The Old, Worn Quilt

     It was chilly the other afternoon when I took a break to read so I pulled the old quilt off the back of the futon for a bit of warmth. It's very old, thin, and worn, hardly thicker than a flannel sheet, but doubled over it works fine to take the chill off inactivity in a cool room. For an instant, I envied those ubiquitous thick, fluffy throws available everywhere – often large boxes of them on sale for a ridiculously low price. Like so many things that were once hand-made and special, they've been replaced by mass-produced yet, I must confess, often pretty, practical and machine-washable items. They're also disposable with little regret when they wear out.

   
    That brief mental detour reminded me of how much family history and how many stories lie

From storage to comfort

behind this well-worn quilt. I was momentarily flooded with regret that I know so few of its details. Though some might have tossed it years ago, our family knew there was something special about it beyond its frayed-in-spots and a stain-here-and-there appearance. Something that made us keep it. Every family has things like that. Items of sentimental value that keep you from getting rid of them when they're no longer used or useful. Is it out of guilt? Or do we think someone, somehow will come up with all the details we wish we had? That's not going to happen. Everyone who could tell us the quilt's story is gone now. We have only vague memories of brief conversations about it – mere snippets of detail to piece together the history stitched into it.

     For years, I'd kept it tucked it away, in part because of its somewhat ratty condition. I was also conflicted about what I “should” do with it. It deserved respect, but wasn't of a quality to hang to display so into the closet it went until I figured out what to do. When I came across it recently I decided it would be useful for reading breaks or a lap-warmer while working at the computer. Time to use it. What good is it forgotten in storage?

                                                                What I Believe I Remember

My father (standing), his mother and brother

      That my father helped make this quilt when he was a boy. Was it made with some of his baby or childhood clothes? Or those of his mother? His brother's too? Was it his mother he helped – or his grandmother? His mother died when he was just five, so it may have been his grandmother who made it, maybe with some of his mother's clothes.

      I remember his grandparents as rather stern, not cuddly (but not unkind), people of Scandinavian descent. We would travel the hour to their small town on the High Plains to visit them every once in a while. It was boring for kids. They didn't have toys or fun things for kids to do while the adults talked. I don't remember anything about the inside of the house, just wandering about outside. It was the edge of town, rocky terrain. I don't remember a lawn to play on. We have photos of my Dad and his older brother on a pony there, but don't remember seeing a barn or fences when we visited.

     Maybe his Aunt Alice worked on the quilt too. She was a memorable character and would have been around in his youth, someone a kid would have enjoyed. She remained a part of his life until she died and left us with many Aunt Alice stories that still bring smiles and laughter today.

     Maybe this isn't an actual quilt, though it has traditional quilt designs and was hand-stitched. Maybe it was intended as a light bedspread. It would have easily covered a double bed (now called a “full”), the largest anyone would have had back then. It doesn't look like it ever had a layer of batting. In fact, if you look closely, it appears some of the red basket parts are larger than others, so were covered along the edges with white to make them look more uniform. It's intriguing to think about what might have happened, or if more than one person worked on it over time. Did someone forget to tuck the applique edges, or was  there was a mix-up in instructions? Had Dad's mother started it, then he and his grandmother finished it? We'll never know.

     How would it have been laundered? Likely by hand. Perhaps they had a wringer washer to squeeze water out. Or, maybe two people twisted it. It would surely have hung on a clothesline outdoors, since there wouldn't have been a clothes dryer. Given the terrain and climate, dust would likely have blown on it. How discouraging that must have been after working so hard.

     All of this would have happened in the late 1920s or early '30s. The quilt would eventually move

Frayed evidence of a long, useful li

with family to four other states and four other countries. All four of us kids used it, paying scant attention to its history. When the quilt was about 40 years old, a family cat found it in a box with no lid and decided it was the perfect place to give birth to her kittens. There's an ink stain that suggests someone used it while doing homework.

     What memories did the quilt bring for our father? How I wished I'd listened the few times he mentioned helping to make it. His grandmother and aunt meant a lot to him. He made sure they were cared for in their final years. I remember his brother sobbing uncontrollably when their grandmother died. Many stories lay behind those tears, ones we'll never hear.

     All these thoughts give more heft and warmth to the very lived-in quilt and I find myself reaching for it frequently. Some would say such an heirloom should be carefully cleaned and stored. I've also read that you could cut out pieces of such heirlooms and frame them. For now, I'll continue to use it and appreciate its worn softness and the people and times behind it.