My shoeless foot is fixed on the sewing machine’s pedal. I take a deep breath and allow my sewing instructor and stand-in grandmother, Beth Krumhans, to guide my hands forward. In unison, we steer the fabric under the bobbing needle, ensuring the path of stitches is straight.

Krumhans puts it in simple terms. “Sewing is like driving a car in reverse,” she says. “Steer the opposite direction you want the line of stitches to go.”

I feel Krumhans’ hands slowly release from the fabric, and I am brought back to riding a bike for the very first time — my dad has just released his steady hand from my back, yet this time, my foot is only fixed to one pedal and the road ahead is sprinkled with pins.

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