On days during the fall and winter months, which often featured cold or rainy days when Daddy couldn't work, he would begin removing the table and chairs from the dining room, and I knew what that meant. Mother was going to have a quilting bee. She mentioned those occasions often in the diary that I gave her for Christmas in 1969.

Sure enough, as soon as Daddy had moved the dining furniture into the living room, he set up the quilting frame and moved the dining room chairs back in, arranging them strategically around the frame. Sometimes even when he could work, he set up the frame before leaving for work.
Soon, the various invited ladies--sisters, aunts, cousins, friends from high school--would arrive, and the chatter would begin. If I wasn't in school, that was my signal to disappear. There is nothing more boring to a boy than a bunch of women sitting around chit-chatting. Occasionally, I'd venture into the kitchen for a snack or lunch, then I was back out again. Sometimes I was at school, but the ladies were still there when I got home. When that happened, I knew that supper would be late.
The ladies would keep it up until Daddy got home or they had to leave to fix their own families' supper.
When Daddy arrived and the last lady had gone home, Mother would take him on a guided tour around the frame, indicating where each lady had sat and pointing out characteristics of each lady's stitching. To her eyes, everyone had a fingerprint-like uniqueness to their handiwork. But she was exacting in her expectations, sometimes commenting, "Now she has her stitches too lose [or whatever might be the problem], so I'll have to tear those out and do them over." And she would do so right after supper. It couldn't wait until later.
Daddy patiently listened and nodded as though he were deeply interested in every detail. I complained that I was hungry and wanted supper.

Mother created many different designs for her quilts. Perhaps the ones I most remember were the "doll quilts." They featured numerous Little Bo-Peep-like figures, each holding an umbrella and wearing different colors of long, billowy dresses and matching bonnets. Amazing to me was the fact that they never had any feet.
Other quilts featured hexagonal or snowflake-shaped designs with two starkly different colors. Some had a multiplicity of colors and shapes. I remember one, although I don't own it, that she made by piecing together a plethora of Daddy's and my brother's old ties.

One quilt that, though not as colorful or as pretty, is an heirloom of sorts to me. It has red squares within larger white squares on a red field--with my name rather crudely stitched at the top. I assume that Mother made similar ones for my brother and sister.

Mother even made small quilts for babies. I have one such quilt that features six different farm animals. Beneath each is stitched the sound it would make (e.g., "Moo-Moo," "Bow-Wow," and "Oink-Oink").

Although Mother was concerned about quality and artistic creativity, she ultimately was practical. She wanted her quilts to be used, not merely stored or displayed. Many of the ones my family and I received from her attest to that fact, for they show the wear and tear of having been used--heavily--by my wife and me and our four daughters. But they've lasted and are still usable, though slightly worn. I think that's just as Mother would have it.
I know that quilting involved a lot of work and a lot of needle-punctured fingers for Mother and the other ladies who helped her during those many quilting bees. But it also meant a lot of socializing and laughter for them. And the product of their work made a lot of people warm on cold winter nights. And the quilts of hers that I still have help me retain precious memories of her and the love she put into each of them.

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