To Nana with love...

I've been working on a quilt since January of this year called "The Farmer's Wife Sampler Quilt". It consists of 111 six inch traditional blocks. The quilt honors those Farmer's Wives of the 1920's when farms were folding all over the country. Money was scarce and the city beckoned offering jobs, cheap entertainment, and conveniences that were tempting to those accustomed to hard work and sweat. The city also offered things like liquor, speakeasys, crime, dance halls catering to to the young and impressionable and other easy ways to dissolve the family unit,. When "The Farmer's Wife" magazine asked it's readers in 1922 this question: "Would you want your daughter to marry a farmer?"

...the letters came in by the thousands and 94% of all the respondents adamantly said "YES!" The winning letters included in the book for this quilt were well thought out and very articulate in explaining the reasons why. Though they were thrilled  with the modern conveniences that would make their lives easier: indoor plumbing, telephones, carpet sweepers etc... they wanted their family life and values to be left alone.

I love the whole idea behind this quilt. I've enjoyed making every block and choosing every fabric. I made it completely from what I had on hand when I started and didn't purchase a thing for it's completion. I guess this shows how deep my fabric stash goes. I should be embarrassed. Anyway I've decided to dedicate this quilt to my Nana; the mother of my dear daddy.

-Winona- 

She was a raven haired beauty who loved riding her horse and hated having her hair bound in braids. After her mother would do her hair in tight braids for school she'd unwind her braids on the way to school so her hair would be wavy, and free to blow in the wind. She marked my Papa as the one she would marry, and by darn, she got him. She loved huge billowy clouds and thunder storms, the crackling of campfires and the smell of pine. She loved all the seasons and colors of the world. She was an incredible cook, even when camping, and loved her family well by preserving the bounties of the earth and preparing those bounties in delicious ways to feed her family. She was no stranger to hard work and always had a garden. She was a country girl who loved the wide open spaces and spectacular vistas.

-Wedding Star-

-

-Streak of Lightning-

When I think of Nana my sense of smell dominates all others: Roses, sweet-peas, lilacs, cinnamon, hot butter, fresh bread, roast beef with gravy and new potatoes, the seductive aroma of damp earth combined with sun warmed tomatoes and garden peas. I even remember eating those straight out of her garden in Dutch John when I was just little.

 -Evening Star-

-Shooting Star-

She loved color! Reds, purples, golds, emeralds; the richer and more vibrant the better. Purple was her favorite though, I think. When she got older and her hair started to go gray she used a blue rinse on it and she looked so pretty with her bluey-purpley hair. I loved it. I wished I had hair that color.

-Star Gardener-

-Homemaker-

When I think of visiting her the sounds that come to mind are Gospel music, songs from musicals like "The Sound of Music" and old western tunes about dogies and goober peas. I heard a lot of Jim Reeves, Patsy Cline, Roy Rogers, Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette. I came to appreciate The Mormon Tabernacle Choir because when we went to visit Nana and Papa it was usually on a Sunday and MoTab would be the featured performer on their stereo. "How Great Thou Art" became my favorite hymn because I'd heard it so many times in their home looking at pictures of the Tetons. Who could resist that?

 

-Peaceful Hours-

-Wild Goose Chase-

She had a large wooden rocking chair (it was large then) and over this chair was a Crazy Quilt. When dinner was over and before the evening slide show was to begin I'd curl up in that old rocker and drift contentedly in my cocoon of comfortable safety and love, surrounded by the familiar sounds of the silverware clanking in the sink and the hum of adult voices and occasional bouts of laughter as my dad and his siblings would reminisce around the now cleared dinner table. I would trace with my finger the seams in that old quilt and feel the textures of the different fabrics while listening to tales about when they lived in Canada: the saw mill on Stuart Lake, picking Saskatoon berries, ice skating across the lake in winter  to get to school and snow so high it would reach the second story window of the home they built on Stuart Lake in Central  British Columbia. No central heat, no indoor plumbing. Outhouse? Yes. Kerosene lanterns? Yes.

-Maple Leaf-

-Strawberry Basket-

She was a pioneer and a devoted wife. She had more than a hint of the gypsy adventuress and the strength it takes to be a mother of eight children, two of those dieing as babies. She had the yearnings of a true romantic and the common sense of a dyed-in-the-wool pragmatist. She may not have been the wife of a farmer but she had what it took: great love, deep faith, strong convictions, a forgiving heart and an indomitable spirit.

 -Friendship-

 -Night & Day-

I dedicate this quilt to you. I'm so grateful to have known you. I'm so grateful to have inherited some of your characteristics and traits.

I love you Nana!

Reunion 2010: Thoughts on butterchurns and dead fingers...

