It feels as though I have been away for a long time. Finally, my work is all current and finally, Spring has arrived here, and finally, I can allow myself to think creatively again. It feels great!

The Needle Samplers are a big hit. We have been hearing from you (the actual uses of them) and not only are they a great educational tool, they are a perfect for a small “thank you” or “just because” gifts, and they are handy as a travel pack for take-along sewing projects.

Winter has ended at last. The trees are beginning to blossom and leaf out. Because of our high altitude and cool climate we are slower to see spring than many areas of the country. Recently we have made several trips to the nursery to buy more trees, berry bushes, rose bushes, vegetable starts, perennials, and seeds. This large property seems to swallow up all of our new purchases and it still looks empty. Some day it will be beautiful, but for now we are nursing along baby plants and visualizing grandeur sometime in the distant future. To brighten the front porch and bring results more quickly I have planted a couple of clay pots with geraniums, asparagus ferns, and alyssum. We will enjoy them all summer as we rock on the porch and enjoy the peace and quiet of this place.

Creatively, I’ve been thinking about album quilts again and currently have a group of twenty-five students eagerly working along with me on a series of designs based loosely on the classic album quilts from Baltimore. Since the plan is to include 30 different blocks, each month of this year-long class brings two to three new patterns. It is quite a pace we have set but a good share of the students are keeping up. They are a great group.

I have a confession to make about myself and my quilts. The joy for me in my quilts is in the journey/process, not owning a finished quilt. I love working on my quilts and watching them grow under my hands. They become old friends. If you think about it, they are a piece of you after having been a part of many days in your life. In fact, I delay finishing favorite quilts when I near the final stitches because our time together is ending.

For example, Great Expectations, the cover quilt on my Forget-Me-Knots book has been 95% hand quilted for over two years and yet I have not been able to bring myself to finish it.

For me, making quilts is a bit like raising children. You do your best to help your children become the people they want to be, but the final step of being a good parent is letting go—and that is hard. However, this quilt is a beautiful piece and I would hate to see it in an unfinished state forever, so I have squared my shoulders and I am working faithfully on it every day. It will be finished in a couple of weeks.

On the bright side, the prospect of the completion of Great Expectations is softened by future projects. I do have the new album quilt to think about and I am now ready to start hand quilting the Virtues quilt. New possibilities on the horizon are good.

In our current tough, and sometimes scary, national economy, I believe we are all trying to think of ways to conserve resources. Sometimes a real difference can be made (like following family members around the house turning off lights) and sometimes it is simply obsessing over something silly.

This concept is not a new one and I keep thinking about an old favorite book where this idea is discussed at length. The book is called Cranford written by Elizabeth Gaskell. It is a somewhat old fashioned and rambling story, but there is one chapter that I remember well and have thought of often as I anticipate any new way of saving a nickel here or there, or when I contemplate tossing out small scraps of fabric that I have moved for the tenth time looking for the right place to store or use them.

Below is an except from Cranford on the subject of personal economy:

“I have often noticed that almost every one has his own individual small economies—careful habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one peculiar direction—any disturbance of which annoys him more than spending shilling or pounds on some real extravagance. An old gentleman of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of the failure of a Joint-Stock Bank, in which some of his money was invested, with stoical mildness, worried his family all through a long summer’s day, because one of them had torn (instead of cutting) out the written leaves of his now useless bank-book; of course, the corresponding pages at the other end came out as well; and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his private economy) chafed him more than all the loss of his money. Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when they first came in; the only way in which he could reconcile himself to such a waste of his cherished article, was by patiently turning inside out all that were sent to him, and so making them serve again. Even now, though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances at his daughters when they send a whole instead of a half sheet of note-paper, with the three lines of acceptance to an invitation, written on only one of the sides. I am not above owning that I have this human weakness myself. String is my foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that never come. I am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel, instead of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people can bring themselves to use India-rubber rings, which are a sort of deification of string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. To me an India-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one which is not new; one that I picked up off the floor, nearly six years ago. I have really tried to use it; but my heart failed me, and I could not commit the extravagance.

Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to conversation because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit which some people have of invariably taking more butter than they want. Have you not seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such persons fix on the article? They would feel it a relief if they might bury it out of their sight by popping it into their own mouths, and swallowing it down; and they are really made happy if the person on whose plate it lies unused, suddenly breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not want at all) and eats up his butter. They think that this is not waste.

Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many devices to use as few as possible. In the winter afternoons she would sit knitting for two or three hours; she could do this in the dark, or by fire-light; and when I asked if I might not ring for candles to finish stitching my wristbands, she told me to ‘keep blind man’s holiday.’ They were usually brought in with tea; but we only burnt one at a time. As we lived in constant preparation for a friend who might come in any evening (but who never did), it required some contrivance to keep our two candles of the same length, ready to be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. The candles took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or doing, Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready to jump up and extinguish it, and to light the other before they had become too uneven in length to be restored to equality in the course of the evening.”

Now about those annoying fabric scraps of mine, I think I am going to put them all into one container, put them up high on a shelf, and forget about them for a while!

What is your personal economy?

Do you ever get the feeling that someone (or something) else is in control of your life/string?….. even if it seems that you should be? That is the way things are here at Foxglove Cottage since we introduced our new Needle Samplers.

The work load has increased. Not complaining mind you, work is good. But each day feels like I am just one step away from getting my life/kite back. It will happen soon, and I will be posting to my journal again. Just give me a little more time in each day……

P.S. Photo illustration models are my son and granddaughter. Life is good!

 One of the most popular products we carry here at Foxglove Cottage is our Needle Cards. They are an educational tool for learning about different types of needles and their uses. We have a needle card for each kind of needle that we sell and they hold one each of the different sizes of needles in that line along with a descriptive paragraph about the uses of that type of needle.

Many years ago we came up with the idea of this simple item for introducing a new line of needles at Quilt Market. After the third shop owner at that market asked if she could purchase the needle cards for her shop we decided to add them to our product line. They were meant to be a temporary introductory product, but they continued to sell very well over the years . Recently we decided to redesign them with packaging that reflects the valuable product they are.

And now, the New Needle Samplers are ready for their debut. As you can see from the photos above, they are now safer to handle (no protruding needle points once they are safely folded inside the case) and the fabric pad allows easy removal and reinsertion for safekeeping of your needles.

With this posting we are presenting a special introductory offer. With any purchase of $10.00 or more you will receive a free Needle Sampler of your choice.

To receive your free Needle Sampler simply indicate in the “Ordering Instructions” box, on the Shopping Cart page, the kind of Needle Sampler you would like, such as Straw, Sharps, Betweens/Quilting, Embroidery, etc., and we will include it with your order. If the “Ordering Instructions” is left blank on your order we will send you a Straw Needle Sampler.

I am excited to share this new item with all of you! Tell your friends! This offer will expire April 30, 2008.

Last weekend we had a great time watching two of our grandchildren while Mom and Dad has a weekend get-away.

Whee…I had forgotten how much time it takes to watch over two little ones. If it wasn’t eating….

And eating some more…

It was entertaining and being entertained.

I’m starting early with the sewing skills (play dough is a good start!) to be able to pass along the things I have learned. Who knows, with this one it might just take!

P.S. The Sewing Room has a new posting—critique on hand quilting.

Recently I was asked: “Who were the women that inspired you to quilt? Do you still have the first quilt you made or has it been worn out and used up?” The quilt fragment shown above is the sole remaining piece of my first quilt. It is composed of leftovers and fabric scraps from my mother’s scrap drawer.

Summers were long and hot where I grew up and playing outside in the afternoons was out of the question in the desert. My mother was a wise and kind teacher to her brood of eight children. Five of us were girls.

Instead of trying to control the chaos of idle children on those hot summer afternoons, Mom organized us according to age and ability and taught us skills that became assets in our lives. Our living room was a hub of activity during the daily “Big Money Movie” weekday afternoons. One sister might be ironing, another mending socks by hand, another piecing quilt blocks on the sewing machine, and still another stitching hand embroidery on dish towels while the movie played.

My mother taught us to iron—first handkerchiefs and pillowcases, then skirts, and finally blouses and shirts—according to our age. She taught us to embroider—cute designs on the corner of dish towels she had constructed from bleached flour sacks, or cross stitch on inexpensive pillowcases from the five and dime store. She taught us to crochet—constructing afghans or lacy edges on the pillowcase we had embroidered. She taught us to quilt—piecing first. We chose our own pattern, she made a cardboard template, we cut the fabroc pieces (stringing them on a long piece of thread) for a quilt top. We then learned to use the sewing machine by piecing the quilt blocks together. When a quilt was on the frame we took turns sitting next to her at the quilt frame and learned how to hand quilt.

