That night before we fell to sleep, Grandma came in and sat on the end of the bed, telling us the story of the quilts she had made with her mother. There were even more quilts in the closet in her room and I was overwhelmed by their beauty and history.
She told us each quilt was made by hand and that the fabrics used were from the dresses her mother had made for herself and Wilda. The fabrics were vintage prints that automatically made you think of summer days, being barefoot in the grass, and riding on a tractor in the field. The tiny stitches that made up each of the quilts were lovingly quilted into each one by Wilda and her mother Lucy.
A few years after that stay I was shocked to see the quilt arrive in the postman's hands. It was wrapped very simply in brown paper and a lot of tape. Inside the wrapper the note said she had wanted me to have the quilt since it had seemed to mean so much to me to know all about it. Ron and I have both cherished it and often take it down off of the top of the armoire just to rub our hand across the fabrics. . . . . . reminding us of days gone by and a loving little grandmother who was so very thoughtful.
