This story is about a three-generation quilt that got created over time in a pretty unintentional way—it just happened. But there’s no time like the present to intentionally start an heirloom quilt. Perhaps after you read this piece, you’ll feel inspired to start making quilt blocks that will eventually become your own family’s heirloom. (Article originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle)

Three pairs of hands made my quilt—my grandmother’s, my mother’s, and mine. The quilt, a Dresden Plate, began with a pile of fabric squares my mother pulled out of a box one day. I was just getting interested in quilting, and I was entranced. In the center of each white cotton block was a hand-appliquéd ring of fabrics in a rainbow of colors—clear red, navy blue, soft brown, maroon, grey-green. The fabrics were floral prints and polka dots, plaids and stripes, with a 1930s look to them. Recently, I looked this up in Barbara Brackman’s fascinating book, Making History: Quilts & Fabric from 1890–1970. There were the fabrics! Taken all together, I believe they span a period from the 1920s through the 1940s.

“This is a real scrap quilt,” Mom told me. “Your Grandma cut all these pieces from material left over after she made my dresses and her aprons and housedresses—and Grandpa’s shirts, too.” She fingered the fabric. “Most of these are percales—she probably bought them for about 19 cents a yard at Penney’s. Grandpa made her a template for the pieces out of aluminum flashing.”

Mom pointed to a blue cotton scattered with white life-preserver motifs. “This one was my favorite. I had a middy dress with a white piqué sailor collar. I loved that dress! I was probably 6 or 7 years old, so that would have been about 1927. And look here,” pointing to a small-scale red-and-white polka dot, “that was an apron Grandma wore for a long time.” Mom looked into the distance for a minute, remembering.

My memories of my maternal Grandma and Grandpa were hazy; they both passed away when I was very young. But I did know from Mom’s stories that Grandma was quite a character. In photographs, a little, ironic smile plays around her mouth, and her eyes glint with humor behind her glasses. My mother was always coming out with phrases she attributed to Grandma Ross. She’d say, conversationally, “So, do you think the rain’ll hurt the rhubarb?” or, enthusiastically, “Why, that’s just like downtown without the trees.” Then there was my favorite, “That was old when Heck was a pup, and he’s an old dog now.” None of these sayings ever made much sense to me, but I liked them.

Grandma Ross

Grandma was never without something in her hands—knitting or embroidery or quilt pieces. She made beautiful, perfect embroidered dishtowels and tablecloths, and even crocheted lace. My mother told me how Grandma would go down to the river on a sweltering summer Sunday while Grandpa fished. She’d stay inside the car and knit with the windows closed, to keep out the mosquitoes.

Like Grandma, my mother was always ready to see the funny side of things. And— like Grandma—she was, in her own words, “never idle.” If she sat watching television, her knitting needles were going, or she was hand-finishing the lining of a jacket she’d made. She used to laugh and say, “Well, you’ve got to keep moving, or you might take root!”

So when she pulled out those quilt blocks and I saw the colorful fabrics, I felt their tug. Plus, I loved them for their vintage look. I signed up to take a quilting class and learned how to sew the blocks into a quilt top. The teacher helped me choose a grey-green 30s-color fabric for sashing and borders.

I was a total novice, but I did my best. I drew a simple quilting design of scallops on the sashing with an erasable pen. Over several years, I clumsily hand-quilted the quilt in sections, using the smallest stitches I could manage (not nearly as tiny or as even as Grandma’s).

My progress was erratic; sometimes there were whole years when I didn’t work on the quilt at all. Finally, years later, I took the quilt over to Mom’s house one day. It was so close to being finished, but I just couldn’t seem to make it to the end. As she had often done with my skirts that needed hemming, or a Halloween costume for my son I didn’t have time to complete, she took it to finish. In no time she added the binding and a label. The quilt was finished at last, more than 60 years after it had been first begun.

Now that I’m more experienced with quilts and quilting, I wish I had done lots more quilting on it, and that I had researched more period details. On the other hand, it’s a true snapshot of three generations of women, each caught in a particular moment in her life. When I touch my quilt, I can almost hear the echo of Mom’s and Grandma’s good-natured laughter.

Special Note: Want to create your own heirloom in a fresh, updated Dresden Plate quilt style? Take a look at Amelie Belden’s bright-and-sassy Thoroughly Modern Dresden—to be released in Spring ’09. 

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