Hand quilting, reading, and crochet (very fine thread made into lacy doilies) were my mother’s favorite pastimes. In retirement she enjoyed many long afternoons in those pursuits.

As an adult she told me that she was unable to draft the star pattern I had chosen for my first quilt so she sent me down the street to her mother’s house for help. My grandfather actually drafted the pattern—he did that for Mom and Grandma when they needed help.

I made the blocks for my first quilt the summer when I was about twelve or thirteen years old. Those blocks were not made into a quilt until the summer after I graduated from high school.

I was going away to school in the fall and I needed a quilt for my dorm room bed. I remember vividly going to Grandma’s house with my blocks one summer afternoon. Our project was to put those blocks together into a quilt top. We arranged the star quilt blocks on the top of her bed in a pleasing arrangement (an early design wall?). And then, we pieced them together with fabric she had prepared beforehand. She had recycled the skirts of two full-skirted dresses into strips that were torn into appropriate lengths to sash and join the blocks together. While we worked Grandma told me about her own experiences when she was my age and going off to school in a far away town. My quilt and her stories connected us in physical and emotional ways that are still very dear to me.

Later that summer we had an old fashioned quilting bee where my grandma, sisters, and aunts all came and helped to complete my going-to-college quilt.

My story sounds like something out of the 19th century and I sound very old–even to me–but my first quilt was completed in the summer of 1969.

So in answer to the questions first posed, my first and most influential teachers were my mother and maternal grandmother. All of the skills that I have honed over the years began at the feet of these two lovely ladies. And, sadly my first quilt is worn out and gone except for the block that I salvaged in memory of that time in my life.

I grew up in a large family in a very small town. At the back of our acre lot we had a Jersey milk cow (named Bessy–actually I think there were a succession of cows all named Bessy). She served dual purposes: 1) she kept our family well supplied with milk, and 2) she gave my brothers practical hands-on experience about responsibility and work. My grandparents also had cows and I truly thought that everyone kept a cow to supply their family with milk. However, I do remember that it was a big treat to have store-bought bread and milk on very rare occasions. Little did I know about how good we had it.

These days, even in small towns like this one, only a few people keep animals. A few families keep chickens, but milk cows are rare. Not long ago I read a book titled Real Food, What to Eat and Why by Nina Planck. In her book, Nina explains what is lost in processed and mass produced food. Her book made me long for the fresh milk and eggs of my youth.

And then, I learned of a couple on the other side of town who has a Jersey cow AND they sell their extra milk to a few lucky ones. I have had to wait a bit to start getting milk from them since their cow, Molly, recently had a calf, but this week it was my turn to have milk. Oh my, I cannot even tell you how wonderful that first glass of fresh milk tasted to me!

Here is a picture I took of Molly this week. She is not accustomed to such attention, but she finally gave in and let me take her picture. (I had forgotton how large cows are—especially up close!!) She may not look like much but she sure produces great milk!

To add to my joy, this couple also keeps hens and I can buy all the fresh eggs I want for just $1.50 a dozen. The girls, too, were a bit shy about having their picture taken and they would not hold still, they are very busy you know, but here they are….

Quilting became a passion for me when I realized the unlimited possibilities it offered me for discovery, for companionship, for entertainment, for study, for a peaceful activity while pondering, and, most important of all, to create something of beauty.

Many years ago I was talking with a friend who had just found her way out of a severe depression. As we talked she said, “It was not my husband, nor my children, nor my religion, nor any of my family that gave me the desire to fight back and find healing from the blackness. It was the quilts I had not yet made.”

She then said, “What is the difference between me and my next door neighbor? She quilts too. She makes a baby quilt now and then, and a quilt for a family member for a special occasion but that is all. She is not at all compelled to quilt the way that I am. What makes me different?”

I have thought often about the question my friend posed. I have also offered this question to students from time-to-time over the years and I have discovered that for every individual the answer will be different.

One student spoke of how the quiet time she spent alone with the repetitive process of hand quilting had helped her to heal from the loss of a child and the trauma associated with that loss.

Another told of how she felt that in today’s fast-paced work place, we rarely have the satisfaction of seeing something we invest our time and efforts into through to completion. We are just a part of “the machine” the generates a product or an effort. Quilting to her was immensely satisfying because from conception of an idea for a quilt to the final binding process the quilt was all hers. She created it from start to finish.

