She made some over half a century ago. All handmade, all gifts, all used and used and used. All worn out and frazzled and frayed now. All retired.
None can be disposed of. I cannot do it. Others will have the job of what to do with the quilts when my life here is closed out, whenever that may be.
The first gifted one had hung in the big old kitchen over the family table in its homemade frame for months until the crops were in and the winter hours allowed time for the quilting. It had collected dust and grease film from all the cooking. We had it cleaned to spread over us to stay warm and feel loved.
1963 we newly weds needed warm covers in drafty old rental houses to keep from freezing.
That was her intent.
Through the years she gifted many more to us. Some were made for birthday gifts signed with names and dates of birth. Some heavy as canvas tarp, some light and easy to spread. All were loved and well used.
We piled them on, cut down the heat to save money and felt snug as a bug. Sometimes the heavy ones restricted our tossing and turning. Piles of quilts, all gifts. All loved.
Our babies lay under her quilts, Our babies lay on the quilts on the floors and burped and peed and puked and fouled them. Most importantly they learned to roll from their bellies to their backs and eventually crawl off to pull the quilts and gnaw the edges.
She loved seeing that.
Her gift quilts went to family reunions, homecomings and to places where fireworks were shot. Everywhere we needed to sit and lay like lazy cats. We sat and lay and spilled and enjoyed ourselves. We washed them, they frayed.
As time moved on and our gift quilt collection grew we relegated the oldest, most worn ones to the camper for use in our trips to the creeks for camping and trips across country. Those quilts were used for laying around the campfire, on the sandbar and snugging in as we sat to enjoy the view from overhead of the stars in that magnificent night sky.Those quilts were wonderful for sleeping under, all filled with sand, twigs, smelling of knot fires and barbeque sauce. We washed them to do it all again for many years. They frayed and frazzled. The love stayed in them.
I cannot say how many community babies lay under her little gift quilts. I cannot say how many brides got gift quilts, I cannot say how many other family members got gift quilts. What I can say is , she was a quilter. Nothing very fancy, just good made sturdy quilts. That was a hobby of necessity for her. She always had that old frame hung with a quilt in the making.
Until.
Her memory started to fade and with it the ability to work her quilts into order. Like a book, her memory pages were torn out slowly at first and then finally very rapidly to stop the quilting.
Whomever has the honor of deciding what to do with her gift quilts, needs to unfold them, look closely at the small stitches, patterns and all the frays. She is in those,
QUILTS
***In memory of my Mother-In-Law Annie Ruth Holland Crews.
