The Damn Quilt

When I turned 12 Mama announced that I would make my first quilt. It caught me by complete surprise because I thought this was her skill, not mine. I did know how the process was done because I had watched her and Aunt Ruby made quilts all winter long and it was fun for them.  This was how they spent the winter months.   So why was making a quilt now something I should do? Her answer was rather simple:  I needed to fully understand this process because "it was what mountain people do." I protested, but Mama simply answered by saying that I  would start after Christmas to make a 'Nine Square' pattern because it was easy and I could do it. She went on to say that I'd have the rest of winter to cut the pieces and sew each square together. Then she announced, "You should have the quilt top finished by the time school is out and you, Aunt Ruby, and me will have all summer to quilt it."  

Oh, Lord, what an awful year this would be!  I had plans to learn twirling, read movie star magazines, cook some neat desserts and talk to friends on our new telephone. I didn't want to do a quilt!! Mama never bothered to answer me or argue.  She just put me to work each night cutting out quilt pieces and sewing them together after my homework was completed. Just as she planned, the quilt top was completed by April and the month of May found Mama, Aunt Ruby, and me in front of the quilting frames starting the process of quilting.  Mama said, "We'll have this done by the time you are ready to go back to school in August."  Aaaaah, I was doomed to misery all summer!  And just as planned, the quilt was finished about a week before school started.  


We put the quilt away in a trunk for later (whatever that meant) and I was just thankful to have survived the summer of quilting without loosing my mind or the sex appeal I was growing into. My hormones were taking over and I had to learn about a lot of other stuff that Mama and Aunt Ruby appeared to  know little about. I had made the damn quilt; it was out of my sight in the trunk; I never liked it nor the colors in it, and I never valued the sewing skills I had mastered while doing it. I moved on with high school, college, marriage, and moving away from home.  The quilt remained in the trunk, rarely looked at, never used, just a memory of a miserable summer.


Mama died and I finally had to confront the trunk and the quilt.  It still looked ugly to me.  Why, on God's green earth, had Mama chosen hot pink for the set up color which surrounded each square.  She didn't like hot pink as a color, but there it was all over my quilt! I took it out of the trunk, placed it on the bed and looked at it fully.  For the first time I had to acknowledge the skill of the quilting, at least Mama's stitches. Mine were 'beginner' stitches and could be found, and yes, there were Aunt Ruby's stitches, those awful, crooked, wandering all over the place stitches which were her trademark because she talked so much while quilting that she paid little attention to where her hands and the needle were going.  Suddenly I remembered their fussing and fighting over the stitches as they worked.  They had done this all of my life and neither one of them ever listened or changed their behavior. 


What I now understand about THAT summer which I could not grasp for over 40 years was the lessons I was learning about my mountain heritage and the incredible people who helped raise me. It was not about the damn quilt, really. Now I get this quilt out periodically when I want to laugh and remember Mama and Aunt Ruby and my mountain heritage.  I really KNOW quilting now! I'm proud of my quilt. I have earned the privilege of conversation with other quilters and I've forgiven Mama for the 'hot pink' color.  I now just laugh at it and wish I had asked her about the choice.  I still don't use the quilt on my bed because it's too precious to get 'wore' out, as Mama would say. Guess Mama did know what she was doing after all.

A Different Wedding Cake

Thirty years ago I would have never thought that my two sons who are 9 years apart in age would be getting married within a year of each other, but that's how it has worked out.  Over the year we have learned 'wedding speak' and now know the issues involved with this process. From my Appalachian roots getting married was not a very complicated process. My parents got a license, found a preacher, and were married beside the road about a mile from their home. No one attended the wedding except these three people. They went back to one of the parents' houses and lived there until they could manage to have a home of their own. Few families had parties or celebrations. From my so called more modern world, I've often thought this was a bit odd, but believed it was the custom for a 1929 Appalachian wedding.


In a recent phone call with our son we learned that they have not chosen to have a traditional wedding cake; instead they want Appalachian Stack Cake and assorted Italian cookies (from her heritage) for a reception that will host around 200 people. Hearing this I immediately went into a conversation within my own head, "How will I manage to make 15-20 stack cakes assuming that each one serves ten to twelve people?" While they can be purchased through Apple Barn, I would love to be able to provide them since I take pride in being able to make them. Being able to make a great apple stack cake is one of my family traditions. They were my mother's favorite cake to serve to guests.

 From my son's research on apple stack cakes, he learned they were traditional celebratory cakes for many Appalachian holiday and church events.  As it were, each family or friend contributed one cake layer which was brought to the event and assembled with the dried apple mixture.  Thus, the more people who brought a layer, the higher the stack cake became, and the more respect and popularity you had in the community. A ten layer cake would signify a very respected person, or two or three ten layer stack cakes would mean an even larger sphere of influence and popularity.


While I haven't yet answered how I will manage making enough Appalachian Stack Cakes to provide my part of the dessert for 200 people, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to count on each of our guests bringing one cake layer to the wedding. My most recent plan consists of calling my cousin who also makes stack cakes and asking her to join me in an 'apple stack cake cook off' for this event. If all else fails, I suppose there's always Apple Barn.  


Below is a link for an Appalachian Stack Cake. 

 http://www.appalachianhistory.net

patsyhlawson@gmail.com