I love the scene in A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh where Eeyore is captivated by his birthday present, a pot, and something to put in it. Happily, he puts it in and takes it out and puts it in and takes it out. I know just how he felt, but it’s not clay pots that delight me, it’s drawstring bags.

There can be no definitive answer to the question, how did the first pouch come into the world? Some would say it must have been something a hunter threw together to hold arrowheads. I believe it must have been a broad leaf fastened with vine, and may have held baby teeth or corn. We know the first needleworkers made bags to be worn around the neck or waist, to carry talismans, amulets and other personal treasures.

From the tiny embroidered purses that sometimes accompanied payments in gold to the big sacks filled with grain, our recorded history is full of all manner, size and type of drawstring bags. Even today, with so many choices available, pretty bags in luxurious fabrics often serve as gift wrap for jewelry or charms. Many homes have clothespin bags hanging on wash lines and vegetable bags in refrigerator crispers.

But if those are the only sort at your house, I think you’re missing out on a good thing. What storage difficulty, including the sorting of like with like, couldn’t be solved by a nice drawstring bag of one size or another? And what better way could there be to sample a new fabric or trim, try out a new color scheme, play with a new stitch or technique, or show off an odd length of vintage ribbon or treasured scrap than by making a drawstring bag?

If you should see someone reaching into a wallet-sized pouch for coins to buy a magazine, please, stop and say hello--it’s me. Or you might catch me reaching into a tiny drawstring bag attached to a chain around my neck and pulling out lip balm on a snowy, blowy afternoon. Or find me on a bench in the spring with my embroidery and all my supplies in a drawstring bag hanging from my waist.

If you followed me home you’d find bags everywhere from my bed with its Polartec™ envelope to my desk, where a bag may sit open over a wide-mouthed jar to hold stationery supplies, or be drawn shut and tossed into a drawstring knapsack.

There is something about the various forms and functions of the simple, ancient design I find irresistible. If there’s anything I like more than using one, it’s making one, whether it’s something utilitarian in cheesecloth and twine or an elegant handbag of crazy quilt velvet and satin.

The drawstring bags that hold my scarves or handkerchiefs may also memorialize a favorite dress. My soap bags recall the lacy flannel nightgowns that once marked every Christmas. Likewise my widowed earrings and other jewelry bits have found new roles as trim on my fanciest bags.

See what I’m working on, and know my mood. The hand woven dish towel which was transformed in five minutes one baking day to a bread bag with a single drawstring. The bag I labored on for weeks based on a reticule in Godey’s, all ribbons and Irish crochet.

I’ve tried other sorts of bags, in 3D shapes, bags with pockets and zippers and clever hardware. I always come back to the shape of the loaf bag, the mending bag, the coin pouch of old. There’s something so endearing in that simplicity. I might add beads to aid in closing the bag, that’s all.

Next time you’re asked “paper or plastic?” why not answer ‘muslin” or “canvas” or “denim,” and open a drawstring bag full of drawstring bags to get the job done in a way William Morris would have approved, with something both beautiful and useful?

If I see you, I’ll be sure to say hello.

Biography

Sue Marra Byham is an avid writer and needleworker who keeps her business cards in a vintage drawstring bag.