For my friend recovering from depression, I believe it was the discovery of self that creativity (in it’s many forms) so beautifully reveals. That is why my friend was compelled to pick up her life again and create the quilts that were still within her. She was still exploring her potential as a person and an artist.

The one thing that all of the answers I have heard have in common is that the choice to quilt is about fulfilling personal needs in one form or another.

Why are you compelled to quilt?

As individuals we are ever-changing as we grow, learn, age, and live. Recently as I sat working I began to reflect on my favorite “things” and I realized how much those things have changed as time passes. 

When I was a young girl I sometimes thought about what I would take with me should I need to flee my home and could take only one thing. Back then my treasures were few: the jewelry box my oldest brother had given me and a teddy bear. Right now I can’t recall exactly where the bear is, although I am sure that I still have it, and my jewelry box is still in plain sight but I rarely stop to admire it.

Life experiences and relationships help shape the things we value. Success and finding an area of interest that we pursue, either as a career or a hobby, are also great contributors to the things that bring us pleasure. The places we live and vacation as well as people we collect as friends are also important in shaping the person we become and, consequently, the things we value. There are also things that we believe to be beautiful and thus want to surround us in our “nest.” All of the above reveal the person inside our physical body.

While thinking about my favorite things I wondered how much my things reveal about the person I am and how that affects me daily. I started a list of favorite things and it quickly grew very long. I realized that, unlike my child-self whose life experiences were few, as time passes most of the things I treasure are directly related to life experiences, emotional reactions, and exploration.

Perhaps we are like precious stones and each passing year adds new facets and dimensions to the person we are becoming as we learn and grow. If that is the case, I plan to keep exploring and learning so that in my old age I will be brilliant!

Below are a few favorite things that I have collected in my life’s journey. I have purposefully excluded family reminders, such as photos, and quilts I have made or own. They, in reality, are my first choices. The items pictured are “things” that represent visual stimulation and positive emotion to me. They are the things I live with every day.

The tools of my trade on a handy turntable on my work table. I look at and use these things every day.

My red built-in kitchen hutch (it was number one on my wish list when we built this house). It holds everyday dishes and other dishes I have collected in my teaching travels.

One of my first drawings and the vehicle by which I learned that my hands can draw. It was an amazing discovery. The teapot represents the herbal/fruit tea I enjoy. My husband says it tastes like drinking potpourri, but I love it as a warm daily treat. 

During long hours of stitching time I listen to my favorite author, Miss Read, over and over again. Nothing much ever happens in these books. They are a fictitous tale of the daily lives of inhabitants in an English Village. The familiar characters keep me company and make me feel good inside. When working under a deadline I spend lots of time with these characters in Thrush Green.

I do love that 30’s green, I have lots of that color in my house. These dishes were hand-painted by ladies, as a hobby, in the 1930’s. Having their exquisite work—painted with “berry” motifs—is visually such a treat to me. I do love china!!….and red and green!!

Round red sandstone rocks collected on walks in the desert and sea glass from walks on the shore (many different shores) are a couple of my “nature collections.” These particular collections are a daily reminder to me (as they sit on the window sill above my kitchen sink) of the beauty and wonders of this earth.

A brand new bracelet (thus my favorite piece of jewelry) from the Cameron Trading Post, located on the Navajo Reservation between Flagstaff and Page, Arizona. Note the red blood coral stones—surprise— one of my favorite colors!

It has been winter here for a very long time. The snow is deep and getting deeper, the temperatureis mostly in the teens or lower. The icicles hanging from the house are daily getting longer. The roads throughout our little town are snow packed, but clear—a perfect place to hook a sled behind a four-runner for a sleigh ride, of which we daily see the evidence. The fields are pristine in their covering of white except for the deer trails that cris-cross them in random lines.

Only our driveway and sidewalks are clear of snow. Thanks to a kind neighbor, who hooks a plow blade to the front of his truck for the winter, the task of keeping our 180 foot long driveway clear has been easy. There is a single-file path around the side of our house to the back porch—made by our neighbor’s dogs ever hopeful for a treat from inside our house.

Inside we are snug, warm, and, for the most past, content. A pot of steaming stew is often on the stove and baking things in the oven adds warmth and ambience to our isolation. Let spring come when it will, but for now I am enjoying the present.