Learning To Quilt

It all started as an experiment. Me the test case, Karl my husband the tested. You see he told me, “You can learn anything from a book!” That’s easy for him to say, he’s not a visual learner. Me on the other hand, I like things a bit more spicy-visual-tangible. I’m not an avid reader like him, nor do I possess the vocabulary or patience. Sitting for long periods of time without using my hands is a difficult task. So he challenged me twenty-three years ago to learn to do something I really wanted to do, just by using books. I mostly set out to prove him wrong, but secretly I really wanted to learn.

When I was ten I went to visit my Grandparents. My brother Paul, Heidi my younger sister along with my parents all piled into our small station wagon. Our destination was Minersville, and old mining town in southeast Utah. The trip always seemed long, but there was some excitement along the way. Traveling along highway 68 on the west side of Utah Lake was as adventurous to our young minds and stomachs as any roller-coaster. We named this stretch of road the tummy tickler. We drove through Delta and Eureka, passing by the ghost towns of Silver City and Mammoth. We always took the back roads to get there. My grandparents had a small farm in Minersville, where they raised cattle, sheep and pigs. Why am I telling you this story anyway? It is really where my quilting story begins.

This trip was different than other visits, because we were bringing home a side of beef from the farm. Each cut of meat had been carefully wrapped in white freezer paper and frozen prior to the long ride home. When the time came to return home, the packages of frozen meat were put in the car. We didn’t have a cooler, so we improvised. The back seats of the car were laid down to make a nice flat area, then old blankets were put down for insulation. Next the frozen packages were covered with two old quilts. We kissed our grandparents goodbye, crawled in the car and waived through the back window. We laid on our frozen bed not feeling the cold at first. The packages shifted as the car moved and swayed. Moisture began to form on the windows. To pass the time we put our feet on the cold windows to see who could hold their feet there the longest. This didn’t last long, as we were already in a meat locker. Eventually the cold, hard bed beneath us began to soften. Chilled, I laid there in the golden light just before sunset studying the geometric patterns in the old tattered quilts. I could feel the soft batting coming out in places. My fingers traced the seam lines imagining who might have made these quilts. What stories did they hold? It was a long drive with lots of time to wonder. When we arrived I pretended to be asleep so my Dad would carry me to my bed.

In the morning I woke still thinking about the quilts. I found them piled in the laundry room damp and stained with blood. Somehow between Minersville and home I had decided these two quilts were mine. I said to myself, “Nobody will miss them, they think they’re rags.” In my young little mind I felt I had rescued them. I had found a treasure.

I got to work asking Mom lots of questions about how to remove blood stains. She tried not to be annoyed, as she busily combed the color through her client’s hair. Her beauty salon was next to the laundry room and I could hear the ladies inquiring as to what I was up to. Mom was efficient and could easily work on three customers at a time, as long as we didn’t get into her hair. I made a paste of detergent and water, found an old toothbrush and began to scrub. I put them in the large tub of the washing machine and soaked them on cold as instructed. Everyone in the salon had something to say about it, but Mom was busy so I was left to my own devices. After several soakings and washings the stains lifted, as well as the dirt from years of use. Bright colors began to take their original hues. Red, yellow and blue, purple, pink, orange and green all orchestrated into beautiful designs. It would not be until many years later that I would learn they were original 1930’s solids and conversation prints from the depression.

That experience when I was ten planted the quilting seed at a very young age. I wanted to learn to sew. My Mother enrolled me into sewing lessons. She was a talented seamstress, but lacked the patience to teach me. She hired a “professional” to tutor me. Dorothy her friend was knowledgeable and didn’t use curse words like Mom. When Mom was sewing something difficult like a wool suit, she would go in her room and close the door, so she could concentrate. If there was no swearing, things were going good. Dorothy was calm and patient as she taught me to sew a straight line. I concentrated and worked hard. With her help I constructed my first article of clothing for myself. A denim jumper, which I wore proudly to school in the seventh grade.

During the next several years I would mostly sew clothing or stretch large pieces of fabric on a frame to tie a quilt, but I always dreamed of someday making patchwork blocks into a quilt. Years went by, high school, college, marriage and four babies. This left very little time for hobbies. Then in 1995 an opportunity came to be part of a quilt group. They were the Thimble Minded Friends.

I would go monthly to our quilt meetings. While working on projects the girls would throw phrases around like, “Butting your seams” as to not get “loft.” “Press” don’t “Iron.” “Chain piecing is quicker, and you need a rotary cutter.” Not to mention compound words like churn dash, drunkards path, flying geese, nine patch, snail trail, half square triangle, Jacobs ladder, bear paw, just to name a few. My head was spinning! As with any new endeavors I had my doubts about learning this craft, but my desire kept nudging me forward.

The following year life would change drastically. I would close my home salon leaving my clients, extended family and friends for an adventure. We were taking our little family to Germany for three years.

Now you have to know amongst all the stress of moving my entire life overseas, In the back of my mind I knew I was finally going to have some free time. I so desperately wanted to use this time to learn to quilt, but I was going to be away from my mentors, and my native tongue. This is where the experiment began. A few books were purchased, and scraps of fabric were tucked into the shipping crates. It would be three months before our household goods arrived by boat. This would give me some time to get situated, which by the way was much harder than I expected. It really took about six months to get acclimated, but before long I began my task of teaching myself to quilt. It was quiet, I was alone with my new German made sewing machine. I frustrated Karl. While he was out toiling at supporting us, I was “crafting!” Wait a minute, he challenged me, I was toiling too!! Every day when he came home I was at my sewing machine. I did cook, in case you were wondering. I studied color theory, which by the way is similar to hair dying. I studied fabric design and fabric quality. I developed my rotary cutting skills, with a few close calls. Eventually I could use my tools efficiently. I learned quick piecing techniques, like strip piecing and chain sewing. I learned to work with a movable medium/fabric. I practiced “pressing” instead of “ironing.” I measured and sewed on boarders correctly, and discovered that accuracy is extremely important.

Finding fabric was a treasure hunt. With not much luck on the German economy, I took to catalogs and mail orders. I did find a few gems in the French markets, but it was mostly a game of guessing and hoping for color matches. Through all the reading, working, thinking, and hunting, quilts began to manifest themselves. Some were a bit awkward, and crazy, but lovable none the less. They found their way onto beds, shelves, cribs and friendly homes.

Funny how teaching myself came with benefits. With the books as references I could go at my own pace, reviewing topics I struggled with. I began to use my own creativity and problem solving abilities rather than relying on someone else to show me. The experiment was working. I actually liked spending time with myself thinking and creating. I was beginning to develop other ways of learning, and I felt a sense of accomplishment. I overcame a false belief that I had about myself and my abilities. I know it sounds cliché, but I really did learn to enjoy the journey. From finding and picking fabrics, washing and straightening them, cutting and organizing, sewing and pressing, quilting and finally binding, I was able to see the creative process come to fruition. Happiness! Joy!

I know that was a long winded story to share my experience, and if your disappointed that I didn’t give you a step by step “how to” on learning to quilt. GOOD! My hopes in writing this is to inspire you to try something new, something you have always wanted to do, but might be afraid to start. One concept and meaning of yoga is “to attain what was previously unattainable.” Is there something today that you are unable to do? When you find a way for bringing that desire into action, that step is yoga. www.gobodhiyoga.com Get a book, watch a “how to” video or just teach yourself something new. Ask yourself questions, problem solve and correct your own mistakes. And most importantly, enjoy learning. You know I really did learn to quilt from a book, and I love to quilt! Good Luck on your adventure.