Handmade isn’t just about the Craft Room

We often think of handmade as something tucked away in the craft room—yarn, fabric, glitter, glue. But the truth is, a handmade life stretches far beyond those four walls. In this episode, we explore the beauty of everyday handmade living—from garden projects to homemade bread, mended shirts, and homegrown herbs. This isn’t about being crafty; it’s about being intentional. Join me for a warm conversation about how the most meaningful handmade moments are often the simplest, and how your hands can bring love and care into the daily rhythms of life.

Transcript

Episode 176 - Handmade isn’t just about the Craft Room 

When you hear the word “handmade,” what comes to mind?

For a lot of folks, it’s yarn and fabric. Paintbrushes and glue guns. A table buried in little jars of buttons or beads or maybe piles of paper and ribbon, just waiting to be turned into something beautiful. And yes, all of that certainly counts. Those late nights in the craft room, with a cup of tea and a lamp glowing soft on your workspace, creating something from nothing—that’s a wonderful part of handmade living.

But I want to broaden that idea just a bit today. Because handmade doesn’t always come with a pattern or live in a sewing basket. It isn’t confined to craft rooms or weekend hobby time. Sometimes, the most meaningful handmade things are the ones that get overlooked because they feel too ordinary. Too useful. Too humble.

And yet, that’s exactly what makes them so special.

Years ago, one of my mentors and good friends had a saying: “If your hands are busy, your heart has time to speak.” Now, she didn’t have a formal craft room. She didn’t even have what you’d call crafting time. But every day, her hands were doing something—mending a shirt, stirring a pot of stew, planting marigolds along the edge of the vegetable garden. None of it was fancy. But all of it was handmade.

And somehow, you could feel it. That warmth. That care. You didn’t have to be told something came from her hands—you knew it, the second you saw it or touched it or tasted it.

That’s the kind of handmade I want to talk about today.

Because in this fast-paced, pre-packaged world, the idea of taking time to make something from scratch has become almost… rare. But when we live a simple life, it’s one of the things that roots us. Slows us down. Connects us to the people we love and the homes we keep.

It’s there when we bake bread instead of buying it, or hem a pair of pants instead of tossing them. It’s in the herb bundles drying by the kitchen window, and the old quilt that got patched instead of replaced. It’s in handwritten recipes passed down through generations, each smudge and scribble telling a story.

And yes—it’s in that moment when we sit down and make something with no other purpose than to enjoy the process.

But that process? It doesn’t need a fancy craft cart or an entire room dedicated to supplies. Sometimes it’s as simple as a needle and thread in a little tin on the shelf. Or a jar of homemade jam cooling on the counter. It could be a broom corn wreath you tied together yourself, or the garden fence you painted with leftover whitewash.

It might not look like the Pinterest version. But it sure does feel like home.

I think part of the problem is that we’ve turned “handmade” into a product, when really, it’s more of a practice. It’s less about what it ends up looking like and more about the heart that goes into it.

Let me give you a little example.

A couple of summers ago, I had a raised garden bed that needed some shade. I didn’t want to buy one of those store-bought covers, and I didn’t have any fancy materials. But I did have an old bedsheet, a handful of clothespins, and a little ingenuity. So I pieced together a little canopy using what I had on hand. Was it pretty? Not particularly. But it kept the lettuce from wilting, and every time I saw it, I smiled. Because it was mine. It had come from my own hands and problem-solving and creativity.

That counts.

That’s handmade.

It’s that same spirit you’ll find in those who make their own laundry soap or carve walking sticks from fallen tree limbs. People who make spice blends for gifts instead of picking something off a store shelf; who see a pile of scrap wood and imagine a birdhouse, or a boot jack, or a bench for the porch.

And sometimes, the thing you make doesn’t last forever. Maybe it gets used up. Maybe it wears out. But there’s still value in it. Because for a little while, it did what it was meant to do—and it carried a bit of you in the doing.

And I think that’s what makes handmade such a gift.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence.

It’s not just a thing you make—it’s a memory you’re shaping. A moment you’re honoring. A choice to slow down and do something with intention instead of convenience.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love a good trip to the craft store just as much as the next person. But I also think some of the most cherished handmade things don’t start with a shopping cart. They start with a spark—an idea. A sense of curiosity. A need that meets with a bit of time and a willing heart.

Maybe it’s a little girl learning to make cornbread with her grandma, hands covered in flour and eyes wide with pride. Maybe it’s a dad fixing a broken gate latch with parts from his workbench. Maybe it’s a group of friends gathering to string popcorn and cranberries for the Christmas tree.

It’s about connection. And not just to each other, but to our surroundings. To our homes. To the land.

Handmade has a way of grounding us in place.

It invites us to take notice.

To touch and tend and pay attention.

When we use our hands, our hearts follow close behind.

And that’s especially true when we’re making something for our everyday lives. Not just for gifts or holidays, but for the rhythms of home—those little tasks and comforts that make daily life a little smoother and a lot more meaningful.

Things like stitching cloth napkins to keep on the table. Or brewing up a batch of herbal tea blends to have on hand for the winter months. Making your own seasoning salt, or planting a kitchen herb garden, or braiding garlic to hang in the pantry.

These might seem like small things. But they’re the very heart of a handmade life.

They’re quiet, unassuming, and deeply useful.

And they help us live not just more simply, but more richly.

Now, I know some folks might say, “Well, I’m not very crafty.” And to that, I say—you don’t have to be.

You just have to be willing.

Because a handmade life doesn’t come with a skill test or a supply list. It comes with curiosity. With the willingness to try. To fail. To laugh when it doesn’t turn out quite right—and to celebrate when it does.

It’s not about being an expert. It’s about being present.

And sometimes, it’s about rediscovering something you used to love, or always wanted to learn, and giving yourself the freedom to explore it again.

So maybe this month, as we explore this homemade and handcrafted theme, I’d encourage you to look around and ask: What can I make—not for a show or a shop or even a gift—but just for the good of your home? For the care of your family? For the joy of doing something with your own two hands?

It might be something big—like building a raised bed or sewing a new apron.

Or it might be something as simple as ironing a vintage tablecloth just because it makes breakfast feel a little more special.

It all counts.

It’s all handmade.

And none of it has to be done in a craft room.

It can happen at the kitchen table, or out on the porch, or in a shady corner of the backyard. It can be tucked in between loads of laundry or while supper simmers on the stove.

It’s not about setting aside a perfect block of time.

It’s about weaving it into your life.

Because when we make things with our hands—whether it’s bread, or a garden trellis, or a batch of beeswax candles—we are echoing something old. Something holy. Something human.

We’re taking part in the rhythm of creation.

And that, to me, is one of the quiet joys of living a simple life.

We get to slow down. We get to notice. We get to take part in the making of our world—even if that world is just the space within our four walls.

So the next time you feel like making something, don’t worry about whether it’s "crafty enough." Don’t wait for the perfect setup or supplies. Just start with what you have. Where you are. And let your hands tell a story.

Because handmade isn’t just about ribbons and glue sticks.

It’s about intention.

It’s about love.

It’s about finding beauty in the everyday—and letting your life reflect that beauty, one stitch, one loaf, one coat of paint at a time.

Thanks for joining me today. I hope this has encouraged you to see the handmade moments already tucked into your days—and maybe even inspired you to create a few new ones.

Until next time, slow down, breathe deep, and keep living that beautiful, simple life… one handmade step at a time.