Something happened on the first day of summer. I placed a final stitch in my four-generation quilt.
I am not entirely sure what this one means to me; what it means that it came from my hands; the symbolism, the sincerity. Two sets of hands are now in heaven, two sets are clasped together here on earth, but we've all had our hands in this quilt, and it's fresh and warm from its first washing.
I will wrap up in it and let my thoughts and heart go as deep as I please, into the memories of my mother, her memories of her mother, and the stories I've been told of her mother before her. I will find myself in the things we share, the woods and hills and rivers, the love of life and children and family, the joy and the kindness. It is one thing to have things handed down. It is quite another to be an active participant in taking what was handed down and making it into more than it could have thought to be. I cannot imagine her, my great-grandmother who stitched this top. Could she have imagined me?
So this one's for my great-granddaughters, this handful of history and the knowledge that they are the fulfillment of my wildest dreams.