Quilt Repair Chronicle Week 1

Please recall from last week’s article that I’m undertaking to repair a nearly 70 year old quilt.  As with most of my projects, I have WAY underestimated the scope of this repair.  I find myself wondering what my grandmothers would’ve done if faced with this.  I doubt they would have had such a question because they would no doubt have conducted repairs along the way, instead of waiting until holes worked their way all the way through the quilt and batting poked its way out.

But I can’t go back – I say that a lot, you know.  You can never go back, you can only deal with what’s in front of you. 

Okay, first question – what to use for patches.  I don’t make my clothes, therefore I don’t create a whole lot of scraps.  And so many of the clothes we wear out are synthetic fabrics that don’t lend themselves to quilting. 

I kept remembering Matthew 9:16 that says, “No man putteth a piece of new cloth unto an old garment…” while I understand there is a deep spiritual lesson there about Jesus bringing a whole new age of grace and dispensing with the old age of the law, the literal meaning of his words seem to ring true in this situation.  It just so happens that I have a good supply of very old scraps – and I am so excited to tell you about these.

Domino Sugar Bag - it’s actually a creamy white, I’ve enhanced the photo to better highlight the faded brand name.

Back in 2016 I shared a story about my Great Aunt Willie Ward – she’d turned 100 years old in that article.  Aunt Willie was of a generation that despised waste.  She saved everything and found a use for most things.  Every time we went to Aunt Willie’s house, she tried to send us home with a car load of the stuff she’d saved.  These scraps came from her. 

There are cloth bags, even a scrap of a Domino sugar bag.  There is unbleached Domestic fabric (I think this is commonly known as muslin, however, it is always called domestic on the mountain and is a common quilting fabric).  Domestic fabric came in various grades of quality and thickness and I have several examples.

I don’t know quite what I’m going to use those bags for, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut them up for patches so I’ve opted for the Domestic.

Replacement Top over Whole Cloth Quilt

Aunt Willie also gifted me with several quilt tops – these are pieced tops that have never been quilted.  So that was a great option to cover one side of this quilt.  And it’s a very old means of salvaging a worn quilt.  In fact, I have another project waiting in the wings which is an appliqued cat quilt which wore out and was covered with a simple patchwork top and tack-quilted.  That one came from my husband’s family in Georgia. 

I especially love using one of Aunt Willie’s quilt tops on this project because it’s just the sort of thing she would’ve done.

Finally there’s the binding around the edge of the quilt.  This had apparently been replaced because it was  a poly-cotton blend of fabric which is too modern for this quilt.  Also, it is in really good condition, and the binding is usually the first part of a quilt to wear out.  As I began looking at the machined stitches that attached it, they were tight and sound while the surrounding fabric was loose and worn so I opted to just cut it away and save more of the original fabric.

And while it seems precious little, that’s my progress for the week!  I have patches cut and pinned in place; I’ve located and sized the replacement top and cleaned out the lumpy batting the surrounded the tears and edges.   We’ll see where we get to next week…

New Life for Old Covers

A couple of times I’ve written a little about quilts and quilting.  While I learned to quilt at my grandmothers’ knees, I make no claim of expertise.  In fact, I have a dear friend who is in fact an expert at the craft and she’d probably tell you I know nothing about real quilting.  I wouldn’t argue with her.

Yet, I’m working on a project and I’d like to share it with you over the next few weeks and we’ll see if I can actually accomplish it.  You see, I have a treasured old scrap that I hope to revive somewhat. 

I think the birth of quilts must have come from an abundance of scraps.  Scrap pieces of Lou’s new Sunday dress, Papa’s new shirt and little Ben’s worn out overalls.  Just because the back side got all ripped as a young boy skidded down a hillside, doesn’t mean the rest of the pants should be thrown out!  Fabric was one of those scarce resources on the Plateau – a land not inclined to grow cotton, made for a people dependent on store-bought yardage and that meant money.  There was precious little of that. 

Every scrap was saved, every scrap found a use, eventually.

