Strawberry Jam

As a young child I spent a few summers living with my grandparents while my mother and sisters picked berries. I was too little to go out into the fields, and the routine of early mornings and late laundry and making lunches for the next day left little time for shuffling a youngster back and forth for childcare. Those were idyllic days for me; it was like being an only child with three adoring adults (my bachelor uncle lived with my grandparents). Their small farm with its tree swing, attached woodshed that could double as a covered play space, the little creek across the hay field, the endlessly patient dog who pulled me in a wagon, and hours of board games with my grandmother filled my time.

My grandmother rose early every morning to cook a proper breakfast. She also always dressed in a proper way – house-dress, hose, girdle, sturdy but stylish (in a matronly way) leather shoes. Her hair was properly coiffed, routinely permed and set. Her jewelry was simple or non-existent. And when she was cooking there was always an apron. The house-dresses and aprons were generally cotton, in a variety of prints that were typically floral or small geometric designs.

Several months ago I came into possession of a vintage pieced top that had never been quilted. From the prints and colors I’m guessing it was made in the 30s or 40s. It reminded me of my grandmother moving about her kitchen in her pretty, yet practical, dresses and  aprons.

For the backing and binding I found vintage reproduction fabric that coordinated with the already busy design. A strawberry pantograph, one of my favorites to use, added to the theme. Although I’d taken care to gently launder it before I started quilting, I was unable to remove all the stains. As I quilted it I contemplated solutions to this – maybe a stronger spot-cleaning solution, a fabric pen to cover a couple of tough stains, maybe ignoring it and hoping it didn’t show much. Then I realized I had several doilies made by my grandmother and could use one to cover the stubborn stain that was smack in the middle of the quilt. I sewed the doily on by hand after the longarm quilting was done, then added a sleeve, and it was ready for display.

Now the quilt hangs in my studio and reminds me of my industrious, kind grandmother who was my first sewing teacher. I can picture her bustling about her tiny kitchen, preparing midday dinner for the four of us, during a bright summer day that to my four-year old self was as perfect as a red, ripe, warm strawberry fresh from the vine.