It was my beautiful baby sister Lisa's turn to plan the family reunion this year. (I just love this woman. Seriously LOVE HER.)

She decided to have it in Yellowstone and we would all stay at the KOA just west of West Yellowstone. We would get there on Thursday and go home on Sunday. She handed out an itinerary, and menus for three meals that she would provide, and also a list of things that would be going on locally that we may like to participate in. One of those things was The Mountain Man Rendezvous. You can read about the history of this here.

I've heard about these things, the history, the people, the reason they 'are', but I've never been to one. I'm intrigued by these people, past and present, and have begun to wonder if there is a part of me that wants to *be* part of it. Maybe it's in my blood; passed down to me through the generations from those who crossed the plains, homesteaded the American West or even crossed 'The Pond' looking for freedom.

Anyway, it was with a feeling of gleeful anticipation when finally stepping out of our modern covered wagon (our black Grand Jeep Cherokee with a sunroof, leather seats and automatic E V E R Y T H I N G [I'm not bragging, just appalled by the comparison]) after driving for HOURS, at least 5, (not days/weeks/possibly months) to the 'camping spot' (a KOA with bathrooms and flush toilets and a POOL! no less [I have to say here that we did pitch a tent AND sleep in it for 3 nights...on a blow-up air mattress) that it was entirely possible that I may be able to attend this event. I was almost giddy!!

We decided to go on Saturday morning on our way into the park and see what it was about. Okay, I was a bit disappointed by the smallness of it. Admittedly it was early, well 10:30-ish, and there weren't that many visitors yet, but there just weren't that many tents set up. I'd imagined a far bigger 'Rendezvous' after reading about them, with LOTS of people and music and vigorous trading and dickering etc... I had to castigate myself saying, "Self, there just aren't that many mountain men any more. Give them a break. They're doing the best they can."

I took my modern day self and my rugged looking husband wearing his new slouchy cowboy hat into the ring of tents and started looking around. It didn't take long to find some real characters. I swear they were mostly named Grizz or some such rugged and masculine name, except one who's name was Erik. I suppose, being mountain men, they wouldn't admit to a name like Randy or Mike or even Steve (although I happen to think Steve is a Very Rugged, Masculine Name.)

The first tent was manned, or womanned, by a nice lady who is in business with her husband and they are potters. I love hand thrown pottery. I believe anyone could learn to do it but to make a living at it would be very difficult, rewarding, but difficult. I found a beautiful small butter churn. Yay! I'm going to learn to use it too, if only to appreciate those who *had* to do it on a regular basis. AND you never know when something like that would come in handy, right along with my treadle sewing machine.

Other than the potter's tent and a flute maker's tent and the musicians, most of the tents sold the same kinds of things: beads and things, moccasins, furs, leather goods, some old guns, antler/horn knives, and some really nice handmade bows, old timey looking clothes...there were a couple of food places too. It wasn't so much what they sold but who was selling it.

Take this last guy with his ummm...medicine stick? Voodoo Stick? I really can't remember what he was selling, it certainly wasn't his stick. When I asked if I could take a picture of him he was more than pleased to pose for it...in the sun, for good light, and then wanted to know if my husband's camera was on and would we like him to tell us about his stick? He was so friendly and affable if more than a little eccentric. I loved his stories and the reasons for all his little doodads and things and then he started telling us about this one thingy...I didn't really get a good look at it, but my husband, no doubt, got a good close up in living (or dead) color. It was the dried up tip of his, now dead, friend's finger! I kid you not! Nail and all! His friend cut it off himself with his own knife because it was diseased and going to fall off anyway. Then boiled it, dried it and varnished it. It was diseased by all the tobacco he had rolled into cigarettes over his lifetime. After he cut off his finger and gave it to 'Grizz' to make into an 'E A R R I N G' he died about 3 weeks later. Grizz made it into an earring and it now adorns his 'Stick' as a lesson to all those trifling with the idea of taking up smoking. Cured me of even having a nightmare about smoking, so it must have some power.

Notice the small dried alligator head...uhhm...wearing a small set of antlers on the top. I have no doubt that this man could become a millionaire if he wanted to sell this thing to some crazy billionaire who already has everything...but this stick. But that would be like selling his soul. And I say that with utmost seriousness and respect. I don't think that's going to happen. I would be disappointed if it did.

After leaving the Rendezvous my husband wondered out loud how many of these people would actually be 'homeless' if they hadn't honed their talent(s) and found a niche in on what some would call 'the fringes of society'. Actually, I find this so called 'fringe' so full of flavor and personality that I'm absolutely sure that we need them, if only to add flavor to a life that tends to look and taste and feel rather beige and flat. People...amazing people...we are a marvelous and varied palette of color, flavor and texture. I had such a great time.