A quilt made by my mother’s mother. It’s hand pieced, hand quilted, and hand worn. My mother’s mother saw the beauty in the old shirts, aprons, and curtains no longer useful in their original form, and re-imagined them into something vibrant and lively.
I never knew my mother’s mother, but I’ve seen some of her quilts. Some of them have complex patterns and coordinated colors denoting her ability to design with precision, but this unsophisticated pattern and bold clashing colors makes me think we would have laughed a lot together.
As I wrapped myself in this comfort, the stories about her helped carry me through some of the darkest days of my life. I know she didn’t tolerate much nonsense, wouldn’t abide with cruelty to her farm animals, and she cried over senseless destruction. I saw these things reflected in my own mother, and this is my inheritance.