The Amber Quilt

I helped my daughter move into a place of her own this past month. One of the things that moved was a coffee table wrapped up in this quilt. The table had been stored in a barn these past few years, having no space suitable for a glass coffee table in a small trailer. The barn space was not kind to the quilt, but it did protect that table for the past three years. The table was unwrapped, cleaned up, and now rests in her little cabin in the woods. I took the quilt home with me to wash off the barn history of wind, rain, mold, rats, cats, and who knows what else crawled around in barns on farms. The quilt came out perfectly clean, with just one ripped portion of the quilt, damaged in the storage/moving process. The ripped portion reminded me of just how old the ripped fabric that tore was. It was the oldest in the quilt. 

You see this was not just a quilt made with purchased fabrics to use in a patterned square. This was a memory quilt. Each piece of fabric used in this quilt was either part of clothing Amber once owned, or had it’s own story, instantly recognizable to me for it’s origin. I also appliqued her name in the middle of it. Now 35 years old, she has dragged that quilt with her from one end of the country to the other. It still has the corner where a dog named Zipper chewed edge of it. Zipper slept with her in bed with that quilt when we lived in Waterloo, and I was finishing my third degree. 

The oldest piece is from some curtains my grandmother Liz once hung in her kitchen window. There may even be people who remember those curtains as they hung there for many years as people walked up from the wharf after the ferry had been and gone. There is a piece from curtains I made for my bedroom window in Grand Bruit. They matched my bedding set and wallpaper border. It was the 90s so it was of course dusty rose…

There is a piece of fabric that is a leftover piece from the very first quilt I sewed by hand in Grand Bruit. I had not been able to fetch my electric sewing machine to Grand Bruit that first winter I spent there so I decided to hand sew a quilt that winter. The quilt blocks were from Roy’s shop, rough precut pieces of fabric in a plastic bag. I was pregnant with Amber while that quilt lay across my lap day after day growing bigger along with me. I had learned how to sew quilts from my grandmother Liz when I was ten years old, if not younger.

There is a piece of fabric that was from a Hawaiian type shirt she had when she was just 6 or 7 years old. She wore that outfit until it just didn’t fit anymore.

There is a piece of purple calico that I made a pillowcase for her and new curtains, dresser scarves. That was the year we painted her room purple with a border of purple bow wallpaper.

There is a piece of baby flannelette from a baby quilt I made for her, also with her name appliqued in the middle. This quilt became her nap quilt. She dragged that off with her wherever the nap was going to occur. Middle of the floor, on the stairwell, across the couch, wherever. I had that blanket with me for years until I lost it in the fire that New Years Eve.

There is a piece of fabric from a quilt I made for my sister many years ago, before she was married. I saw that quilt on every visit, and I know it was certainly well used. That is what quilts are meant for. To use.

There is a piece of fabric from a craft apron I made her when she was getting messy with her creations or when she was baking. It was a zip up vest style that she wore for years.

There is a piece of brown calico fabric that my brother and sister and I should remember well. Our parents dragged that brown fabric from one end of the country to the other. I feel like my mother must have bought a thousand yards of it as it turned up everywhere. It was curtains in the basement of the house in Chatham, covering floor to ceiling shelves my father built to store things in. Those curtains were repurposed countless times, the fabric moved with us for years and years, always in a box somewhere, hauled out for the next purpose.

There are several pieces of fabric from clothes that I sewed for her for years until it wasn’t cool anymore to wear stuff your mom sewed up for you.

There is a piece of fabric from a lap quilt that I made for my father many years ago. It was a quillow which meant it had a pocket on it for your feet when open, and when you fold it up into the pocket, it becomes a pillow. My dad used that for years. Then my mom used it for years. I sewed her two new ones after that but she preferred the threadbare one of my father’s. Memories of course. I get it.

There is a piece of fabric from the first costume I sewed for her. She was a little clown that year. It was a jumpsuit with a cone hat on top of crazy clown hair. She had a red nose and a ruffled collar. The costume was big enough to fit over her snowsuit – a common need on the east coast.

There is a piece of fabric from a set I made for her dolls one year – bassinet, diaper bag, quilt, baby carrier, all kinds of stuff. She loved playing with it until she outgrew doll play. Then my niece Olivia played with it for many summer visits as I left it all behind with my mother.

There are pieces of fabric from doll clothes that I sewed for Amber. She had so many dresses and other outfits for her dolls of all sizes. I often had lots of scraps of lovely fabrics from sewing bridesmaid dresses, wedding gowns, and prom dresses for years.

This is the story of this quilt. This is the story of many quilts.