Wednesday, September 23, 2026 The Heritage Quilt

We lived in a big, drafty house when I was growing up. The only sources of warmth in the winter were the radiators, sprinkled throughout the house, with one in most of the rooms. Sometimes the radiators were warm and comforting to lean against. Sometimes they were very hot, not enough to burn, but enough to keep you from wanting to be too close.

We spent a lot of time in our living room and dining room, both of which could get uncomfortably cold even with the radiators radiating. My mom’s solution was to make a huge quilt which she hung up as a wall to separate the living room from the entry way, which we always called “the foyer.” Sometimes that quilt meant the difference between having a room that was livably warm and one that required sweaters, blankets and mittens for added bulk.

Mom could have just hung a blanket or two up, but she took the time and effort to make a beautiful quilt, one that I didn’t appreciate nearly enough at the time. You see, this was no ordinary quilt; it was embroidered with our names, our parents names, our grandparents’ names and the names of ancestors further back than that. Mom added the names in the white channels around the squares. This was before sewing machines could be programmed to do such things. She did it with her own clever hands. Our names (my siblings and me) were the darkest colors and each generation back from us was embroidered in successively lighter colors. It was an exquisite heritage quilt! Occasionally I would look at the names, but mostly the quilt became a wall, one that we did not dare leave pulled aside on those cold days.

When did she have time to make this quilt? How is it that I have no memories of seeing her work on it? How long did it take her to sew all those names on it? What a triumph it was!

Recently I heard from my youngest sister that this quilt and one other were in Mom’s cedar chest that she’d taken when Mom died. She didn’t think she’d ever use the quilts and offered them up to the sibs. “Me! Me! Pick me!” Well, no one else wanted them and they now reside in our house. For the first time in its whole existence, the quilt is covering a bed. I marvel at it and wish I could tell my mom, “Oh, what a wonderful work of art and family history you did! God blessed the work of your hands.” And I would hug her and kiss her dear cheek.

I might feel rather quilty if I have to delete this in the morning.