One of our church’s new stained glass windows made by Leslie
Little reminds my wife of a quilt. The patterns on it are similar to those used
for generations by women who have sewn the covers. I’ve never met a person who
didn’t love quilts or who didn’t want one or more.
When we were young, Mother covered our beds with quilts that
her mother or grandmother had sewn. Back then, quilts weren’t considered art.
Instead, they were necessities for families. Cold weather arrived; money was
tight; the best way to keep beds warm was to take scraps of cloth and
We all had quilts and never thought much about them.
Sometimes, we would strip them from the bed and use them as mats for wrestling
matches in the living room. We also drove our toy cars across the terrain of
the quilts and made believe we were in the desert or some other wild place. My
brother Jim wrapped himself in his quilt before slipping into a night of
violent sleep where he stretched and kicked and yanked the material.
My mother made quilts for years. It seemed to us to be a
torturous activity, but the projects provided her hours and days of
entertainment. She’d spread out the batting and material and scraps and put
them together while watching an episode of “Matlock.” Her bony, crooked fingers
worked needles through layers of cloth in intricately created stitches. She
wore a thimble on the one finger that was most in danger of being stabbed with
those needles.
Even in her last months, Mother sat on the enclosed porch
off the kitchen. She worked on a hobnail quilt that was the most intricate
pattern she’d ever tackled. Sometimes, her shortness of breath forced her to
put down the work, but she never quit for long. Many evenings Mother sewed
until she was exhausted, and at that point, she’d pull the project around her,
lie her head on a decorative pillow and
By the time Mother passed, she’d made a trunkful of quilts.
She made sure that each of us boys had one and that her grandchildren had the
chance to choose one. They are special items to us all. More than anything,
those covers represent the love Mother had for us and the dedication she gave
to making these special items. Hours of her life poured into the making of the
quilts we now have, and in some small way, they keep her a bit closer to us,
even though she has been gone more than twenty years.
Today, folks shell out piles of cash to purchase a handmade
quilt. At any estate sale, the first things that are sold are those patterned
bed covers. Yes, quilts are special to most folks. They are even more important
to family members who have one made by a mother or grandmother.
We probably should use them for everyday use like the one
Jim did years ago. That might be the biggest compliment we can give to the
maker of the quilt, but doing so might wear them out and leave us wishing we’d
have preserved that special item produced by our loved ones. So, many quilts
are hung on racks for decorations or are stuffed in chests for safekeeping. I
suppose the main thing is to enjoy a piece of artwork that can even be used in
a utilitarian ways.
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