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Cutting Out the Red Wool Hosen

I took...a lot of photos of this project. So many. Enough that cutting out the pieces gets one post, and constructing the hosen gets another.

Three white floral sprigged fabric pattern pieces laid out on a large square of garnet-red wool fabric. The largest piece, diagonally across the right side of the wool, looks like a rough outline of a child's tank-top dress, with the "straps" at lower left and the "hem" at upper right. To the left, at the top, is a rough pentagon with three sharp corners at the top and rounded bottom corners; below this, a recognizable right foot outline.
Bias cutting is so great for fit on the body and so terrible for fit on the yardage.
I was afraid 1.875 yards would be just barely enough for hosen. I didn't realize (or didn't quite...clock...) exactly how wide 58-inch fabric is, and it turns out I only need about .875 yards of such fabric to cut out knee-high hosen. Even with bias cutting, and napped fabric (very slightly napped, though, so that wasn't a huge factor). I folded the fabric in half crosswise, because...um. I'm sure there was a reason. No clue what it might have been.

Regardless, someday there'll be a winter skirt from the remainder, because that's how much there is.

A close-up of the ankle portion of the white floral sprigged leg pattern, which fills the upper right of the photo and branches into a short, roughly rectangular piece marked "outside foot" on the inner right edge. A white chalk line traces the outline of the pattern piece, diverging at the sharp indent in the left edge to add about an inch at the deepest curve before blending back against the pattern edge.
Little bird ankles are far too small for great honking frog feet to squeeze through.
I marked the outlines of my pieces with chalk after laying out the pattern and fiddling with it to create the largest remainder and smallest scraps possible, and adjusted the very close-fitted ankles to give my feet enough room to squeeze through that narrow point.

A close-up of two white hands, the left one with the tip of the thumb laid against a white chalk pattern line, and the right hand holding a rectangular piece of white tailor's chalk against the left thumb knuckle. Garnet-red wool fabric extends over the brown wood desk, and silver pins echo the shape of the chalked pattern lines just inside the shape.
I measured my hands in middle school and discovered I have rulers attached to my wrists.
I'd cut my pattern pieces without seam allowance, so I marked a one-inch allowance all the way around. Definitely excessive, but I much prefer having a little extra room for adjustment—and that goes double for the first time constructing a particular pattern. Besides, I'm already pretty attached to the idea of a blackberry-wine skirt, and having to recut pieces for hosen would seriously cramp my chances of getting a skirt from the remainder.

A high-angle photo of garnet-red wool fabric with pattern pieces marked in white tailor's chalk, with inch-wide seam allowances marked and intersecting at points between the pattern pieces. Silver pins echo the shapes of the pattern pieces, and a rectangular piece of white tailor's chalk is sitting on a blank area of fabric.
Told you they were giant seam allowances.
Chalking done, I pinned the daylights out of the pieces to keep them from slipping around while I cut, and made a lot of red fuzz all over one of our unused desks at the office. Whoops.

A close-up of the garnet-red right leg piece, cut out and still showing sharp white chalk lines one inch within the cut edges, with a white capital are marked in the center. The pattern piece looks like a child's tank-top dress upside down.
This is closer to actual color than any of the others.
I also cleverly marked each of the pieces for sidedness as I cut them, because playing "which leg does this belong to" is not my favorite activity.

A loose stack of garnet-red wool pieces, with leg pieces on the bottom of the pile, and sole and instep pieces on top. All the pieces have white chalked lines marked about an inch inside the cut edges, and one sole piece and the visible instep piece are marked with capital ares; the other sole piece is marked with a capital ell.
There is a mistake in this photo.
The last step before setting the pieces aside for the day was to baste the stitching lines before the chalk rubbed off; spongy, fulled wool makes a delightful garment, but a terrible substrate for dressmaker's chalk.

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