Quilts are more than just pieces of fabric, color combinations or patterns. Behind every quilt that is made, there is a story of people, places, events and emotions. These stories are why quilters often "name" their quilts, attach elaborate labels, and why they should document information, in some form of journal or notebook, about their quilts for future generations

     For example, in my collection of quilts, one is particularly special to me for a number of reasons. The quilt has no fancy pattern, nor does it have an elaborate color scheme. But there are numerous stories it could tell, if only the quilt could talk.

     My mother and I picked out the blue coordinating fabrics at a quilt shop in Spring, Texas. I was a new quilter and had never made a bed-sized quilt. When I saw the log cabin quilt hanging on display in the shop, I knew that was the pattern I wanted to make. In that year (1986) Texas celebrated its Sesquicentennial. It seemed appropriate to make it red/white/blue and quilt a "Texas" shape in the plain white squares.

     I worked with determined precision, cutting, piecing and assembling those blocks. When time came to quilt it, my sister and I went to the home of an older quilting friend and drew a sketch of her quilting frame. My husband and I bought the lumber and, though unskilled with a saw and screwdriver, we managed to build a sturdy frame. (Even quilting frames often have interesting stories behind them!) Since the sunniest window in our home was in my son's bedroom, that was where the quilting frame was set up. Little did I know then that sun would fade fabric over the years.

     Unfortunately, I was a perfectionist in most things I did and quilting was no exception. I was determined to make perfect, small quilting stitches. For every five stitches I would put in, I would often take two or three out. I envisioned blue ribbons at a grand quilt show for this "work of art." When the Sesquicentennial year ended, my children celebrated one birthday after another and still the quilt remained unfinished.

     By 1992, when the country was celebrating the anniversary of Christopher Columbus' voyage to America, my inspiration to finish the quilt was revived. My red/white/blue quilt would be appropriately finished this year, I thought. With zeal I resumed my perfect quilting but alas the tedium and slowness of perfectionism wore on and the quilt remained unfinished by the end of that year.

     As the year passed, other projects became my focus. We moved to a larger home, disasembled the quilt frame and folded the unfinished quilt neatly into the "unfinished projects" closet. I would finish it someday. Then someday finally came. In June 1996, my dear mother lay dying in a hospital of leukemia. We talked about all the fun we had quilting and all the quilts we had wanted to make someday. "You need to finish your quilt," she said. A few months after her death I unfolded the quilt from the closet and began once again to work on it. This time I could quilt with a quiet resolve that only the maturity of experience could accomplish. No longer did I need to quilt a perfect stitch. To give a finished, hand-made quilt to a loved one should be a quilter's motivation. The perfect or imperfect stitches are unimportant if in striving so hard to achieve them, you never get around to finishing the quilt.

     In October 1996, I put the finishing stitches in the quilt. In memory of my mother, I quilted a tiny heart in the corner. The quilt should be passed down to my son, Mark, as a reminder that the "best things in life are not things."

     For some, this somewhat faded, less than perfectly stitched log cabin quilt might deserve only a passing glance. The quilt lays on the bed mute. But if the quilt could talk . . . oh, the stories it would tell.

     Since quilts can't talk, we who make the quilts should tell their stories. it is important for future generations that quilters and owners of quilts document information regarding these treasures. Quilts are, after all, one of our legacies!    (From "Quilt" Magazine - Fall 1998 issue)