Two-Ply Corriedale Cross

Day 15: If you were to look around my living space, you'd see multiple projects of various types in different stages of completion. I like to have a variety of crafts going at once because (as I so often say aloud, sometimes in frustration at myself), I have the attention span of a gerbil. A week or two ago, I caught the spinning wheel glaring at me for having ignored it for an unreasonable period of time. I consoled it by completing the two-ply skein of grey yak hair it was holding, and then promptly began a new project of creamy white Corriedale cross wool. One four-ounce skein is finished except for washing and stretching, and the first ply of another is currently in the works. Underneath it, you can see a quilt in progress. It's taking far less long than I expected and I'm only a few weeks away from having it finished, but another quilt has supplanted it and must be completed first.

There are three of us, sisters-of-the-heart for lo, these many years. One lives in New Hampshire, one in New York, and then there's me, out here in the Pacific Northwe't. We haven't all been together for a decade or more, but our multiple daily emails are always shared. Very recently, the New York member of the contingent asked if I would be willing to do a huge favour for her: make a quilt using a top her grandmother had sewn by hand. I was inspired by the "heirloom" aspect of the project and agreed, somewhat along the principle of buying a pig in a poke. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. Alison understood that, and assured me that I could back out of the commitment if I so desired once I'd seen the quilt. It came in the mail ten days ago. I gave it a preliminary assessment, hatched a few ideas, ran them by Alison and we came up with a Plan. But, as plans of mice and men are wont to do (or I should say "of a Mouse and a needlewoman"), it went a-gley. There were problems with grandma's spacing (four inches between some appliqued plates and seven between others), and my designs just weren't working. I gave the project a serious chunk of think, and proposed a daring idea to my heart's dear sister. I would cut up grandma's quilt and reassemble it with coloured strips in between and a wide border to bring it up to king-size.

Needless to say, this has become a much larger project than initially anticipated, but with Mouse's approval, I went to town today and bought the additional fabric. I also bought some more Corriedale wool because I'm going to need a lot of breaks over the next two or more years.

At The Needle

Day 362: I have always been an early riser. Even when I was very young, I would be up before the sun, reading or playing as I waited for first light. Conversely, I go to bed earlier than most people. I am seldom awake after 10 PM. These days, I am impatient to start quilting. My vision is such that I cannot work under exclusively artificial light, so as soon the sky lightens, I throw back the curtains and take my position in the north window. A few hours into the morning, the point arrives when the sun rises above my neighbour's woods to the east, glares at me as if it resents my customary morning cheer, and slants across my work until I swear at it and push the frame aside. Half an hour later, old Sol gives up tormenting me and I resume my work.

Quilting is something of a winter occupation, like making an afghan or knitting a sweater. It's too warm to be under a blanket during the summer, however loosely draped. Yet in summer when the hours of light are long, I would like to spend more time at the needle, but wildflowers and waterways speak with louder, more insistent voices, pulling me away. "So much to do, and so little time," I think, and try to divide myself among my many pastimes. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to watch TV.

Hoopingcrow

Day 360: Meet Hoopingcrow, my stitchery assistant. Geocaching friends know me as Hoppingcrow, so when this bird-like creature moved into my house and was assigned the task of holding a variety of needlework hoops, "Hoopingcrow" was a logical extension. He has seen many quilts in his day as well as assorted cross-stitch, needlepoint, bargello and crewel projects. His jointed body and neck make it possible to adjust his height to a comfortable level regardless of where I'm sitting, and of course he makes it possible to have one hand on top of my work and the other underneath. I've never had floor space to dedicate to a full-sized quilting frame, and although I have to change "screens" much more frequently, working with a hoop when quilting only requires a little more care than having the fabric fully stretched. Secure pinning and/or basting does the trick. At this point, Hoopingcrow and I have completed seven of the 63 Patience Corner blocks, a ninth of the way done!

Top Done!

Day 347 (bonus post): The quilt top is done! It measures 70" x 90" (roughly). Now I have to make a judgment call on how to back it. Apparently double-width broadcloth has gone the way of so many good things. I was unable to find it, and since I didn't really want to back the quilt with muslin (natural or white), I bought yardage of the standard 44" width. This means that the backing will have to be pieced, and I need to decide if I want to make squares the same size as the blocks (probably not, because it would make hand-stitching harder where seam allowances stack up), or if I want to use strips or larger rectangles. One side of my head argues that I should just back it with boring old muslin and use the broadcloth for something else. I don't like having seams on the back of a quilt. It's frustrating to be undecided at this point, so close to having it on the hoop and doing the handwork I enjoy most.

Twenty-Year Quilt

Day 299: I don't recall what year I actually started this quilt. I can only date it by saying that Cocoa (my Cockatoo) liked to use it for a trampoline once it was stretched in the hoop for stitching. That dates it to at least 2001, and since the machine-piecing was done by that point, I'd say we can safely add another two years, maybe even three. Let's make it a nice round number, and call it twenty years ago, ergo the "Twenty-Year Quilt."

I used to call it the "Mistake Quilt." Y'see, all those little squares were supposed to be part of a different top, but somebody (-cough-) forgot to add the seam allowance when she cut them out. In a hasty revision of plan, this version was born. The fact of the matter is that I've made dozens of quilts over the years and have given away all but one which Cocoa also helped create. Every one with the exception of the one I kept have been tied with yarn rather than stitched to hold the batting in place. With its open blocks, this one seemed to beg for hand-stitching even though the quilt itself was pieced on the machine. I can make all sorts of excuses for why it's taken so long to finish: my fingers got sore, I had company over and needed to get the frame out of the way, I got bored...but the truth of the matter is that it brings back memories of Cocoa, and not all of them are things I want to think about. I've worked more diligently at the task over the last several days than during any other time since his passing, but sometimes those dark remembrances still float to the surface while my fingers are busy and my mind is not. It has taken twenty years, but I've taught myself to block their intrusion and wilfully force them back in the box. When I am done (and I truly believe I'll finish it over the next few weeks), the back will bear an embroidered tag with my name and the date, and the words "Cocoa helped." It will no longer be the Mistake Quilt or the Twenty-Year Quilt. It will be Cocoa's Quilt, and thus an heirloom.

Old Treasures

Day 128: I have very little memorabilia from my mother's side of the family, none at all from my father's side save for his military records and medals and a small handful of personal items, but those few things I do have are precious to me. The larger kitty you see here came across the Plains on my great-grandmother's lap, held to protect it from the jouncing of a buckboard, or so the family story goes. The black kitten was my grandfather's, of a somewhat later manufacture than the gold cat, but identically posed. The Double Wedding Ring quilt was a wedding gift to my parents, hand-stitched by my maternal great-grandma, its pieces cut from the calico flour sacks of the era. Both the quilt and the pillow are stained and worn, and the gold kitty has many scars and scratches, but in no way does that diminish their value in my heart. Sentimental? I'm not ashamed to admit to that.