My favorite quilt lies folded in the corner of my closet. It’s patchwork, denim alternating with calico scraps, with a houndstooth edge. My aunt made it for me when I was four years old. I took it with me to college, left it behind on a mission, and finally retired it when I got married. It was getting tattered.
My oldest son’s favorite blankie is just shreds now. My mother made it for him, a baby quilt. I’ve sewed over it, rebound it twice, and suggested several times that we retire it as well. But so far, he’s still attached to it. Now that it has holes, it fits over his head and makes a great cape.
I sewed a baby quilt for my daughter, but it didn’t turn into her favorite blankie; she likes one given to her by a lady in my ward. But for my youngest, I went to a class and made a minkie blanket, all soft and velvety. I wanted it to be his Blanket of Choice, and it is. He loves it. He wants to hold it in his high chair while he eats, and carry it with him in his stroller when we go places.
DeAnn Campbell’s essay “Threads” tells the story of her mother’s final handsewn quilt, made for her brother, found in a closet after her mother’s death. I love this line: “I watch my brother’s hands move reverently along the quilt—smoothing it. His fingers run along the threads, stroking the stitches our mother made. Even now, the threads still whisper her love.”
What is it about homemade quilts and blankets that speaks love? Tell me about your favorite blanket, or your kids’ favorite blanket. Who made it for them, or where did they get it? Or tell me about your experience as you’ve made a quilt for someone you love.
My great-grandmother was a prolific quilter. Every year we had a Christmas Eve party at her home. One year she made a quilt for each of her great-grandchildren. She took us all down to her basement, where we were allowed to choose our quilt. It seemed to me that the basement was full of quilts, most hanging from the ceiling.
Mine is made out of 3″ squares of fabric of all sorts: blue, black, and even a sparkly silver. I don’t think she ever threw a scrap of fabric away.
But my favorite quilt (please don’t tell my cousins that I have it
) is a quilt that was made from my great-grandfather’s old overcoat. Gray and kind of scratchy on one side with the softer red lining on the other. Not particularly cozy, but nearly indestructible, and a reminder of a great man who I never personally knew.
my blankie was made for me by my maternal grandmother, it is white and has bright carousels with elephants and girraffes and the like quilted all over it, and is finished with orange “flags” trimming the edges. I love it. That blanket went EVERYWHERE with me, on every vacation my family took, on every bus trip I went on for sports… you name it, it was there stuffed safely in my pillowcase.
I will confess to sleeping with it until the age of 24, when I got married and realized that it was time to break the habit. It now sits in a place of honor (on a quilt rack), along with a quilt my husband’s grandmother made for him.
Amazingly, my blanket is still in great shape. I’ve set it aside with thoughtful plans to wrap my future first born in it when I bring him or her home from the hospital. Sometimes I walk into my guest room and see my blanket hanging there, still beaming it’s love and warmth to me and I am washed over by waves of nostalgia. To me that blanket represents love and security and all things that make me happy. Just yesterday I was babysitting my sweet baby niece, and as I laid her down for a nap I noticed it was a little chilly. I grabbed my blankie and laid it over her. She rolled over and stuck her fingers in her mouth, warm and happy. I smiled, because I was too.
My mom made my sister and I matching quilts for our beds when we were 3 and 4 years old. We traded in our bedspreads for hipper ones as we grew older, but we always hung on to our old pink quilts. They are both getting a bit threadbare, the batting is worn, and you can see through it in a few places. Neither of us still sleep with our quilts on a regular basis now, but when I am sick or sad its the only thing that will do. I feel, when I wrap up in it, like I am a child again, wrapped up in my mothers arms. No matter how old I get or how many of my own children I have I still want the security that comes from my old blankie.
My mother helped me make my first official quilt when I was a teenager. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience (come on, I was 16!), but the years have changed the painful disagreements to something strangely loving. I see now that the disagreements were all one sided (mine), and the patience and love was all one sided (hers). I really treasure that quilt now for the patience it required from my mother, for the love she showed during its making, and for the forgiveness it has been emblematic of.
I’m going to be just as mean as my mom was as I get out the quilt frame when my daughters are 16…
My grandmother apparently ever pieced only one quilt top, and frugal woman that she was, she didn’t use the full seam allowance anticipated by the pattern — didn’t want to waste a fraction of an inch of fabric, doncha know. Of course, the pieces didn’t fit right, especially when so many piecese were curved. She never quilted it. After Grandma died 21 years ago, my aunt took the quilt top apart, resewed it, and had it finished. She could have kept it for herself or given it to one of my many cousins, but she chose to give it to me because I’m the one who has demonstrated a love of family history. The quilt is on my bed now, a reminder of two grand ladies in my family.
Thank you, everyone, for sharing your stories. Quilt stories are tender; we show vulnerability when we share them. So, thanks.
I have one more story: the quilt I made for my daughter was my first ever. It was super-easy, just sewing straight lines and clipping the edges. I surprised myself by enjoying the process: picking out the fabric felt like choosing books in a bookstore, just fascinating to me. And I loved the way it turned out. So after I finished her blanket, I made another one for my son. We were graduating him to a big bed in anticipation of his sister’s birth. And then, with my sisters, I made one for my mom’s birthday. But I got put on bedrest at the end of my pregnancy, so I was scrambling to finish it. My sister and I were snipping the edges of that quilt the night my water broke.
What surprised me about sewing those quilts was how much I enjoyed it. I had memories of eighth grade sewing, in which I sewed a skirt hem that started at 1/4 inch and ended at 2 inches. But this kind of sewing I loved. I loved seeing the colors come together, and I loved thinking about how much my kids or my mom would enjoy their quilts. I felt connected to them.
