Legacy Quilt, Part I

I've been working on a very special project. It has been tempting to blog its progress, but I wanted its recipient (and my collaborators) to be the first to see it. I've written in this space before about the amazing woman Papa's Grandma Wilson is. Among the many other things she has given in her life are a collection of spectacular quilts commemorating her descendants' weddings and children (the two she has given to my family are shown in this post).

Some of her daughters and granddaughters and I decided to return the favor. For the last several weeks, the women of the Wilson family have been lovingly crafting unique, commemorative quilt squares in Grandma's honor. Meanwhile, using Noni's photographic chronicle of the family, I have been creating log cabin pieced photo squares showing the faces of Grandma's 6 children, 13 grandchildren, 17 great grandchildren and 1 great great granddaughter.

I made photo squares depicting Grandma and Granddaddy Wilson when they were newly married, and joined them with a simple pieced heart of vinatage fabric.

When all the squares were complete, I pushed our dining room table aside and began piecing the story of this woman's amazing life.

Sometimes, there are greater things at work than we can put a name on. I had been collecting everyone's squares for weeks, without counting them or designing the finished product until I had all squares in my possession. For the photo squares, I created four for each of Grandma's six children and their families, plus two of Grandma with her children and one each of Grandma and Granddaddy--that's 28 squares. When I finally counted the squares everyone had created, I was amazed--but somehow not surprised--to find 28. The quilt designed itself.

We decided to present the quilt top the night before Sunday's family reunion. Noni and I snuck into Grandma's room and spread the quilt out on the bed, then invited Grammy and her sisters to come in. Somehow they all made it in before Grandma did, and when she arrived, she noticed it right away--and I think it began to sink in, as she looked at every face, every square, what a life of love she has led.

The next day, Papa and his cousin hung the quilt high at the family reunion. Dozens of relatives took their time looking at the quilt, appreciating the love this woman's family has for her. I held it together pretty well, despite sleep deprivation and a swell of pride and gratitude--but when I caught Big B telling little b who some of the people were on the quilt, wrapping his arm around his little brother, I almost melted. Without this woman, my children would never know a family of this size, with these traditions, woven with strong love and togetherness through generations. This family has inspired me to begin family reunions on my side of the family tree, the first of which we held earlier this summer. New traditions. Another chapter in her legacy.

Look at these beautiful women! We will all gather together this fall to finish the quilt in the only way Grandma ever has: by hand. Many hands, working together, weaving the story of a family.

It was indeed a true honor to stitch together the story of this woman's life thus far. She has many stories left to tell, I suspect. I am just grateful to be included in her circle so I can hear them.

"I see the wise woman. She carries a blanket of compassion. She wears robes of wisdom. Around her throat flutters a veil of shifting shapes. From her shoulders, a mantle of power flows. A story band encircles her forehead. She stitches a quilt; she spins fibers into yarn; she knits; she sews; she weaves. She ties the threads of our lives together. She forms a web of spiraling threads: our lives invented and shared."

-Susun S. Weed

The Last Farm Day

We are so lucky in sunny Florida to have a growing season that just won't quit. Except when it does. Sadly, on Saturday, we said goodbye for the summer to our local organic farm. (We're not the only ones who love this place and mourn its seasonal hiatus.) The fields were still full of deliciousness, but their days are numbered with the rising heat. So Big B, little b and I loaded up our market bags and meandered the aisles one last time, stocking up on only the best our climate has to offer.

When we were laden with lacinto kale, arugula, green beans, sorrell, strawberries, blueberries, and two dozen farm fresh eggs, we looked out across the fields of Romaine and saw a familiar straw hat.
Little b's preschool classmate has a daddy who works this farm. He was kind enough to give the boys a tour, and explain how the plants are grown, harvested, and sold. He showed them how the heat brings more bugs to the plants, and showed them the cover crop (sorghum) that would soon replace the remaining jewels of the fields, destined for local vegetable co-ops. And he let them sample lettuce, chard, onions and basil, straight from the earth.

After only a few minutes in the fields, the boys were hot, thirsty, and ready to leave. This was a great lesson in gratitude for farmers everywhere, folks who work long, sweaty, buggy hours each day to bring us the divine nourishment we so often take for granted. A thank you note promptly ensued:

The bounty was too good not to share. We created a little sampler basket for Great Grandma Ruth, and drove southward to bring some summer sunshine her way.

"Shake the hand that feeds you."

--Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto

Welcoming Summer (Thank You, Tortoise)

Papa turned 37 last week, and his birthday wish remained the same as it has for years: a long weekend surrounded by beauty and family on his grandmother's South Georgia land. Each morning, we would wake, stretch, breathe, and explore. The morning glories marked our way through trees and trails, opening brilliantly toward the sun. It seems I'm not the only one that is thankful beyond belief that summer is here, and with it, God willing, a slower pace. The simple act of opening up and reaching toward the sun creates such beauty and stillness. We are truly given everything we need.

On our first morning ride, we found a nice big patch of wild blackberries, and breakfasted there for quite a while. We revisited the patch every day. We are truly given everything we need.

So much beauty and bounty, ripe for the picking. The same was true in Grandma's garden. Peaches from the tree, squash from the vine. We are truly given everything we need.

Big B, little b, and their Georgia cousins celebrated the summer sun by collecting objects of beauty and creating Solar Prints. They all marveled at the speed with which the sun created the shadows, the shapes of the leaves, and what happened when the paper met the water. We are truly given everything we need.

With summer comes water, and the boys (including Papa) drank their fill. Every day held fishing of some kind, whether by boat or on shore. And when the sun became a bit too overbearing, the water welcomed them in. We are truly given everything we need.

Over the last few years, I have become a believer--or rather a conscientious observer--of animal spirit guidance. When animals cross my path repeatedly, all I have to do is pay attention and listen, and their meanings bring me clarity. During this trip, we must have seen a dozen tortoises, mostly gopher, on our rides. Sure, the heat of summer brings them out, but we've been there every Memorial Day for the last few years, and I have never seen more than two or three. The tortoise's message was crystal clear to me, as we release the fast pace of school schedules and bedtime routines and open our arms to easy summer days: Slow down. Look upward to the sun. We are truly given everything we need.

New Traditions: Alabama Snow

Every year, we trek north to visit Paw Paw, Nanny, Aunt A and the horses. And every year, we miss The Snow. Without fail, it escapes us by several days. Until this past weekend, Big B and little b had never experienced snow. I have been shown photographs of Aunt S and me in the snow as little ones, but do not remember it in my mind's photo album. So when we arrived in northern Alabama at sunrise Saturday morning and saw a winter wonderland, the magic infused us--instantly.

We spent the first morning of our visit out in Paw Paw's backyard, feeling the snow, throwing it, building with it, crunching in it. Exploring it. Experiencing it. Loving it.

Paw Paw and Nanny live next to a very old family cemetery. Respectfully we explored the hallowed grounds, reflecting on death, birth, and rebirth, these stone markers of life covered in white blankets and then peeking out again. Very powerful.

I am so thankful that we all were there together to experience this cleansing. It felt good just to play, to run, to look, to feel cold, and to come inside afterward and have a warm bubble bath and a hot bowl of Paw Paw's chili.

I think we'll try to time our visits more according to the weather than the calendar, from now on. This was too good to miss again.

“There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest clothed to its very hollows in snow.

It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray,

every blade of grass, every spire of reed,

every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance.”

-William Sharp