Ever since the last spot fire spawned after the conflagration that was the 2018 Camp Fire, many independent business owners in Paradise have had to wait over six months to get a second bite at the cherry.
Despite the town’s diverse arboreal presentation, no cherry trees, which engender a lot of ground in California, are present, as thousands of trees were eradicated after the fire, while many are still being sawed – but in Japanese folklore, the Sakura tree represents good fortune and revival.
After a seed of sewing interest was sown six years ago, Jamie Kalanquin’s affection for plaid, a pattern known for its outdoorsy-ness, was the driving force behind her business model, which she was eager to construct.
“It was one of those niche markets that was like ‘Oh, I found my thing,’” said Kalanquin, who has changed her business names like a poker player changes hands, before settling on Thistle & Stitch.
After many notepad scribbles and subsequent Googles for hints of nominal availability, Thistle & Stich was decided. The thistle is the national flower of Scotland, a country that is known for its plaids and tartan, also. Stitch was self-explanatory in this sequence, given her background.
“I’ve done craft fairs over the years, here and there, but nothing very official,” said Kalanquin, who grew her business with more local fair appearances and a strong social media presence.
From two yards of fabric to two bolts of fabric, she has suffered no undercutting in her efforts to support local families. Days after the fire, a close friend gave her a gift card to a nearby fabric store — a voucher to rejuvenate her motivation, a means to keep up with her flooded inbox.
Banners, Christmas stockings, tree skirts and bags all stuff her creative inventory, though scarves, which provide the best profit margin, are her bread and butter. She personalizes items, with custom embroidery and monogramming, after people reach out to her in-person or through Facebook, Instagram or Etsy. Donations have been flying in, through Etsy, an e-commerce website that is contingent upon handmade, vintage items and craft supplies.
“I’m still working my stock and rebuilding the variety in my stock, while trying to stock a store in Chico,” said Kalanquin, who turned peripatetic, post-fire, with her husband — a Paradise native — and their toddler.
Prior to the fire, the married couple confidently moved everywhere from Alaska to Colorado to Santa Rosa, before buying their first home in Paradise, six months before the Camp Fire. After the fire, a many-months stay at her mother’s house in Redding, where there was enough space and clean air, ensued — though they slept in a garage, while other family members occupied the other rooms.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas of this past year, she made roughly 1,500 scarves, or 50 scarves per day, in a makeshift craft studio. All the machines and fabric that she had repurchased were sprawled out on her mother’s dining room table, while the surface used for cutting fabrics was an out-of-commission pool table, which was camouflaged by medium-density fibreboard.
“With the Camp Fire, there’s just so much support, people wanting to help and support my business,” said Kalanquin, who doesn’t employ anybody else under Thistle & Stitch. “When I was just ready to give up and be like, ‘Well, there goes everything I worked for,’ it was just the opposite.”
Since the fire, quilting hasn’t been her top priority, as timeliness has been stressed, but that hasn’t stopped the self-made business owner.
By January, the trailer, which was parked in her in-law’s side yard in Chico, was thrown into the fold, with its front door kept ajar, as Kalanquin and her husband shuffled back-and-forth between living spaces.
Despite being prolific in her needlework and watching her business multiply, Kalanquin, who eventually wants to create pieces for national parks but currently has friends bending her ear to churn out baby-crib chew barriers, bunting and kitchen curtains, is committed to the area.
“This is where we want to stay, this is where we’re called to be,” said Kalanquin, who has rebounded, thanks her Christian faith. “My value and my hope are not in stuff.”
Immaterially, Kalanquin, and many of those like her, bleeds devotion to Paradise, threading families together with cherry-colored plaid.