When I was a teenager, my paternal grandmother crafted a quilt for each of her grandchildren, with the help of her sister, Aunt Omi. She hung a large quilting frame from the ceiling in her cozy den area adjacent to her spacious kitchen. I fondly remember seeing them sitting around the quilting frame, laughing, chatting, listening to music, and passing the hours in warm camaraderie. Some quilts were delicate pastel feminine Sunbonnet Doll patterns, butterflies, or intricate geometrics. As I recall, all of them were made of soft cotton fabrics except the one I received, which is a vibrant block stripe polyester knit quilt. I must admit that I secretly always would have preferred to receive one of the pretty soft pastel cottons. Recently, with the call for blankets, I debated gifting it to a warming shelter, then a second thought was to sell it on Marketplace and buy some smaller throws. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. It has hung on quilt racks or lain folded in a quilt chest for years. Because it is so substantial and washable, I decided instead to put it on my bed during the freezing weather this past week. I discovered its weightiness is what a therapeutic weighted blanket must feel like. I have slept so well the last five nights, and with no concern about having an animal sleeping on it either. My Granny Boyd was a pragmatic, principled, no-nonsense kind of woman, one who would choose practical solutions, who would have had a pioneering kind of toughness.
Widowed in her 40s, she managed a home, farm property, and ponds, and a flower shop business. She cooked every day, baked, raised chickens, hogs, and cows, and took in room renters. I have often been told I am a lot like her, usually in reference to size, build, hair color, etc. Maybe Granny knew something about me that caused her to craft this quilt for me. At least two of the polyester knit squares are made from polyester fabrics leftover from dresses that had been sewn for me by my mother, who must have shared scraps of fabric with Granny. When she spruced up her home in her 50s, she wallpapered every room in large vivid colored florals that some thought were ‘too much,’ but I thought the purples, yellows, blues, and rich pink rose tones were beautiful and cheery, much like the colors in this quilt. Maybe I kept it tucked away because at some depth of soul it boldly reflected her and connected with me in a way that I had not fully appreciated. She died of a heart attack at 74. At my age now, 71, I think I probably identify with her more than at any prior age. I have one of her aprons, which she made and was always worn over her dress. I recall few times seeing her in slacks.
As I look around my home, I see many reminders of her and of my maternal grandmother, as well, who also quilted, gardened, and created a welcoming, simple home. I have two old long-used and worn-thin family quilts that Mother Greene covered and tied to salvage them for more generations of use. One pink and one smaller twin with blue plaid tied recover. I think I got a lot of my ‘reuse, recycle, repurpose’ inclination from her. She and her sisters loved holding and going to yard sales, and I believe that’s where my own love for repurposing and upcycling began.
Grandmothers just know some things about us that are intuited or revealed by God. And if we’re blessed to have spent time with them, we may eventually begin to see ourselves through their loving eyes, too. (11/12/25 CBB)