I have seen quilts made of double knit polyester – those quilter friends of mine may be in need of medical help after reading that statement.  The color fast scraps from 1970’s dresses and pants suits made for a heavy quilt, but, gracious it was warm. 

I’ve shared with you here the quilt my Great Grandmother made of her Mother’s dresses.

I’m a fan of whole cloth quilts – probably because I’d much rather quilt than piece.  But getting a piece of fabric that large has historically been pricey. 

The quilt I’ve pictured here is whole cloth front and back – the same cloth.  As far as I know, it started out as a bedroom door.  Did you ever see an old house with curtains for doors?  A tour guide at an old house once told me that property taxes at one time were based on the number of doors ( I guess that was a way of counting the number of rooms in your house) so doors were only added where absolutely necessary – and that’s one explanation for why old homes never had closets.  Look at the picture, is that a fabric pattern you would choose to decorate your home? 

About 1958 my Great Grandma took the curtains and made them into a quilt which the family would use it until 1970 when it was passed on to my mother.  I remember using this quilt all the time I was at home.  And now I have it.    

After more than 60 years of constant use as a quilt made from old fabric, you can see that it’s showing some age.

As we’ve often discussed here on The Stories, recycling and repurposing are a way of life on the mountain.  Quilts have always been recycled.  Now, I don’t know that I’ve ever actually seen patches on quilts – but then most quilts are patchwork so would you even know if it had received a new patch?

Another way to repurpose a worn quilt is to give it a new cover.  When batting was hard to come by, using a worn quilt as the center layer on a new project is a pretty good idea.  Sometimes you can learn a lot of history when an old quilt tears – because the gash may reveal an interesting batting.

I may try that to add a whole new layer on one side of this project.  However, there are a couple of holes that go through all three layers of the quilt, so there’s no way around adding some true patching.

While my expert-quilter-friend told me this quilt wasn’t worth repairing, I think the biggest obstacle is in the batting.  Old batting was pure cotton that wanted to wad up.  You may notice that antique quilts are usually quilted in very close rows or grids – that’s to bind that batting down as much as possible.  Today’s quilts can be fluffier quilted on a much larger framework because the batting will hold up so much better.  (Of course we’ll have to wait another 60 or 70 years to see what today’s quilts look like when they’re as old as this one!)

If you have any advice for me, I’m happy to hear it – just click “comments” below!

The Rural Poor Always Manage - Somehow

A few years ago I heard a news interview with a lady from Alabama who had taken a job in Washington, D.C.  She secured lodging outside the city and talked about the poverty she saw as she drove in each morning.  One comment she made really stuck with me, and came to mind as I’ve been preparing my next book.  I can’t exactly quote her (and don’t remember her name to site that quotation anyway) but she said ‘out in the country, poor people always find a way to survive’.

On the mountain, we often consider ourselves poor people – so maybe that’s why I identified with her comment.  Yet, the more I learn about the generations who came before me, the more I realize the abundance they enjoyed.  Of course when you discuss wealth, you have to determine which ruler to use.  A scammer called me once and after I shared the gospel of Jesus Christ with him, he told me “I thought it would be okay to scam rich Americans.”  I would normally say I’m anything but rich, but I realize if my home, car, wardrobe and dinner menu were compared to the poor in Niger, Sierra Leone, or India (where that gentleman said he lived), they might just think I live like the queen of a small country.  And this is 2020.

In 1935 a cellar stocked with a good crop of potatoes, dried beans hanging from the rafters and a hog quickly fattening on fall’s acorns would’ve made most of the world envious. 

Don’t you wonder though, what did prosperity look like in 1900 or before?

In 1900 John D. Rockefeller, known as the wealthiest American of all time, would have been 61 years old and his Standard Oil Company was still intact.  The Biltmore House was just 5 years old and the industrial revolution was, well, revolutionizing America.  On Tennessee’s Cumberland Plateau, the Tennessee Central Railroad connected the Plateau to Nashville and the wide world with a line that reached to Emory Gap. 

