“The term “quilt” comes from the Latin culcita, meaning a stuffed sack. The word has come to have 2 meanings. It is used as noun, meaning the 3-layer stitched bedcovering. It is also used as a verb, meaning the act of stitching through the 3 layers to hold them together.
A quilt is a cloth sandwich, with a top, which is usually the decorated part, a back, and a filler in the middle.”*
Supposedly, quilting started in Europe, but I don’t believe it. Not like Americans do it. Quilting is the purest, most genuine, most endearing American art form. And mostly, but not exclusively, practiced by women and girls.
I started quilting in the late 1980’s. It was a natural next step for me. I have loved sewing from the very moment I walked into the homemaking class that was full of Singers with self-winding bobbins.
Luckily, I had survived the first semester where I was expected to give a rip about cooking. If I had been my teacher, I would have been tempted to stuff a certain Sarah Folsom in a janitor’s drum and deposit her and it behind the school. Ok, so a bit of an exaggeration, but I was bored out of my mind. I remember two things from cooking class:
1) White sauce is a major yawner. 2) French Breakfast Puffs. (I have the recipe if you want it. You will be hearing more about these little gems in an upcoming post.)
I almost drooled when walking past the wood shop. And I had to do that every single morning as my home room was an art class in the same building. (Don’t bother asking me why I didn’t take Wood Shop–this was back in the dark ages when boys took shop and girls took Home Ec, and there was not even an scintilla of wiggle room on that score) So that I latched onto sewing is entirely predictable; I was making something usable that would last more than 20 minutes.
I still have fabric from the first dress I made. That about sums it up, doesn’t it?
So, while living in central Nebraska sewing for two kids (more for the fun than the necessity of it, and yes, I still have fabric from the stuff I made for them, too) quilting was inevitable. I made Log Cabin quilts. I made a rose and cobalt blue one for my folks, a pink and black one for little sis, two red, white, and blue (the flag quilts) just because and bought the fabric for another for big brother. And then we moved to the big city.
My kids think I am crazy, but I did not want to leave Grand Island. And while life is a stream and you can never really wish to go back, I still look back at those days with great fondness.
With the kids in school, I did what lots of American women do: I went to work. Many years passed, and the sewing machine was just a way to mend tears and make curtains from time to time. Just a handy machine, taken for granted and not loved as it once was.
But about two years ago, it occurred to me that my life was lacking…..something. I went to work, a great job that I loved. I came home to supper made for me (take that, cooking class requirement). The kids were out of the house and doing well. So, what was it? I realized I had no creative outlet. I still had a sewing machine. Two, in fact. And I still had my knitting machine. But sewing won out. I had no little kids to sew for, so heck, why not go back to the quilting thing?
And I had a ready made project. Actually three. You see, the flag quilts were really just tops. I had never finished them. Then there was the blank slate of the concept of a quilt for Hank. Just the fabric, but it needed to be done to settle the score. He never got a quilt of his own.
I dove in. It was like riding a bike. After 20 years there was not enough fabric to finish the two backs the same. I loved that, as it turns out, because the two are the same–but different. And everyone we have shown them to prefer the one that had to be different from the original plan.
Then I opened my mouth and told the kids I was quilting again. Hank laughed and predicted he would get his quilt at age 50. A challenge! Oh yeah, you just wait and see. And that is when the hook sunk in.
When I had started the quilt, it was for a queen sized bed. In 5 months, he would be married, and the bed size would be a king. This presented a huge problem as color availability varies more than you would ever know UNLESS you are trying to duplicate or replace 20 year old fabric.
I had to augment, rearrange and supplement the existing “stash” of material. At each turn, I was thwarted and had to adjust the design slightly. All of this was kept secret. A big surprise for the wedding, yes. But a friendly “gotcha” moment for the newlyweds. It had to be wonderful and beyond any expectations–especially mine.
As I was nearing completion of the project, a poem came to me while I was trying to fall asleep.
“What started as one, is now meant for two. So though you have laughed, the joke is on you. God bless you and keep you for now and forever. This quilt celebrates your happily e’er after. Love, Mom” So that was sewn onto the back of the quilt, and depending on the moment, the thought of it brings either laughter or joyful tears.
So, that was it. Hooked to a magnitude of a gazillion. Quilts just do that. They are beautiful, warm, loving memories. I cannot explain why with precision, but it is true, nevertheless.
Now I find myself in the business of quilting for others. The work I do will bring joy. I don’t expect to hear the intimate details of each quilt and what it means to the recipients. I don’t need to know. It is enough to be in a supporting role of passing a treasure from one generation to another. It is enough to know that a quilt can comfort in times of trouble. And it is enough to know that secrets, friendships, and families are built to some degree on the colored threads of a quilted bit of fabric. And that brings my craft very close to immortality. Very close indeed.
*Quilting-in-America.com
one this week. Instructions on page 119.
Four Suns. Totally crazy that these circles are made from straight lines!
Great wall hanging or table topper.
ForeverQuilt 