Activia Training Scholarship -- Fitting into Boxes and Telling Stories

The ribbon of my seventeen years has unraveled from its spool at a hundred miles per hour, spilling over the edges of different boxes.

There’s the Farm Girl Box of green woven fields, sweet horse kisses, and starlit nights in the tractor. There’s the Student Box strung with stubby lead pencils, science fair ribbons, and graduation honors cords. Lastly, there’s the Fashion Designer Box of newspaper clippings, VIP lanyards, and beads sewn until my fingers bled. The colors, textures, and memories from each box vary, but together they tell a story.

 

14 Reasons Fashion Shows and Dog Shows are Pretty Much the Same Thing

From Fashion Week to Westminster Dog Show, last week was certainly excitement-packed. The marked similarities between the shows is something that still makes me laugh. From munching Filet Mingon with celebrities like Lindsay Lohan at Nicole Miller’s after-party to finding a photo of Miranda in the dress we created overnight in the New York Times, it was surreal as well. Sometimes I pinch myself to see if it’s all a dream, but in reality, all I can do is say thanks to the Man Upstairs who keeps dragging me along on these crazy adventures.

And what a sense of humor must He have!

Nicole Miller: New York Fashion Week 2017

SoHo, New York -- "What are all these people doing standing around in the snow?"

My cab driver, Ahmed, swivels his wrist in disgust at the sharply dressed men and women that slog across the street. A green Gucci bag collects a thin layer of frost, and an Armani coat is pulled tight around the wearer. 

"It's Fashion Week," I say, raising my hands to the small heater. "There's nothing practical about Fashion week."

Practical. Practical like five pairs of size-nine Doc Martin boots in the seat next to me. 

With one final disgruntled flip of the wrist, Ahmed replies, "Crazy fools."

Miles & Hyde: Time Travel and Mustard Messes

On the fourth day of my friend, Lizzie Hyde’s, visit to New York, she and I did a lot of walking through wardrobes just like that. 

We’d packed our bags with necessary time-travel items and boarded the subway at nine, sharp. We had books for the subway ride, emergency snacks (eaten at 9:08 a.m.), and a 64-pack of crayons.

We climbed through the wardrobe, past aisles of cotton candy, through swarms of seagulls, into the saturated Coney glow. 

The Cyclone was closed, so we swept crumbs from our hotdog rappers and put our crayons to work decorating around smudges of mustard. 

Miles & Hyde: The Murder of Bonnie and Clyde

Another round of New York City adventures with two Oregon farm girls.

Chinatown, N.Y. — Pagoda roofs sit like ballgowns atop the heads of jenga-stacked businesses, and neon signs splash characters and symbols across their sprawling skirts. Red and gold awnings, umbrella tables knolled with green Opo Squash, King Crabs, and vibrantly packaged sweets abound. 

Moments earlier, my friend Lizzie and I were passing a glossy skyscraper that stands like a compass needle in the heart of the financial district. In a matter of a left turn, we find ourselves immersed into another world entirely. The briefcase-toting businessmen on the previous block are replaced by storied grandfathers bent over their tables of goods. 

 

 

Miles & Hyde: The Hot Chocolate High

Chandeliers toss prisms of soft blue and gold about the cocoa-infused room. A red leather chair rests on the warm wooden floor below me, and the murmurs of other guests rise and fall with Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud.”  Rows of buttery fresh-made pastries wave from a glass case.  

A black-clad waiter sets a tray with six tea cups onto the marble table. Four contain varying shades of thick chocolate, and the other two sit below mountains of whipped cream garnished with nutmeg. 

My friends, Lizzie from Oregon, and Fahanny from Ecuador, my mother, Rebecca, and I reach for our orders of hot chocolate, eager to hold the floral cups in our hands after a full afternoon in New York’s January snowfall. 

Introducing Miles & Hyde: The New York Edition

12:23 a.m., Maiden Lane, N.Y. -- “Katherine, I’m right outside!”

I nearly leapt out of my fluffy red stockings as I raced to the door. It had been a long day — a great day — the first day of my much anticipated internship at Nicole Miller’s and day one of the visit from one of my very favorite souls who had flown all the across the continent . 

“Ok, I’ll buzz you in!” I ran out into the hall, where the elevator door opened to reveal the long-legged, adventure-seeking Elisabeth Gerda Hyde. We both still had our phones to our ears talking a hundred miles per hour, making us the subject of many a grumble from sleepy neighbors tucked behind neighboring apartment doors. 

No Place Like Home for the Holidays

The day after Christmas, mom rode back into New York and I traveled on to Oregon with Uncle Walt to surprise my grandparents (all of whom, had been laying the guilt trip on me for weeks). While I was mostly excited to see my family, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the pang of joy in my heart as I spotted a dozen black dots from my window seat in the small airplane above Redmond, Ore. 

“Cows!”

What really made me feel at home was the first order of business upon landing in Redmond. The urgent notification on my uncle’s phone when we landed was a text from my second brother, Andrew. “Can you pick up some 22 shells on the way home?” 

Fall Fashion and New Beginnings

Autumn means new beginnings. It’s out with the old, and in with the new. Leaves drip from trees, leaving crispy pools of warm colors that turn unto the earthy, sweet smell of fermenting seasons past. 

Back home at the farm, baby calves are born with glossy pink noses that breathe in that fresh fall air, welcoming promises of new life and new seasons to come. 

The fields are put to bed, and a new school year begins, and the children trade their greasy work boots and shovels for shiny new shoes and sharp crayons. 

For me, this season has brought more new, and cast more old than any other time in my life. I miss the tiny school where my 23 classmates used to cut out paper pilgrims and turkeys this time of year. But as I push the button for the 20th floor, in the glass high-rise overlooking the Hudson River where I now go to school, I can’t help but feel excitement for the new beginnings I am in the process of exploring. 

New England: Tasha Tudor Meets Johnny Cash

Over the river and through the woods, to cross New New England in the fall off my bucket list. Here are some snippets of our weekend escape to New Hampshire.

We arrived in Rumney, N. H. in time to watch the light splash it’s softest hues of pink down the brick library over which my grandmother’s cousin-in-law, Susan, presides.

The village was first settled by farmers in 1765, and was once home to a dozen sawmills, a tannery, and even a ladder factory. While many of the structures still remain, the hustle and bustle has disappeared, leaving the village both charming and quiet.