Meghan, I’ve got your back–and so do thousands (yes, thousands) of others.
I like to imagine that one day, decades from now, this quilt will be folded nicely in a box, maybe a wooden chest, wrapped in paper, or maybe stuffed with mothballs next to baby blankets and forgotten treasures and trinkets. And one day, her great grandchild will discover it and wonder about the pleats, the pattern, the story.
She gently brushes away an ancient grain of sand or two as she traces her small fingers over the batik waves, the yellowed ivory silk, and the wine-stained linen. She smiles at the sunburst and makes up stories about the animals below the water’s surface, and she smiles wider when her family tells her that her great-grandma Meghan was a storyteller too.
I’ve been piecing together the waves using a technique called curved piecing. It’s taken a bit to get the hang of it, but the waves seem to be taking shape. There’s an ebb and flow I want to capture; a movement I want to mimic–smooth sweeping swells with whitecaps and light fading into dark, lit with a sunburst that’s neither coming nor going.
I must get it just right. Their story demands it; deserves it. As every word of a story must be chosen as sacred, so every story is sacred in itself. Each cut, each stitch, is a word chosen, a ripple in the water that reaches outward across oceans and across time.
The sunlight and the breeze today are really bringing these waves to life.
I didn’t have much of a plan when I started this quilt. I knew I wanted it to reflect Baby K’s adventure-seeking, nature-loving, modern mama and daddy. And I knew I wanted to create a modified flying geese pattern. And I LOVED these color combos–boyish but subdued. But what I didn’t expect as it came together is how perfect it would be for this adventurous family of three!
My favorite part about making my own patterns is that it’s hard to make mistakes–you just change up the original idea. It’s a great exercise in flexibility for the Type A gal that I am.
There were a few changes mid-layout, blocks finished and rearranged. When I finished the top and showed it to B before I started to quilt it he said, “Wow, I love how you made the mountains look like spring and winter in daytime and night.”
Um yeah, I TOTALLY meant to do that.
I guess my subconscious was channeling their Mount Kilimanjaro excursion.
It’s not every day someone asks you to cut up her wedding dress. As I snipped around the delicate beadwork and pleats, grains of beach sand fell out from the folds. Meghan and Joe got married on the beach, you see. As New Yorkers turned Floridians, they have not once taken this coastal paradise for granted.
Their dream had always been to retire there, a seaside condo where the sunrises dripped into the water and walks at sunset with their son could wash away anything hard or unruly from the day with a simple ripple of waves over their toes.
As I tidied up the table before bed tonight, I noticed a little pile of beach sand that had remained. I wish I could figure out how to sew those grains into the quilt, weaving as many pieces of this incredible woman into the blanket for her darling son.
It has me wrecked; ah, but it’s not about me. This quilt is all about her–and it’s all for her boys.