The yellow patchwork quilt Gramma Thornton, made, hidden in my dresser drawer, is my cherished family heirloom and, I believe, the last of its kind. I suspect that I, alone, own one of Grandma's coveted handmade quilts, but it's entirely possible that my aunt Geri may also have one hidden safely away somewhere.
Every year Grandma, Dad's mother, while living, crafted a new, patchwork quilt for me because I lived in an ancient, uninsulated trailer in a remote rural area of Northwestern Pennsylvania not far from the NewYork state border.
Gramma worried that we would catch cold and become sick. Winters here last from October through May with snow known to fall as late as the end of May when Spring flowers are attempting their debuts and birds are building nests.
We didn't even own a furnace but heated the trailer with an antique top-loading woodstove; the kind of wood stove that you could cook on, like used in the television series Little House on the Prairie, when our children were small.
I awakened each winter night by the cold to crawl out of my warm bed, watching my breath steam the room, to feed her hungry, dying embers more wood through the gaping metal mouth on the top while my husband snored. At times in my stupor, I'd receive burns on the tender flesh of my inner forearms that looked like weals left by a leather whip. I have little white scars as a remembrance.
Without fail, each Christmas Gramma gifted me with another hand-crafted beautiful patchwork quilt. How I wish that I had kept all of her quilts in good condition like this one which remains, but they were used quilts and they were loved as quilts were actually intended to be loved by my whole family. This last quilt I knew was the last id receive from her so I took great care not to use it for daily purposes.
Someone in the family, probably my older cousin, said that I was the only grandchild who received a new quilt every year. It was probably said with a hint of jealousy, too.
This may be true, but I never looked into that. I was just grateful for the blankets when they arrived because I always seemed to be cold. The hands who lovingly fashioned it warmed my heart and her memory still warms my heart. I understand a lot more now that I am a great grandmother in my own right.
Sometimes I recognise material squares in the quilt pattern from clothing item I had worn that Gramma made for me as a child and later used some squares of the left over material for quilting.
Gramma used clothing scraps for many things she sewed through the years and it enhanced each craft or gift with a unique value.
It's a grand thing to have a grandparent live a long life.
My four grandparents passed away. Gramma Thornton died last of congestive heart failure when I was in my late thirties. I emotionally clung to her as the last living mother figure following Mom's suicide in 1997. I still Gramma very much, and I covet this heirloom, her testament of love for me.
Image captured with my Samsung Galaxy Note10 Plus 04/02/2021
This is my five minute freewrite using prompt heirlooms hosted by @mariannewest.
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