Quilting: Fabric of Our Lives

—Memory, craft, and gift…stitched across generations.

by Patti Schatz

Lillian grew up during the Depression, reared by grandparents on a very modest farm in Pennsylvania. Thrift was part of life. Among the economy measures was making quilts for warmth. Quilters made attractive quilts using whatever fabric was available, including good sections of worn-out clothes and leftover scraps. All work was done by hand.

As the Depression drew to a close, Lillian became a farmer’s wife. Money was still tight. As her elder daughter, I observed her hard work and hard life. Quilting continued, even though there was little time and no money for fabric. When she was widowed, she moved away from the farm and started a housecleaning business. In her rare spare moments, she sewed quilts and knitted and crocheted lap robes. Soon there were more than she could use, and she began giving them to people in need. She selected one size so someone in a wheelchair could tuck it in without catching it in the wheels—another size to throw over one’s legs when napping.

“…she loved handing out the quilts herself…watching the surprise and joy of the recipients, knowing a stranger had made something just for them.”

After retirement, she had more time and, having acquired some assets, could purchase materials for her quilting. She contacted nursing homes and visited once yearly at Thanksgiving to deliver her accumulated work—usually fifty or more lap quilts. She insisted on accompanying the staff who distributed them, helping residents pick out their favorites. She told me how much she loved handing out the quilts herself—watching the surprise and joy of the recipients, knowing a stranger had made something just for them. I estimate she delivered about five hundred lap quilts.

Eventually, early dementia made it impossible for her to live independently. We added a lovely apartment to our home, including a large sewing room where she was thrilled to spend her time quilting and knitting. I helped her shop for supplies; we designed quilts together, and I assisted with the work. Over time, she lost dexterity and her eyesight began to fail. Gradually, I took on more of the construction, even while working full time. She continued to find fulfillment in her favorite activity; I became addicted to quilting.

“All it will cost you is a smile.”

She continued her habit of delivering quilts to nursing homes—now with me in tow. In all, we delivered about a hundred lap quilts. Arriving at a resident’s room with two or three quilts, accompanied by a staff member, the patient would often say she would love one but had no money. We would reply, “All it will cost you is a smile.” They could hardly believe us, but always chose a favorite. When asked, they readily agreed to pose for photos with Mother—photos I printed and assembled into a keepsake album for her to enjoy. Only then did I understand why she so valued delivering the quilts in person.

One of my treasures is a special quilt. During summer months, my daughter spent afternoons with Mother learning how to quilt. Together they produced forty Dresden Plate pieces. When summer ended, the pieces were packed into a closet. Some of the fabric came from leftover maternity clothes I had made; other pieces were scraps from clothes made for Kim.

click images of Dresden plates to open full view

Years later, we rediscovered the sections, and I took them home to finish the quilt. I decided to appliqué them onto a white-on-white polished cotton background. After completing that step, another project took priority, and the pieces returned to the closet. After another long pause, I found them again and finally assembled everything into a finished quilt top.

Much later, when Kim was in college, I found time to restart the quilting process, which included sandwiching the top, the batting (also called filling), and the backing. The most time-consuming step is the quilting itself—stitching through all three layers of a pattern to hold them together. After selecting a heavy batting, I decided to hand embroider around each square and in the center. If I had thought it through, I might have chosen a lighter batting or used machine quilting. It took several hours, a bunch of thimbles, and plenty of finger pricks just to complete one square. I resolved to finish it in a single winter. The result was better than I expected, as the thicker batting let the embroidery stand out.

click images of lilac quilt to open full view

When mother moved in with us, I made her a queen-sized quilt. She had always loved lilacs, remembering the large bushes beside the porch, so I designed with lilacs in a basket. The size of the quilt made the corners drape onto the floor, and I worried she might trip.To solve this I devised a loop and button arrangement to gather the corners into soft “puffs,” lifting the fabric while creating an attractive detail. She loved it.

click images in gallery to open full view

Eventually, dementia conquered Mother, forcing her to quit quilting and knitting. For safety she entered a skilled living facility. I took over constructing the quilts we had been working on together. One of my first deliveries was to Mother’s nursing home. Every time I walked down the halls, I saw a quilt she or I had made.

Over the years I have made several personalized large bed quilts for special people. It is time-consuming, yet satisfying work because it allows me to create something unique with special meaning for the recipient. And they always love them.

I continued working on the quilts Mother and I had designed together, even after she passed. At one point I had over two hundred in the closet, even after gifting many to friends. Eventually I discovered the Lake Magdalene Church quilt club, the Peacemakers. After constructing about forty quilt tops for them using fabrics they had provided, they invited me to join.

I design my own patterns, enjoying the creativity of making something unique and the challenge of using scraps to create an artistic quilt. I have made a few favorites; sometimes it is difficult to give them away. But thinking of the joy on the recipient’s face makes it easier to part with them.

click images in gallery to open full view

Today, I finish about a hundred quilt tops a year, and machine quilt about eighty of them myself; other members in the club quilt the others. We make isolette covers for St. Joseph’s neonatal ICU. We donate quilts annually to a local nursing home. We have given nap quilts in children’s prints to a day care center. Recently, we donated quilts to guardian ad litem and Meals on Wheels. Some of my favorite projects are the quilts made for children facing serious illnesses. We keep a variety of quilts on hand—suitable for different ages so we can respond immediately. Families are always truly grateful, and providing those tiny quilts is so satisfying.

I have heard people describe their favorite hobby as one which makes time disappear—where nothing else exists in their world for a short time. I feel like that when I am quilting. Perhaps that is why I find it addictive.

A deeper look at quilting traditions: This PBS program excerpt explores the history, artistry, and community behind quilts.

Patti Schatz grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania. She graduated from Mansfield College with a degree in math, and taught senior high school college prep math for two years. She joined IBM during the infancy of the computer industry as a Systems Engineer, a technical career which spanned 49 years. In retirement she has pursued many hobbies, among them photography, quilt design and construction, and baking, especially cookies for the holiday season. Her butterfly garden is flourishing. She is a member of OLLI, and participates in both the German language and French language SIGs.