Our family only had the one quilt that I can remember.
It was a crazy quilt and it was glorious. There was wool, and satin, and silk, and velvet and lace. The embroidery stitches were exquisite and I spent what seemed like gazillion hours looking at them. It is possible that the quilt was made in the early 1900’s as it fit the era and the style of the quilt. The binding was a bit frayed in places.
It was really warm and nice to cuddle under back in those days. With just a wood stove in the kitchen and a coal burning furnace for heat, any warmth was cherished during those very long cold winter nights.
When I would awaken during the night, I would run my fingers around and around the top, feeling the different fabrics and embroidery stitches. It was beautiful to me.
Hurricane Hazel destroyed that quilt on October 15, 1954. I was only 3 years old at the time. When the tail-end of the storm blew into Ontario and roared north to North Bay, our home was flooded out as we were living in a low-lying area and were not far from a creek. Our basement filled with sewer water and ruined everything stored in it.
Days (or weeks) later, Mom was showing a lady the basement and explaining that all the trunks had to go (my quilt was in one of those trunks) and I remember asking Mom, “What about the quilt, can we just wash it?” Unfortunately, we could not and that beautiful crazy quilt was no more.
Years later, I asked Mom who made that quilt. She did not know. Mom could never find a signature, or initials, nothing to identify who made it. No one on Mom’s side of the family ever made quilts, so it must have come from a relative on Dad’s side.
Today, when I make a quilt, my name and date is on a label and sewn onto the quilt. I want my descendents to know who made their quilt.
I wish I had that crazy quilt today. I wish …..