A patchwork of warmth and hope – in 10-inch squares

During a difficult time, an old quilt brought their family together.

By Dawn Goldsmith

from the June 12, 2007 edition

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"Waste not, want not" were the bywords of my parents, who survived the Great Depression and World War II. Although their lives later became much easier, lessons learned during those times of crisis would never be forgotten.

That's why, when Mom's water heater sprang a leak, soaking the boxes stored nearby, she attempted to salvage whatever she could, including an old, partially finished quilt top.

After washing the unfinished quilting project, Mom decided it was worth completing. Her mother had started it before my mother became a wife. It was one of several projects my grandmother passed along to Mom.

So Mom added a border, backing, her favorite quilting design, and fresh binding.

She threw it into my arms the next time I stopped by the house. "It's not perfect, that's for sure," she said. "But it's useful."

I tucked the quilt carefully into my car and took it to the house that my husband and I were rehabbing across town. We hung the quilt on a newly refinished wall to an accompaniment of low-level male grumbling. "It's a blanket," my husband argued. "It belongs on the bed."

But once we stepped back to admire the new wall art, the grumbling ceased, and we basked in the sense of family that old hand-stitched quilt gave us.

It was made of cotton fabric pieced into basket patterns forming 10-inch squares. They were placed with 10-inch squares of shirting fabric. Grandma cut the quilt pieces from scraps she had saved, leftovers from clothes she made for her brothers before 1912.

Two generations of women, my ancestors, worked on this piece of cloth, this "fish and baskets" quilt, as my sons christened it. Grandma had turned one basket patch sideways, and it looked like a fish. Her Pennsylvania Dutch heritage warned her of pride, so she slipped an imperfection into whatever she made. Everyone could see this one.

In her eyes it was an ego-deflating flaw, but for my boys, it was an endearment that gave the quilt personality.

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