On the side of a narrow dirt road at Lumsden Beach sits a small yellow cottage.

More than fifty summers have passed by the drapes in its windows, the nails in the deck boards, and the faded folded linens tucked inside. Four generations of sisters have grown up there,

and it all began with Ellie and Madge.

Ellie is my grandmother, now in her late nineties. Madge was her sister, the one I was named after. Together they set the rhythm of life at the beach: long afternoons, open windows, Scrabble tiles clicking across the table.

I’ve spent nearly every summer of my life there.

This winter, I learned to sew.

I didn’t know what I wanted to make, but when I started collecting vintage linens, the kind that reminded me of that little yellow cottage, I came up with an idea on how to carry their story forward.

Each Ellie & Madge hat begins as something else: a curtain, a sheet, a piece of cottage cloth that has already known summer. The fabric is washed, chosen carefully, and sewn again into a sunhat made for long prairie days and bright skies.

This is a small, slow brand.

No two the same.

Made for the summers still ahead.