Grandmama's Quilt

It's funny how a single object can remind you so much of the person it belonged to. Even if you never saw them use it or enjoy it, is connected to them. One such object, was this quilt, made by my Grandmother.

I remember one day going over to Grandmama's house to ask her to teach me how to make a quilt. I wanted to enter quilting in a competition at school. Grandmama was the kind of clothing seamstress that held up the fabric to you and laid it out on the table to cut. She got her patterns from things in her mind. Her quilting was the same way. She knew how a certain design should go whether she had an example or not. If she wanted to add a picture to her work, she would applique or embroider it on from a design she got from a paper towel or a coloring book. Grandmama never threw away anything. It might be useful or valuable someday. So when we found stashes of coloring pages, paper towels, napkins and greeting cards scattered throughout her house when she died we knew what they were for.

When I went to see her that day it was like she had been expecting me. Our new-found common interest in quilting would be something we could talk about and discuss for years to come. She dug through boxes and trunks and closet and brought out treasure troves of quilts. Where had all these been hiding? It was an absolute treasure trove, hidden away for fear that the priceless items might be unappreciated, mishandled and marred. Though she had dozens of handmade, beautiful quilts, her bed was covered in a store-bought comforter. All of those heirlooms were tucked away, like the paper towels, for 'someday'.

This day she took the time to lay each one out on the bed. I looked on in wonder as colors and patterns emerged from their hiding spots. She explained to me how just about every quilt consists of small patterns that repeat themselves to make a larger pattern. I was hooked. After that I saw patterns everywhere and could easily remember the names of many designs.

She chose a pattern for my first quilt that was very simple. It consisted of rectangular pieces of material to form a block. Then each block was turned a certain way to make diagonal designs across the quilt.

The design it created was called a rail fence. You could just see the fence swooping up and down across the quilt on the bed like it would if you were driving past it in the country. The example quilt that she had of that particular design was not pretty. The color combination was what I've heard people call "God-awful," although I was never really sure what that meant. but it couldn't be good. She explained to me her choice for the colors.

My Great-Grandmama (her mother) was bed-ridden most of the time. She was going blind. As the story goes, she told my Grandma near the end of her life that she wanted a rail-fence quilt. So, Grandmama went out and bought the fabric new (something she rarely did) at TG&Y, I think. She bought the brightest, cheeriest colors and strongest contrasts she could find so Great-Grandmama would be able to see the design in it. The quilt was put together pretty quickly and machine quilted to save time. It was then used as the top quilt of the bed where my Great Grandmother spent her last days. I'm not sure who the quilt was really for--Grandmama seemed to get a lot of satisfaction out of knowing that she had given her something she had wanted and could enjoy.

It was one of the few times anyone got opportunity to enjoy Grandmama's quilts in her lifetime.

When my sisters and I went through her things, we lamented that we had so few stories to go with the items we found. We wished these elements had been everyday parts of her life that she could share with us. But we do have our memories, and we do have our laughs connected to them.

One day, I took the red and yellow rail-fence to the park for a picnic with my sisters. As I spread it out, I remembered the day she had spread it out for me. I thought of Great-Grandmama and her dying days. Quite sentimentally, I said to my sisters, "Wouldn't Grandmama be glad to know we were enjoying her quilt this way?" There was a silence. Then, as the emotion of the moment wore off and we thought about what was said, there was a sputter, then laughter. "No, she wouldn't," we agreed. But we sat down on the quilt and enjoyed her memory, and the quilt, anyway.