Quilt Mending Sparks Memories Feb. 2011
Special Note: Mrs. Crumly in improving some. Please continue to lift her up in prayers. We will get back to “new” post tomorrow if time affords that luxury.
The old quilt is not worth mending, but so many memories are tied up in this piece of work that I can’t part with it. It’s been used over and over and really needs washing; however, it can’t stand to be washed in this condition.
This is one of the very first quilts I made after we married – a string quilt pieced on newspaper, but quilted by hand – albeit with very long stitches. After all I was a beginner. John’s mother was my teacher and she was not a stickler for perfection, but she knew the need for cover. Most of the fabric in this quilt came from a quilt bag ordered from the Sears and Roebuck Catalog in the 1940’s and much of it resembles shirting – with stripes.
As I carefully stitch up one of the many ripped seams, I’m reminded that one particular scrap was from a dress I had when I was a senior in high school – a really pretty shade of blue with large daisy-type flowers.
For several years I was on the faculty of the Southern Quilt Museum in Chattanooga and our meetings were held in Hunter Museum. Probably in the late ‘70’s they wanted to display string quilts made in the south and this very quilt hung in Hunter Museum for a time. It was a pretty quilt in its day – with lots of blue – the lining is made of chicken feed sacks, but it’s so poorly made. Apparently, I got too fast with that old treadle sewing machine making the seams too narrow, which raveled out over time. Now I’m faced with an almost impossible job. There’s no telling how many hours I’ve spent on this already and I don’t see the end in sight. I’ll work on it for a while, get tired of it, put it away and then find myself dragging it out to work on again. I have a note attached to the quilt, which tells part of the story and I further state “Do with this quilt whatever you see fit.”
John was in service when I made this one and here again the memories flow. When we married in 1945 he was stationed in Pratt, Kansas – just outside of Wichita – but was soon shipped to Jamaica for a time.
You see, he was in the support part of the Armed Forces and helped keep the planes flying. Have I told you before that he worked on the Enola Gay? Of course, they had no idea what her mission was to be, but they knew it was something big because they were doing so many things to the plane that were different and more detailed.
In recent years, we were at a Master Gardener to do where he met a man who had been a pilot during WWII and had flown alongside the Enola Gay when she went to drop the bomb. What an enjoyable conversation those two men had – talking about their experiences.
Again, I digress, but this one quilt holds so many memories I can’t destroy it and yet I’m ashamed to have it in my possession as dirty as it is. You know the edges get dirty first as they come in contact of the skin of the user. Old quilts and how to protect them, whether to keep them, who to give them to and a myriad of other things are an important part of my county living.