As a child, nights at my maternal grandparents’ home in Soperton weren’t only filled with time spent reading in bed with Grandma, cooking with her in the kitchen and listening to them tell stories. Those nights also meant sleeping in a bed underneath a quilt that my Grandma and Granddaddy had painstakingly made. 

It wasn’t until I embarked on my own quilting journey that I realized what a legacy their quilting was to our family. 

Each grandchild was gifted a quilt as a baby blanket, many of them scrappy, a true patchwork quilt made of whatever fabric had been left over from previous projects. As I grew older, I began to find fun in searching for fabrics in other quilts in their home that matched the ones in my quilt.

Above their dining room table, a quilt frame always hung. Sometimes there was a quilt on it; other times, it sat empty. It dropped down out of the ceiling on chains suspended from eyehooks, installed there by my Granddaddy. 

My grandparents had a true dedication to the craft. They machine-pieced the quilt tops (the fabrics that make up the pattern), but when it came time to do the actual quilting — the usually decorative stitching that holds together the quilt top, the batting (the fluffy part inside), and the backing fabric — they did it by hand. They did simple patterns sometimes, but many were ornate and time consuming. I can only imagine the amount of love put into each stitch. 

When they were still living, there were so many opportunities for me to learn from them, but as a child — and then a teenager, and then a busy young adult — I didn’t think that quilting was a hobby I’d be interested in, nor one I’d ever want to take the time to do. You see, my Grandma had the patience of a saint. Unfortunately, that was not genetically passed down to me. I just knew that I would not be able to sit there and hand sew anything. I didn’t even like to put on a button! 

I also felt like quilting was a craft that wasn’t fully appreciated or even needed any longer. After all, you can buy comforters and quilts at any department store, and now online. 

But for the generation in which my Grandma grew up, quilting wasn’t simply a past-time that served as a creative outlet; it was a necessity. I remember hearing stories of children sleeping under multiple quilts to keep warm when it was cold. Some of those older quilts were probably made without the convenience of sewing machines, too! The batting was whatever scraps they could find to make the quilt warmer, thicker and heavier. Often that meant using readily available items like flour sacks when fabric — or money — was in short supply. Grandma had also sewn many of my Mama’s clothes, as well as clothing for herself and my Mama’s three siblings. 

In 2017, my Aunt Jennie gave me a sewing machine that she’d bought but never opened. I didn’t take it out of the box until one day in 2019, when my family gathered at my house to celebrate Father’s Day, and my Mama brought over a box of scrap fabric that she had gotten from my Grandma's home after she passed away. In the box, there were squares that had been cut for a quilt, some of them already sewn into larger squares. They were perfect. The seams were straight, the fabric unfrayed and pressed with an iron. At the time, I didn’t even have an ironing board — and the iron I owned was nowhere to be found. 

We all had a long conversation that Sunday afternoon in June about Grandma and her quilts. I mentioned that the quilt she’d given Jason and me on our wedding day eight years earlier was still wrapped in plastic and stored in our closet because I was afraid it would get messed up. I couldn’t bear the thought of her beautiful masterpiece getting messed up by our dogs, or stained by my clumsiness. But my Mama and Aunt Jennie told me that Grandma wouldn’t have wanted it to sit in the closet — it was for using and loving and enjoying. 

That same day, Mama taught me how to sew straight(ish) lines on my sewing machine. Over the next few days, I made more squares. I ordered products from Amazon to help me cut straighter lines. I bought binding clips. I watched a heck of a lot of YouTube tutorials. I cussed. I think I probably cried. I cussed some more. I thought about giving up many times. But one week later, I had created a beautifully imperfect quilt that my dogs are proud to sleep on. 

Fast forward to July, when I had to have an emergency appendectomy. It was an absolute shock, and I was ill-prepared. After checking me into the hospital, Jason headed home to get clothes and necessities for me and to feed our dogs, and he asked if there was anything else I needed. 

I asked for the quilt my Grandma had made. Something about that scare of my first surgery, knowing that my Grandma had been a nurse, and that earlier conversation with my family made me yearn for that quilt and its comfort. 

To create their quilts, my grandparents had to purchase paper patterns to follow and relied on their own knowledge or the recommendations of friends when developing their techniques or choosing a sewing machine. Today, I’m able to buy whatever fabric I want from anywhere in the world without leaving my house, and I can research for hours on end the pros and cons of a new tool or a specific type of batting.

I have had countless creative hobbies over the years. I’ve scrapbooked, made epoxy cups, had a vinyl machine and made stickers and T-shirts. I’ve sublimated cups and shirts and whatever else you can think of. I’ve painted and refurbished furniture and made wooden signs; I’ve talked about making bath bombs. You name it, my hobby-hopping self has either done it or thought about it. 

But of all the things I’ve tried, quilting is my favorite by far. It’s also one of the most expensive, but the beauty that comes from my sewing machine is priceless. The connection I feel to my grandparents while doing it is another thing money can’t possibly touch. 

Since 2019, I’ve made 16 quilts, many of them gifts, and I currently have ideas in mind for over 16 more, with enough fabric to make twice that many. 

As I write this, I’m sitting in a hotel room in Las Vegas. Yesterday, I traveled to the Grand Canyon. As I soaked it in, in all its glory, and took photo after photo, I couldn’t help but think, “Now I can buy that Grand Canyon National Park quilt panel and make a quilt.” 

I feel a piece of my grandparents lives on in the quilts that they made, and I hope that those to whom I’ve gifted a quilt also feel the love I have for them. Though I don’t hand-quilt my pieces — I use a sewing machine and occasionally a local long-armer (Debbie Shannon with Spare Threads) to do more intricate work — I’m still putting time, effort and love into creating something for people I care about. 

Grandma and Grandpa may not have listened to true crime podcasts while they quilted or watch Netflix on their laptops — and they definitely didn’t say some of the words I use when I mess up — but even though I’m doing things differently, I feel confident in saying that I’m carrying on a legacy for our family.