While the railroad allowed stock and crops to be sold beyond the plateau, families here were still largely subsistence farmers.   Somehow, that term has become almost derogatory, as though survival is not enough.  In that day before you could compare whether your car was newer or faster than your neighbors, when no one had the latest iteration of cell phone or other technological gadget, wasn’t it enough to have good food on the table and healthy children?

And all of that abundance takes us right back to the land.  I think the land and the culture of those who’ve grown up close to the land is probably that ‘managing’ part of the rural poor. 

In years past, if a man could manage to get a little spot of land, he could begin building something – not just a home, but building a family and a life.  He would cut timber, work in the mines or hire himself out as farm labor until he could save enough cash money to buy a milk cow and maybe a mule to pull a plow.  He would put out a crop to feed both family and stock – and his whole family would help him. 

Sure there were cold times – homes weren’t insulated and heavy woolen coats were often a luxury.  Yet, if he worked hard cutting wood, his wife could sit close to the fireplace with the baby and they’d be okay. 

And there were hungry times as well, when crops didn’t fare well and the forest didn’t give up the game.  Yet, with a little grace (and a garden must be planted with prayer), and a lot of hard work, the land would give just about everything that family needed.  Clothing spun from cotton or wool, meat and vegetables to eat, could all be had with just a tiny amount of knowledge and a little spot of land.

It’s really no wonder that the home-place was revered.

Thinkin’ About the old Lands

Way back in 2013 I shared a little poem here that I wrote about the land, the old home places, and the mountain ghost towns.  Now, as I sit here trying to pull together a myriad of thoughts about land on the Cumberland Plateau, those words come back to me.

There is a place I love to go, where mountains roll and wildflowers grow…

              This land is but my living dream, of the past to which I cling…

It’s stories told, a history wrote…

              Tis a balm to the soul where none is old and all are whole…

I’ve often said it seems like I can hear the whispered voices of ancestors who walked the paths and worked the fields – but maybe that sounds just a little crazy… Really, I guess I hear the stories we’ve repeated so many times.  They are stories that teach lessons and keep characters alive in our memories.  These great-great grandparents, uncles, aunts and distant cousins seem like old friends to me.  Sometimes I forget that I never knew many of them, because I know their stories so well.

And those stories are inseparable from the land.  Not too many years ago, one of my great uncles took a little walk across the farm he’d grown up on.  My Daddy continues to run cattle on that same land, so the fences are intact and the scrub brush is mostly kept at bay.  Still, he marveled at the changes – saplings are now great trees with nicks and carvings grown above his head.  Well-worn paths are now grass-covered and the animals have carved new ways to water and feed.  Yet the land is the same – the hills still roll and creeks still flow.  His parents and most of the siblings he’d known on that land were mostly gone – in fact, Uncle Cletus has since passed away too.  Still the land remains.  

So much of our modern culture has lost its connection to the land.  We’re in rented apartment buildings or on highways and city streets.  We work in buildings where we often can’t even see the blue sky.  Even our leisure time is often spent in city parks or public attractions.  I’ve written about a group of women headed out to pick wild greens in the early spring or hunting medicinal herbs.  We’ve seen pictures of a team of horses or mules that led farm families back and forth plowing a field or pulled them in the family wagon to church or into town on business.  And so many miles were covered on foot as young people walked to church, sometimes miles away, or family members walked to visit aging parents or adult siblings.  People walked in groups and enjoyed the trip as much as the destination.  They worked together and passed the long hours under the sun sharing memories or making plans.

It’s often easy to remember in black and white – so many old pictures from Appalachia look desolate and downright desperate.  Yet if the deep greens of grass and leaves were colored in, with the bright reds and yellows of wild flowers, the picture would be far more cheerful.  Dirty children in ragged clothes might be less pitiful and more delighted with a day of play. 

When you can walk those paths and see them in their natural brilliance, the life of the land somehow fills you – and even the stories of hard times are highlighted by love, joy, occasional successes and sweet memories.