Saturday I was reading
Linda Baie's post about the stories from her pottery pieces. I began thinking about my quilting life and one very special quilt I made.
About 22 years ago, I taught myself how to quilt. I have always loved old things, and my husband and I have collected quite a few antiques. Browsing antique shops is where my love of quilts began. I have actually been sewing for as long as I can remember, so becoming a quilter was a logical step for me.
After making my first quilt, I was hooked. I bought, stashed, and hid fabric in all kinds of places, hiding it from my husband. (I still don't think he knows how much fabric I have!) I love walking through fabric stores and touching all of the beautiful fabrics, imagining the possibilities.
Although I have not quilted in about seven years, (actually since I started teaching!) I still have boxes and boxes of fabric. I have them stored according to their "genre." I have large cuts - 4 or more yards and small cuts - 1 to 4 yards. I have boxes of Christmas prints, children's prints, background prints, and solids just to name a few. My scraps are sorted according to color - cool colors in one box, and warm and neutrals in other boxes.
As my passion for quilting grew, I started going to yard sales and auctions for fabric, quilt squares, or tops. Once, I found two scrappy quilt tops that were unfinished. One graces the door on a 120+ year old cabinet that belonged to my husband's grandmother, and the other hangs on a rocker and welcomes visitors on our front porch.
But one summer day, I hit the quilter's jackpot. I bought five boxes full of nothing but scraps! Now, to many people this was junk, but to a quilter, this was a treasure!
After I lugged the boxes home and started going through them, I was amazed at not only the amount of fabric, but also the age of the fabric. Buried in the bottom of the box was a magazine with Elizabeth Taylor on the cover and the date of 1949. Many of the fabrics in this box, which I still have, are now close to 65 years old.
I began the slow process of pressing, cutting and sewing the scraps into rectangles. My mind was filled with wonder, filled with the stories these fabrics told. I am sure there were scraps from kitchen curtains, little girls' and ladies' dresses, as well as men's clothing. The fabric of these lives slid through my fingers, sharing their secrets. I would sit at my quilting frame and, stitch by stitch, I listened to their stories.
Stories about marriages and families.
...happy times and sad times.
...new homes and new beginnings.
.....death and endings.
Stories I could only imagine.
After piecing together 227 different squares, my quilt was finally finished.
If you listen carefully, it gently whispers 226 individual, unique stories - 226
different fabrics with only one fabric repeated. (Although that was not my intention, it does create quite a good conversation!)
This isn't an everyday quilt we use in our home. It is carefully folded and rests on an antique cabinet in our living room, beckoning for someone to listen to their stories.
Close your eyes.
Listen.
Can you hear them?