My older sister received the last quilt that my grandmother ever made for her wedding. At the time, I was disappointed to know that her aging fingers could no longer perform the service that she was famous for (9 kids, 55 grandkids, all of them received a quilt except for about 5 of us).
However, I didn’t realize how sad I was until she passed and I realized that my chance was lost. I remember crawling under the quilt frames in her front room and looking up at the filtered light. I remember greeting the women (strangers to me) who came to the house for the few days that she had her frames up every year (yes, I said a few days, she was a lightning speed quilter, and she had lots of helpers). I bet I wouldn’t be able to count the number of quilts that her fingers have touched. She loved quilting bees as much as she loved the weekly square dancing that my grandparents participated in.
After she died, I went back to college and left my mother and her sisters at the house to sort through her things. In one of the closets (long forgotten) were about 5 quilts, just enough for all of the grandkids to have one. I was lucky enough to get an old quilt, obviously-used and in bright colors, red and yellow and orange. Frankly, it was so old that no one was sure if Grandma quilted it or her mother. In some ways I wish I knew its history. But, most of the time I just feel lucky to have it–this small but loving piece of history, a gift from the women of my family.
I don’t have a quilt, but I have “my” blanket. It’s super, super soft cotton, white with two parallel lemon stripes down it. It has a hole, and it was in the car with me when my Mum brought me home from the hospital. Whenever I’m feeling hormonal, or sad, or have a migraine, that’s the blanket I wrap myself in.
While pregnant with my son I trimmed the edges in yellow ribbon/lace, but I never gave it to him. I crocheted him a blanket instead. I made a little quilt from sarong material for my summer son, and both boys love “their” blankets. They don’t use them as often as they used to, but no way are they being thrown away.
My paternal grandmother made me a quilt before I was born, and I was christened in it, but due to an ugly break up it was lost. I deeply wish I had that quilt, but even though I can’t remember it and don’t have it, as the essay put so beautifully “Even now, the threads still whisper her love.â€
Thanks for the lovely post.
My mother made my sisters and I “kitty-cat” blankets. They were wonderful. They made the best skirts, capes, shawls, etc. We wrapped our dolls in the blankets. I lost mine before I went to college. My other sisters kept theirs and have used them for their children. I have begged my mom to make me a kitty-cat blanket, but she says she has too many other projects to do. And she does, she has made each grandchild a beautiful heirloom quilt, and a quilt for my wedding. She has made my kids blankets that they sleep under every night. I love them and treasure them. I asked her to put a label on each blanket so that my great-grandchildren don’t forget.
The quilter in me especially appreciates this post. Thank you!
When we got married my husband’s aunt made us a maple leaf quilt that had bright almost lime green fabric for the sashing. I appreciated the gift, but wasn’t so fond of the green sashing. Since then I started quilting myself and then began to appreciate the labor of love that is a quilt. And now that favorite aunt has passed away the quilt she made is even more dear to me.
My favorite quilt has not been made. It’s going to be two quilts actually. One for spring and summer and one for fall and winter. They will both be king-sized and be used on my bed. I’m still in the midst of finding the perfect patterns for each, but the fabric is all gathered. I also need to gather some time.
But I have already told my husband when it’s my time to go I do not want to lie in some cold clunky casket. I want to be buried in a simple wood box, preferably crafted by his hands. And I want to be wrapped in one of those two quilts.
My blankie was not a quilt. It ended up as a hidden lining of my coat my first winter in Utah (I was so cold!). I thought it was cutely silly to have my blankie with me every day.
My Mom has several quilts made by her grandmothers that she is passing on to us in time. I love the old fabrics and strange combinations of colors.
This is such a fun subject. I have been planning to blog about quilts myself this week, as I just returned from visiting my Mom with a suitcase full of quilts she made.
There is something special about receiving a quilt that is made with me in mind. My mom and I don’t have the same taste in fabrics, but she knows what I and my siblings like, and she searches out fabrics just for us. She showed me her “Wendy” bin of fabrics and quilt tops while I was there. Also, she let my sister and I peruse through her bins and take our pick of her many beautiful quilts–what a treat!
My first favorite quilt from her was made when I was 16. I collected frog things at the time; this quilt has a huge frog appliqued in the middle of it. It’s very cute, and is on our spare bed.
It’s hard to pick a favorite amongst those I just brought home. One quilt has a twin that my sister owns. The blocks were originally intended to be a quilt for my Mom’s mother, but Grammie died before Mom finished it. My dear sister gave her the idea to make two quilts out of it. It’s in “our” colors (Sarahs, mine and Grammie’s) and is lovely. I’ll be writing about the others later this week on my own blog.
I was given my paternal grandmother’s first quilt she ever made. An orphan, she didn’t learn how to sew until she was married and her mother-in-law taught her. This quilt was made during the Depression, so it’s made out of actual flour/feed sacks and my grandfather’s worn out clothing. It’s not pretty, by any means, but it was her very first quilt she ever made; she was a newlywed trying to make ends meet. I cherish it! Later on in life, as a grandma, she made a “I Am a Child of God” pillow for each grandchild and great-granchild born. She also made a twin-sized quilt and matching pillow sham for every grandchild (all 39 of us) as the time came to leave for college. A quilt is a durable, tangible reminder of all the time, effort, love, and resources put forth by a mother or grandmother for her family.
I just found this discussion and I have just loved reading all the posts. I realize most were made way back in September, but I just wanted to say thanks so much for sharing. I loved writing the essay and the memories it brought back for me. I see that lots of people relate to the love that goes into handmade items.