander, dared me to dream. Gave me the strength, the opportunity — the luxury of time to sit down and tell you – you, indeed are possible.