I Love You Sew Much!

The first time I quilted was around the age of seven. Growing up in North Carolina, especially in the mountain areas, most of the older generations of women could sew and quilt.

I often went with my cousin Michelle and Aunt Barbara to visit Michelle's grandmother, who lived on Sugar Mountain. It was a little wood house, ramshackle and old-fashioned, with sagging steps that were always in need of repair. The memories of the place are vague now, but I can still remember the living room and the scrap basket beside the chair.

Every piece of clothing worn out or leftover from another project lived in that scrap basket. There was every colour of the rainbow, there and I was fascinated. I can remember Aunt Barb handing me a handful of cut circles and showing me how to thread a needle. Granny had said it was time for me to learn to sew, so sew I would.

I don't think anyone realised that that moment would instil in me a lifetime joy of sewing. The slow, repetitive nature of stitching relaxes you in a way that is almost impossible to describe. Even as a seven-year-old, I was enchanted. It would be many years before I made my first quilt, but I began to learn the first steps that day.

It was yo-yos. The first thing I ever learned to sew was yo-yos. Even today, outside of Appalachia, not many people know what they are, but they are a staple from home.

I think I made at least twenty Yo-Yo's that day. I know I spent hours at it. Back home, I would try to sew anything I could find. I can remember by the time I was ten, I was designing dresses on notebook paper. I would find any old clothes my mom would let me cut up to try and make dolls dresses. My poor barbies were not the best dressed on the street, but they were the most interesting ones!

My next adventure in sewing was making dolls. I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured out the basics. My mom was happy that I had quit taking apart things, like doorknobs and calculators, and settled on sewing. At least it was something that she understood.

My first dolls were more Frankenstein than anything, but they had a human shape, so it was progress. I never did master making fabric dolls, but I loved trying to make them. It was the process and achievement of trying something new that always spoke to my soul.

As a teenager, I taught my friends how to make drawstring purses. Even the boys joined in. I'm sure that our parents thought we had all lost our minds. What else could they think when they saw a group of sixteen-year-olds, both male and female, sitting at the table sewing and chatting like a little old ladies sewing circle. At least we weren't doing drugs, so the parents were happy if confounded.

My godmother was a wonderful seamstress, and she made us all Halloween costumes, but her passion lay in quilting. The first time I saw her working on a piece, I was enthralled. I begged her to teach me. However, there was no way she was going to let a teenager loose with her sewing machine. I was seventeen by this time, and she told me that she would teach me as soon as I bought my own machine.

Unfortunately, I never did buy a sewing machine for her to teach me. It was years later when I bought my first sewing machine. I still have it, a Toyota Jeans. It is a beautiful little workhorse and will last for years more. One of my biggest regrets in life was not sewing with my godmother. I have quilts she made my boys, and I wish I could have sent her quilts I had made.

I moved to Scotland in 1999, and she passed away in 2005. My godmother had seven children of her own, but I am the only one who carried on her quilting legacy. I remember the first quilt I made; it was a baby quilt for my niece. I was so proud of it and wished I had been able to share it with her.

Today, I have my own daughter, and I have carried on the tradition of sewing with her. Last year when she was seven, I pulled out my old Toyota and began to teach her to quilt. We are working on a patchwork quilt together now. There is a special joy, being able to share the thing that you love with your child.

The quilt that we make together will be hers one day, and the memory of making it with her will last long after I am gone.