The Quilt

Fifteen years ago, I saw a wall mount for a quilt on sale and bought it, intending on making a quilt to hang on it. I looked at dozens of quilting magazines, patterns, historic books on quilt patterns, and real live quilts in bazaars, stores, and flea markets. After several years of searching, I found a pattern I loved. It wasn't called a quilt, it was called a cloth sculpture. Far from the normal thousands of tiny little triangles sewn together into some geometric shape, it was a beautiful picture of irises growing besides a blue pond (complete with frog). The colors in the printers' ink were exquisite, and it was so "me."



I began searching for fabric in the shades I knew I wanted. But somehow everytime I saw a color or print I liked, there were other more pressing needs. New shoes for the baby, special formula, medicines, field trips. I could never wrestle the funding out of our tight budget to swing non necessities like pretty wall hangings. Sigh. Never mind. Someday when the kids are older and the finances are not so tight, I will try again. So I tucked the pattern and the quilt hanger away.



Gradually, as we moved about, the dream faded. I faithfully brought the long, heavy wooden hanger with the Shaker knobs with us every time we moved. It sat in downstairs closets, upstairs storage areas, behind the washing machines, under the beds, over the garage for decades. At one point, out of sheer frustration, I made the boys hang it on the wall, just to be sure it still worked. The screws and fixtures were still taped to the end in a little plastic bag. They cussed and fussed getting it up there. I bought a tiny piece of fabric and stuck it between the rails. It looked silly.



I didn't bother setting it up in the next apartment. It stood beside the washer. Back in Rochester, I decided to hang it on the wall again, a silent reminder that I have failed to produce one single stitch to create that wall hanging of my dreams. Nevertheless, it was perfect for the dining area. Maybe I can get a sheet with a pretty color to hang there until I am willing to settle for some store bought thing. Perhaps I can at least hold out for hand made instead of machine manufactured.



Then my sister came over and saw it hanging there, and I admitted that I had nothing to hang in it, but would look for a quilt. "Quilt?" she asked. "Did you have something special in mind?"



"No," I replied wearily. "I have a purple floral theme going at the moment, but I doubt that I will find something that matches." Nor, I thought, anything that comes close to what I really want.



"Well," she said. "If you're interested, I have a quilt that Gramma Appleby made when she was young. Its at my house. It's mostly an ivory or cream color, but there are bits of other colors in the pattern."



"Something Gramma made? I'd love to see it." Wow - that would be fabulous. Family history, and from my Gramma's own hands. She brought it over, and it was gorgeous. Gram had embroidered her name and the date she made the quilt in a center block. Nellie R 1918. The workmanship was painstakingly perfect and of a quality you would be hardpressed to find these days. I was blown away. I expected anything from Gram's would have been worn threadbare, but this was in perfect condition.



Each block has 13 diamonds in rows of two and three. The edges are filled with half diamonds to make it square. The colors vary - reds, blues, pinks etc. Some cloth has a pattern in it, others are a solid color. I wondered if she had salvaged the fabric from worn-out garments. The background color and parts of each square were the same delicate cream color.



We held it up to the hanger, and it was exactly the right size, going from one end of the long pole to the other, and hanging down to within a foot of the carpet. (How could Kiel have know exactly where to hang it?). It made the little dining area cozy and inviting. I thought about my Gram and how much work had gone into this wonderful quilt, how much of herself she had invested.



Somehow, the iris sculpture paled by comparison. Even the boys loved it, and when I called my son in North Carolina, he was quite interested and seemed pleased. Its PERFECT! Now I should bring the small split bamboo rocker Gram gave me when I was in college back to my house as well. I refinished it as part of my wood working class back in the 70s, and Gram made me promise never to sell it or let it leave the family (I had it appraised once by a museum and it turns out to be quite valuable). When my kids were little, I feared for its safety and sent it to Mom's for safe keeping. Perhaps now is the time to let it come home. And just maybe, I can stay put long enough to enjoy it!