A change of seasons

by T. Touris –

My late mother was a quilter. I cherish each and every masterpiece she made for me. With the cooler weather setting in and the leaves beginning to drop, it was time to switch from the lighter, red, white and blue Ohio Star pattern she gave me years ago, to the cozy flannel quilt of deep greens and burgundies. Burrowing in under it on a chilly night brought back some warm memories.

I’m not sure where my Mom got the fabric for these quilts.  Her and Dad made a pastime of traveling around and hitting every fabric shop they could find. It could have been from a shop in Berlin, Ohio, Pennsylvania Amish country or some point in between.

Like many of her generation, I knew for a long time that Mom was a bit of a stoic. She held her emotions close. But, I knew, deep down she was sad to see me leave home to begin my career in the Rochester area. So, while returning for a visit, I was a bit dismayed to see how quickly my former bedroom had been converted into a textile warehouse. Stacks of clear bins holding materials of every hue and pattern occupied the space where my dresser and desk had been.

Over the years, I have come to understand. She had filled the void left by my departure with her beloved fabrics. The joyful occurrences of me stumbling home at two in the morning were now replaced with a box containing pieces for a drunkard’s path quilt. The thrill of washing and folding my laundry was now an exercise in sorting and folding various ginghams. Poor substitutes to be sure, but it helped her get through the trauma of me leaving.

Now that my three kids are on their own, I’m coping by collecting wood. I’ll make some of it into furniture, bowls and other gewgaws, but mainly it will help fill the space left by their absence. As I carve a spoon from a nice piece of peach wood, I quietly thank my Mom for her quilts and her wisdom.