Quilts

I suppose my Southern upbringing has a lot to do with it, but I have always been intrigued by quilts and the quilting process.  There's nothing quite as lovely as a patchwork quilt that has been delicately stitched by hand.  In my home, quilts are found everywhere and are in use year round.  Without over-analyzing things, when I feel the weight of a quilt on top of me, I know that I am safe, relaxed, loved, and at home.

My father's mother was an avid quilter during her lifetime.  She pieced the tops by hand from scraps of material.  During the fall and winter months, an enormous quilting frame replaced her dining room table.  This woman whom we called "Big Mother" supplied warmth to all her children during her lifetime.  Each of her grandchildren were the recipients of one of her handcrafted masterpieces.  Despite any other feelings about Big Mother, one had to respect the artistry and dedication each quilt represented.

Last spring, I traveled to Hawaii and saw the traditional quilts made by the natives.  Although I desperately wanted to purchase one, practicality won out and I returned to the Mainland with only a print of a few of the quilt symbols used by the Hawaiians. 

As you have seen from my earlier post, I am a fan of needlework.  I think my appreciation for quilting goes beyond the technique alone.

Quilts tell stories.  The Hawaiian quilts use specific icons to share the story.  In the South, the message is conveyed through the pattern, the materials employed, and the stitches themselves.  Some of my favorite quilts now grace the beds of my family.  Their geometric patterns are reminders of life's consistency and the promise of hope.

In a similar manner, quilts are reminders of our past.  One of my favorite pieces is now tattered and rarely used in an effort to preserve it.  It is not prized because of its hideous orange color, but because of my fond memories from childhood of rolling up in the soft patchwork and exploring a world limited only by my imagination.  Other pieces hold memories of illness and painful losses.  All of them are a quiet, comforting reminder that wherever I may roam, there will always be a place that I can call home.

As a fitting tribute to my Big Mother, I am including a few photos of some of my favorite quilts.  They may not be of great material worth, but to my family, they are a treasured heritage and a reminder of who we are.