Margaret Mackenzie of Ennismore, ON, and a member of the Buckhorn Area Quilters’ Guild, was lured into quilting by her grandmother. Enjoy the heartwarming story of how her grandmother ensured at least one member of the family took up the quilting hobby. Thank you to Margaret for sharing these special memories with us.
The red corduroy housecoat still hangs in my closet. The matching flannel lining has worn away in several places, half of the buttons have been replaced, and sections of the white piping so lovingly stitched to the edges, are hanging loose from their moorings. “It has natural patina” the Antique Road Show appraisers would say kindly, if it ever came to them.
I was about ten that Christmas in the late 1950s when my grandmother gave me, my brother, and all seven of my cousins the red housecoats. I still have the picture in my mind of us lined up in order from tallest to smallest in front of grandma’s fireplace, looking resplendent in our matching attire.
I wore that housecoat all the way through my high school years. By then the hemline was just above my knees instead of at the original ankle level. The sleeves, even with the cuffs turned down, barely made it below my elbows. Nonetheless, I would have continued to wear it if my older brother had not come into my room one summer day after my high school graduation with a bag. He threw it on my bed and said: “Here. I got this for you. You are NOT taking that ratty red thing to the university dorm with you.” Inside the bag was a new housecoat.
My grandmother was a seamstress, not by trade, but by nature. The housecoats completed, she moved on to her next project: Quilts. She proceeded to make each of her grandchildren beautiful quilts, all the same pattern. The blocks consisted of colourful morning glories appliquéd on a crisp white background and embellished with embroidered stamens, stems, leaves and tendrils. The blocks were surrounded by a sky blue border.
A few years after these treasures had been completed and meted out to all the grandchildren, an unanticipated event occurred. My aunt became pregnant with her third child. My grandmother greeted the arrival of the healthy baby boy with a mixture of unmitigated joy and steely resolve. Baby David, she knew, would have to have a quilt. Out came the worn pattern pieces carefully drawn on sections of brown paper bags. There was work to be done.
By this time I was sewing my own clothes and had dabbled in embroidery. I had gifted my grandmother with a couple of my early masterpieces. In her mind, that tagged me as a likely candidate to become a quilter.
“Margaret,” she said to me, “my eyes are not as good as they used to be. I’m going to need some help. If I appliqué the flowers on the blocks, will you do the embroidery work?”
Flattered by the thought that she was trusting me with this task, the blocks accompanied me that summer to the camp at which I was a counsellor. I think Grandma may have blanched in private at the thought of her precious blocks going camping, but I was careful with them, finished the embroidery and returned them to her in pristine condition. She did the rest and baby David had his quilt.
Thus was the quilting seed planted in my psyche, although it required several seasons to germinate and finally bloom. By the time I came to make my first quilt, my grandmother had passed away. I could not consult with her in person. However, the beautiful quilt that she had given me acted as my guide. It was only when I became a quilter myself that I realized what Grandma had done.
Applique stitches are tiny, sewn with fine thread, and meant to disappear into the fabric. Quilting stitches are made using thicker thread, but in that era were also expected to be tiny. They were to be even and catch all three layers, providing a subtle impression of texture to the quilt. Embroidery stitches, on the other hand, use thick embroidery floss. They are big and bold, calling out “Look at me! Look at me!” as they sit clearly visible on the surface of the quilt top. I now knew that if Grandma’s eyes were good enough to do the fine appliqué and the tiny, even quilting stitches, they were more than good enough to do the embroidery. It was obvious to me that this had been a clever ploy to lure me in to the world of quilting, to pass on her love of the craft to at least one of her descendants. Grandma had cast her line. I had taken it, hook, line, and sinker.
I have gone on to make many quilts. In tribute to my grandmother and as a remembrance of her, I made a quilt for all of her daughters, my aunts, none of whom had taken up quilting themselves. Quilting has given me immeasurable joy throughout the years. Thank you, Grandma for your precious gift, not just the housecoat or the quilt, but for the love of creating that quilting brought to my life.
