It was quietly hiding in the chaos that was once a well-organized, barn-shaped workshop/storage building, one now filled with all the things no one needed but with which they couldn’t bring themselves to part. As the years flew by, the barn had become an afterthought; people rarely ever ventured beyond its doors, afraid of what they might find dwelling ‘mongst all the stuff.
Until the contents of the barn became an inheritance rather than a hindrance. At that point, it took on an almost magical quality. It was now a place filled with possible treasures—not necessarily things of monetary value but treasures nonetheless. Things that had been passed from family member to family member (we just didn’t always know which family members) . . . things that weren’t vintage when they arrived but certainly qualified now. There were old Christmas decorations . . . and Thanksgiving . . . and Easter . . . and long-finished (or never truly begun) craft projects. The quilting machine had been sold years before and many of the tools had found other homes. But it was still filled to overflowing. To enter this magical space, all one had to do was walk bravely through its long-closed and padlocked doors—while watching carefully for spiders . . . and snakes . . . and varmints of all shapes and sizes.
Over the last few weeks and months, there’s been a lot of looking and box shuffling, moving of old furniture and old clothes that no longer fit or had been out of season when relegated to the barn. A lot of stuff found with no idea as to whom it once belonged or why it came to be in that particular spot—when suddenly there it was, in all its unassuming and faded glory. A treasure worth its weight in gold and then some. At least to me.
A Friendship Quilt.
Forty-two blocks of workmanship and history, bound together by stripes of pink and green. No two blocks are the same other than in the pattern used to create them. Made by 42 different quilters who had carefully chosen their fabrics, cut out their two-inch squares, then pieced them together to create an Album block. And before turning their handiwork over to the quilters, they had embroidered their names in the center of their block.
They may have decided to use their husband’s name led by the traditional “Mrs.” They may have stitched into place their own first and last names or maybe even settled simply on something that told everyone who they were then but that is now lost to time, like Aunt Sue who made a point to also include her age—"83 yrs”.
It might be a beautiful script or simple block letters, but each quilter took the time to sign her work. And one, Leedie Andrews, was chosen to add the date to her block. “Nov. 1935.” This beautiful work of art will be 90 years old in just a few months. And when my husband walked in carrying this masterpiece . . . this treasure from his parents’ barn . . . I immediately called dibs.
Do I recognize all the names? Oh, goodness no. Some of the names? Most certainly. There’s Mamie Whitlow and Lillian Ball, Lucretia Bain and Mrs. J. W. Reynolds—names I’ve heard through the years, people with whom I might have been acquainted. But it’s hard to be certain when the signature simply says “Mrs. Kyle”.
Now this magnificence occupies a place of honor, folded across the back of a rocking chair given to us by my husband’s grandmother when our first child—her first great-grandchild—was born. It rocked both our children and my son’s children and my daughter’s son, traveling from house to house until it finally came back home, still appreciated but no longer needed. Instead, now it’s filled with sock critters of all shapes and sizes, creatures sheltered by the work of 42 women, nine decades ago. As long as it dwells with us, it will never be hidden away in the depths of a closet or drawer. There is too much history . . . too much meaning . . . too many memories stitched into its fabric to ever hide it from the world again.
Epilogue:
For those who are interested, following are the names embroidered on the quilt, in no particular order other than how I read them at the moment. How many do you recognize and what can you share about their lives?
Mamie Whitlow, Cilla Baird, Lillian Ball, Mammie McFalls, Mrs. Kyle, Maggie Prince, Alma Yancey, Hattie B. Doran, Mrs. O. B. Palmer, Mrs. Fannie Paulk, Mrs. J. W. Cook, Alpha Dickson, Donnie Prince, Mary Bivens, Leona White, Mrs. L. I. Bunn, Effie Andrews, Leedie Andrews (Nov. 1935), Annie Duncan, Mrs J. O. Allison, Lucretia Bain, Cordelia V. White, Mrs. H. Yancey, Mrs. J. W. Reynolds, Lola Patterson, Aunt Sue (83 yrs.), Tennie Falls, Mrs. Nancy Reynolds, Jennie Falls, Mrs. W. A. Thompson, Linnie McFall, Nellie Willoughby, Harriett Bain, Paloma McKnight, Bess Dickson, Lusetta Shaw, Margaret Dennison, Mrs. John Paulk, Exie Cook, Jennie Dickson, and Hattie Johnson.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
