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The Bishop Walk - an Ode to Snoopy

  • Writer: Margaret Sanford
    Margaret Sanford
  • 7 days ago
  • 3 min read
The completed piece hanging in my parents' home.
The completed piece hanging in my parents' home.

Like many during the 2020 Covid Pandemic, I turned to the regulating and calming domestic notions to cope with the panic and uncertainty around me. I baked cookies, tried working my way through our haphazard pantry at mealtimes, and found myself returning to the fiber arts in a way I hadn't had capacity for since college. After finishing a knitted sweater that had been on the needles for far longer than I'd ever admit (traveling from apartment to apartment, state to state) I wanted to take on color-work but was intimidated. As a compromise, and an aparent desire for a creative challenge amidst the mounting anxiety as Covid swept through the country, I picked up an embroidery kit.

The kit was fine - it resembles many first attempts in a new medium: clumsy, hesitant, and technically wanting - but the practice was consuming. Working with small threads - smaller than I was used to after knitting for over a decade - was a surprising treat. I loved the ability to get into granular details and the flexibility stitch variety allowed. More-so, I loved the gradual process, watching a design take form and grow with every stitch.


Horrified at my lack of technique and caution - but this is my first foray with embroidery ca. 2020.
Horrified at my lack of technique and caution - but this is my first foray with embroidery ca. 2020.

As I was beginning to research more embroidery techniques and ponder my next project, my family dog (1000 miles away) received a terminal cancer diagnosis. Unable to travel to be with family, unable to speak to the dog I had begged my parents to get in high school, I spent more than a fair amount of time reminiscing on my time with Snoopy. While researching embroidery techniques I was influenced by my undergraduate and soon-to-be-graduate degrees which focused on mourning, memory, and commemoration. I found myself wading through mourning embroideries - amazed at the nexus of emotion and craft.



Snoopy's nightly walk was an anchor in the family after we adopted him. It was an excursion I looked forward to attending when I visited home after long periods away - enjoying the seasons' vibrancy in a 30 minute walk around the creek-bed - and a steadfast event in the daily life at home. The walk was punctuated by the various sounds of the creek (persistent in summer, silent in winter, roaring in spring) and occasional guest stars that became characters in the family theater: two little neighbors who would offer Snoopy treats (he was always so good with kids), our diocese's bishop who might be coming home from a holy day or event, and of course the ever-persistent wildlife that characterize northern Minnesota: deer, rabbits, and the resident bear (affectionately called "iPhone").

I set to creating a map of this dear, beloved trail and the little dog who made it extra special. I used some linen I had on hand, using watercolor to paint a background and set about using french knots for trees. The walk was always referred to as "The Bishop Walk", since that was such a go-to phrase I wanted to memorialize the impact Snoopy had on our lives. I also took care to document the path, the trees my grandfather borrowed boughs from at Christmas (which my dad and I still do today), and our dear, family home.



This was a really powerful exercise and a really meaningful way to process the grief of losing Snoopy and the distance I felt so painfully during a tumultuous time.





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