There's a piece of my heart in that quilt. ^^^ Hope it goes to a really good cause. I recounted the squares and realized I'd made a math error. The quilt now has 812 pieces, not counting pieces I occasionally sew together of the same print to get a small square. And, FWIW, when I review older quilts, I consider it serendipity to run across that odd place one of our pioneer or turn-of-the century mothers joined two like fabrics to get a full piece from her dwindling stash of the print.
A case in point was some years ago, maybe 1989 or thereabouts, my first shop was struggling, so I took in quilt work to make things go right. A woman who lived right next door, but across the fence from our little rented building brought me 4 tops to do that her family had found in the bottom drawer of her long-passed mother's dresser. She'd made 4 tops in secret from her children, whom she planned to quilt each a quilt, but died sometime after the 4th top was completed and before she could set to quilt. I protested with Dorothy about me machine quilting her dear departed mother's quilt and tried to talk her into quilting them herself. Dorothy wouldn't be moved, "I'm too tired lately to do this, and I have to have these done by Christmas of next year to give to four of my mother's family children." So, reluctantly, I agreed to machine quilt her masterpieces.
One of the tops had Colonial Ladies with beautiful embroidered touches on it--a basket of flowers carried by a colonial lady here, a nosegay, there, so I quietly refolded the top and called Dorothy. I begged her to reconsider maybe just hand quilting this one. But Dorothy persisted and repeated that she was tired, and besides a little arthritic in her fingers, would I please just quilt the quilt. I knew I was defeated, and I agreed anew that I would close my eyes to her mother's lovely work and quilt the quilt (I'd already completed the other 3 and she had picked them up.) My shop business began to pick up, so I didn't get to it right away. But in a few weeks, I decided Christmas was still coming, and if I finished 2 months before, no matter where her children were, she'd get the quilts to them.
As I was spreading the Colonial Lady quilt out the second time, I noticed one other thing I'd missed about Dorothy's mom's quilts; half the Colonial Ladies had nearly imperceptible join lines where Dorothy's mom had pieced 2 small scraps or more together to form enough fabric for a dress. I was literally floored. Then I recalled a little ditty my mother once told me about the 30s and the Depression (fabrics in Dorothy's mother's quilts were 20s and 30s, this one almost all 30s.) Mothers often chanted in the 30s to eager young ears:
"Use it up.
Wear it out.
Make it do.
And do without."
So, I finished Dorothy's mother's fourth and last quilt and called Dorothy's phone number that I kept on her receipt in my "work" file. Dorothy's husband of many years answered. I asked to talk to Dorothy. "You can't, he said. We buried her yesterday." Little in this world shocks me, but that day, I'm certain my jaw dropped.
It made me realize what a stellar person Dorothy was. She entrusted me with her mother's best work and refused to listen to my protests about aesthetics of machine quilting hand work. Dorothy didn't care about that. She cared about her children each getting one of their grandma's, her mother's, quilts.
I shed tears that day, and I'm a little misty now, thinking how Dorothy kept her secret of having incurable cancer from other people, and how lucky I was that she picked me (her new neighbor) to quilt her mother's treasures, so her children could sleep under them. Her husband picked up his wife's last treasure, and insisted Dorothy insisted I finish the quilts because she knew I would finish them, and that her children would have them--something of their grandmother's life--to warm themselves in the bitter cold of Wyoming winters.
Somehow, that made quilts with little pieces of the same fabric sewn together discreetly to form a piece or a part the best thing I could give back to Dorothy's mother for her thrift, and the gift I got for having Dorothy's confidence placed in me and completed for someone who died years before and for Dorothy, who knew she was dying, but didn't darken anyone's day by letting any more out than that she "was a little tired."
When I am running low on a print, I'm so happy now to sew slivers even to a corner of the same fabric to make it a 90-degree square, a Sunbonnet Sue skirt, or even a longer log for a log cabin. It's a gift that is seen in many of the 500 quilts I've made since Dorothy passed, knowing with a passionate faith her children would get the quilts from her mother's secret drawer.
ps. The quilt above is the 8th and the one below is the 9th of my March goal of taking 10 quilts to the Charity Bees closet for quilting. Just one more to go, and I may have already posted pictures of one of the on-point windmill squares that are ready to go into another quilt for the abuse shelter for children nearby. This is a good day for me, and life is good when you have a friend like Dorothy living in your heart. Seeing pieces joined of the same fabric for frugal purposes always and never fails to put a smile on my face that I had the loving trust of a good person placed in me that was returned to her loved ones.