Remembering Granny and her quilts

When I married my husband more than forty years ago, I married into a very talented family of stitchers. His mother crocheted and did a little quilting. But the star of the family was his grandmother, Mary. Everybody just called her Granny. I don’t think I will ever forget her.

Granny with her Great-Granddaughter, Jenny

Granny was a quilter. Well into her 80’s, she would spend her time in the family’s dark, damp basement, lit by only a lone light bulb hanging from the rafters where her quilt frame was set up. It was just outside the fruit cellar and coal bin in the house her husband built. My husband tells me she would be down there for hours at a time. She did all her piecing by hand and turned out some beautiful quilts. As she aged and things became more difficult for her, she purchased quilt kits from places like Lee Wards Creative Crafts, which began in 1947. In the 70’s, it morphed into the modern and well-known Michaels.

Years ago though, I remember going to the Lee Wards in Elgin, IL. It was huge. To me it was like a kid’s first trip into Toys R Us. But this was not just a store; it was an immense warehouse, with aisle after aisle filled with every kind of art and craft imaginable. I wasn’t a quilter back then, but I did knit and crochet. Even today, I love yarn almost as much as I love fabric. Get me into a place like that now, I’d have to bring a sleeping bag.

Granny died in the early 80’s, but she lives on in our memory and of one of the quilts she gave us. Each of his siblings also has one. Ours was from a kit she liked to make. Once she cross-stitched the quilt top, she completed the quilt, hand stitching simple quilting designs.

I never actually saw her quilt; I only saw the result of her work. She eventually gave up quilting because she could no longer go down the steep stairs to the basement. She also complained about her failing eyesight.

Despite that, she never gave up working on her crewel embroidery. My mother-in-law, who was her caregiver, often bought kits for her. Often times she didn’t care what the finished piece was; she just enjoyed doing the work. The pieces often doubled as Christmas presents.

I had never seen anyone do such beautiful hand work. It is hard to believe that her eyesight was failing, given the beautiful stitches she could make. There was never any evidence of it in her work. It was flawless.

I recall how she used to sit on the edge of her bed, with her back straight as an arrow and her feet flat on the floor, as the sunlight streamed through her window and onto whatever project she had in her lap. She began sewing after the breakfast dishes were done and worked up until lunch. After the kitchen was clean, she took a nap, and sometimes sewed in the afternoon until the sun went down.

I can’t help but think that in the back of my mind, knowing her, planted the seeds of quilting into my own heart, only to sprout a little later in my life.