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

Summer Homesteading: Sweet as Honey

Some things are genetic, I suppose. Like getting overzealous at a good locally grown crop of tomatoes. When my sister learned of my tomato bounty, she loaded up Big L and little l and headed south for a 24-hour food preservation whirlwind.

Big B and little b could just hardly stand it, waiting for their arrival.They came bearing tomato-trading gifts: four quarts of frozen blueberries they'd picked this spring, two jars each of homemade strawberry and blueberry jam, vidalia onions from a u-pick on the way to our house, and potatoes fresh from their garden.We spent twelve straight hours in the kitchen processing our harvest. This is one of two five-gallon containers of tomato puree!
We canned 18 quarts (about 50 pounds) of herbed tomato sauce and 12 pints of yellow tomato and tomatillo salsa, leaving us each with about 25 pounds of tomatoes to bring home.The next morning, Aunt S revealed the four frames of honey she'd brought from her hives to show Big B and little b how it was bottled.The honey glistened like gold as she scraped the beeswax from the comb.Big B got a turn scraping the honeyed wax......and little b got a turn eating the honeyed wax!
When the frames were emptied there were several containers of sweet golden wildflower honey on our dining room table.Aunt S poured all of the honey and wax into a large bucket fitted with a filter to catch the comb, squeezing out as much of the deliciousness as she could.
We left the bucket o' honey bathing in the sun while we took a quick dip in the ocean. When we returned, it was ready to pour into jars. And in case I haven't mentioned it, this is by far the most delicious honey I've ever tasted.
A quick visit with very little money spent yielded a feast of homegrown goodness for two families. Canning and processing is hard, fast-paced work, but there is so much love poured into each jar, and so much peace of mind knowing where every single ingredient comes from. This is one lesson that radical homemakers are re-learning, one that our elders know all too well. As one wise woman said to my sister upon seeing the many mason jars in her shopping cart: "I kinda feel sorry for you, and I kinda feel envious of you at the same time."

When Life Gives You Tomatoes...

Earlier this week, I was blessed by a friend's delivery of locally grown tomatoes, fresh cream from local grass-fed cows, and two dozen farm-fresh eggs. I have been in domestic heaven all week. While letting the tomatoes ripen on our dining room table, Big B and little b helped me make butter for the very first time. I do declare I may never buy butter from the store again.We also made ice cream using the fresh cream, fresh eggs, hand-extracted vanilla and handpicked berries. Delicious.When the tomatoes were sufficiently ripe, I scored them, blanched them, peeled them, de-seeded them and pureed them.I wanted to can tomato sauce, something our family uses quite a bit of. The consensus recipe for such an undertaking was from Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. The recipe calls for dried spices so as not to interfere with the acidity and pH of the sauce. As the other ingredients in the sauce were so lovely, local, and organic, the boys and I took a trip to our local spice shop to bring our herbs up to par.The sauce cooked for about three hours before we canned it. The house smelled divine, and Big B and little b just couldn't get enough tastes.I was hooked. Tomorrow is the last day of the summer tomato season at our local farm, and what isn't picked and sold will be plowed and burned. As a result, they are selling u-pick tomatoes for a dollar a bucket. That's one dollar for over 25 pounds of tomatoes. How could we resist? The boys and I and several other tomato lovers met out at the farm for a few hot hours of harvesting.When all was said and done, we piled over 200 pounds of tomatoes in our car and paid just $23. We'll be divvying these up among family and friends, and using our share for more canning, sauce, salsa, ketchup, and fresh salads. And counting our juicy red blessings all the while.

"It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts

while eating a homegrown tomato."
--Lewis Grizzard

A Lesson on Global Perspective

This week, Big B and I were blessed to take part in an initiative by a friend and her daughter, who are traveling to Swaziland, Africa this weekend. As a country, Swaziland has a 40% HIV rate. 10% of the population are orphaned children. Their life expectancy is 32. The region that my friend is visiting has a 90% HIV rate. They are going there to bring them clothes, toys, and books...but mostly love.

We collected gently used items from three other families and spread them out on our dining room table. When all was said and done, we had amassed five huge garbage bags full of love to send across the ocean.
I must admit, I had an ulterior motive for taking part in this project. Of course the statistics I learned and the pictures I saw were plenty to compel me to do some small thing...but I also jumped at the chance to broaden Big B's global perspective. When I told him these children had no food, he asked, "Why don't they just go to Publix?" When I told him there were no grocery stores like he was used to, he asked, "Why don't they just go get the food that's free?"

I am grateful that Big B has never had to understand this struggle. But a personal connection with a lifestyle so different from his own can only expand his mind...and his heart. I showed him some of the photos of the children my friend visited last time she went, and it seemed to do the trick. He wrote them this letter, with his picture attached:

Dear kids in Swaziland,

We're sending toys to you. Maybe along with some clothes and books and art supplies. I hope you have Easter there, and I hope that you like to play with the toys. Have a happy summer and I hope you can write to me sometime.

Bye! ...and, from Big B's mama, this excerpt from a poem I read long ago:

The same hands that made the stars made you.
The same hands that made the canyons made you.
The same hands that made the trees and the moon and the sun made you.
That's why you are so special.
God made you.
He made you in a very special way.
He made your eyes so they would twinkle.
He made your mouth so you could smile.
He made your laugh so you could giggle.
God made you like no one else.
If you looked all over the world, there would be no one else like you.
No one with your eyes, no one with your mouth, no one with your laugh.
You are very, very special.

I am grateful for Big B's expanding mind. To continue the process, I've laid out this memory game, gifted to us by one of the moms that donated clothing, for us to play after school.
We keep a gratitude journal in our house. We say three good things that happened in our day at every family meal. Thankfulness is a concept that is driven home pretty hard around here. As parents, Papa and I are grateful for the amazing opportunities that surround our children simply as a result of their place of birth. As children who have never really wanted for anything, it is difficult to understand these concepts.

Now, Big B is beginning to make connections with children who don't have these opportunities, who are sick, hungry, and parentless, yet still exude joy and gratitude for the gifts they've been given. I hope that through this exchange of photographs and letters, and by giving clothes and toys and books that were once his, Big B will begin to feel gratitude in an entirely new way. I hope he begins to understand that regardless of the tremendous disparity in how children live all over the world, they are all connected. They need love just like Big B does. Their bodies work just like his does, and they like to play and laugh and explore just like he does.

I am so grateful to my friend and her daughter for traveling so far just to give these children some love and kindness. We wish them peace and strength of heart on their journey. They've given us quite a gift in the process.

Our Dining Room Table

I need another blog like I need a hole in the head. So apparently, I need a hole in the head. Introducing: Our Dining Room Table. It just occurred to me last week that this one singular piece of furniture provides the foundation for sustenance, creativity, study, work, play, art, reading, puzzles, holidays, rainy days, and so much more. This new blog will simply be a collection of photos of this table and whatever happens to be on it. I trust that these little details, these snapshots of our daily mess (bless it), will be savored long after the fingerpaint and the cut-off crusts are cleaned away.