From tall pine country of northern WI.....

I make my quilt from scraps of flannel. To small to be use for anything else, they come to life in a quilt. From the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, I make the quilts that covered the beds of The Waltons. A deepening Depression challenges the nation. Scraps pulled from the bag reveal a families' history. Aprons, nightgowns, dresses and shirts...to be used in patchwork perfection. Simple, plain and the medium in which I choose to work. Crossing the prairies of the heartland.....
..I make the quilts of the westward settlers....advancing across the nation like a slow moving tide. Wagon wheel ruts worn as deep as wrinkles forming in the faces. No yardage to speak of, but bits and pieces and parts. A remembrance from a friend, a sister, another woman......a quilter. Daily life challenges me further... a small quilt becomes a burial shroud. A grave by the wagon trail. The sorrow, longing for home. Accepting the possibility of never seeing beloved family faces again....I finger the scraps in my bag, and plan another quilt in my head. Up and into mountain passes, the endless snow of higher elevations, the river
crossings, I form a new connection to family and the frail nature of life. And I piece on a quilt top...wondering "where will I baste this one?", "will I have time to quilt before winter?".....
The lingering while winter passes, an army fort, hating the life, put 'on hold' til spring, longing for a solid roof over my head, a hearth to call my own...I piece this top. A new baby on the way, again. Will I deliver safely? Will it live, grow up and sleep under this quilt I piece? And then spring, moving onward, heading west....the top almost completed...
In the doorway of a newly built log cabin, I stand and gaze across the grasslands, the rolling hills, towards the mountain off in the distance. Snow covered and so beautiful, a new home. New beds to cover with quilts, if I can. How many pieces still in the scrapbag? Time will tell. Will there be woman neighbor with whom to finger the scraps, I hope so. I have many more quilts to make. And since we can't see the future, thanks to God curving the earth so we can't see too far ahead, I do as I have always done. I do the best I can, where I am, with what I have. And that is what my quilts say about me, altho you may not be able to read that message.
I make the quilts of the log cabins, and the quilts of the farmhouse clotheslines. I make quilts from simple patterns, passed from quilter to quilter. I do not yearn for what I do not have. I have no desire for fame nor fortune nor recognition. That is not who am I. Those are not the quilts I choose to make. That will not change. With or without Robert Frost's 'woods'...."I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." *VBS*
*****read Sweet Pea's blog that inspired me to write this about the quilts I make. What quilts do you choose to make?