In addition to my work with the needle side of Foxglove Cottage, which is quite a load this time of year, here is very brief summary of what you missed while I’ve been away…..

A visit out of town to see some of our grandkids in March was great fun and it was far too short. The photo above is of all of our grandchildren, taken just last Saturday. I was not there for the fun, but it is great to see all of our kids together and enjoying each other.

Next, for quite some time I have been on the lookout for a nice piece of furniture to fill a very large empty space on the wall behind our front door. I was looking for either a hutch to hold dishes, or a cabinet of some kind to store quilts. I have collections both and I don’t have enough nice storage for either of them.

Then, quite by accident, I found the perfect piece. It was in a local gift/antique store. Here it is alongside the antique oak table that originally belonged to my husband’s grandmother.

A previous owner had cleverly installed temporary shelves in the long side of this wardrobe and they are perfect for storing quilts. I lined the shelves with white cotton sheets and stacked my quilts on top.

The two bottom quilts on the left side were made by my mother for my husband and me. They don’t look like much, but I love them and I rarely use them because I do not want them to be used up, even though that is what she intended. The afghan on top of the quilts was made for me by one of my sisters. The blue tied polyester large gingham check quilt on the right side was given to us as a wedding gift from the Relief Society (church ladies group). It has been used constantly through our almost forty years of marriage. It is now threadbare and yet it still lives on…..

You will probably be surprised to see that the antique quilts I collect are 1930s era quilts. I love to live with these quilts because of the cheerful, light colors but I am not likely to be tempted to make a grandmothers flower garden or double wedding ring quilt anytime soon.

I do have a few antique appliqué quilts, but at the moment they are packaged in a suitcase for a trunk show I am presenting next week. I’ll tell you later, in another post, about why I don’t collect many nineteenth century quilts.

And last of all, I have neglected this Journal because I have had a flurry of new ideas for quilts and my spare time has been used in pulling these ideas together. I have learned that if I ignore new ideas they will fade and, in my mind, these new ideas are too good to let go.

The Christmas quilt pattern is getting closer. I have not abandoned it nor have I forgotten, just been too busy to do it all!

Also, I have been asked about a topic that you may be interested in, so check out the Sewing Room for a new post about how to plan an appliqué border that is appropriate for a pieced quilt. You may be surprised at what you learn there…

It snowed earlier this week. Approximately 6 to 8 inches of snow fell and then it turned very cold. In fact, I understand from the national news that two-thirds of our country was, and still is, under the icy grip of this same storm.

When the first big snow of the year falls, I always think of a lovely lady that I knew many years ago, and I think of homemade donuts. Her name was Marilla Baker. I met her during her retirement years. She has since passed away, but she left a positive mark on many lives with a simple tradition that she started as a young mother.

In the late fall she would stock all the ingredients needed for making donuts in preparation for the big day. One never knows when the first measurable storm of the year will fall so she prepared early.

And then, on the first big snowstorm of the year she would start early in the morning making donuts and she continued making them all day long. There was a standing invitation to all she or her family knew to come to Marilla’s house on the day of the storm for freshly made donuts and a cup of something warm to drink. Visitors came by all day long.

Marilla’s tradition started small with her children’s friends and nearby neighbors, but over the years as her family moved a few times, old and new neighbors continued to come. Through work, church and other community associations more acquaintances were made and more people were invited. And so it grew, until at the time I met Marilla, a couple of hundred people showed up each year at her house on the first snow storm of the year. It was a wonderful time for renewing friendships and catching up on the news.

On the evening of a cold snowy day I always think of staying inside and staying warm. Part of achieving that sense of coziness is good food. Comfort food. A steaming bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup (made with homemade noodles) is a good start. For me, a cozy finish to a comfort food meal is a generous serving of my mother’s standard Sunday desert: Eggless, Milkless, Butterless Cake.

Although it’s name is not necessarily appealing to our twenty-first century sensibility, at the time Mom started making this cake it’s name may have been the reason she first tried it. My mother was a Second World War bride. During a time of rationing and many shortages this was a desert she could make with basic ingredients and a few spices.

As our family continued to grow after the War, the family’s economic situation did not improve a great deal. So for a large family this was a recipe that made sense, and it was a great desert to go with Sunday dinners.

The smell of the sugar, spices and raisins boiling on the stove remind me of home, of the comforts of being safe and loved, and of Saturday nights when I was a child.

Here is the recipe in case you want to give it a try.

Eggless, Milkless, Butterless Cake

1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed

1-1/4 cup water

1/3 cup shortening (I use butter instead)

2/3 cup raisins

2 teaspoons cinnamon

½ teaspoon nutmeg

½ teaspoon cloves

In a small saucepan, over medium heat, bring the above ingredients to a boil, continue to boil for five minutes. Remove from heat and cool slightly—about 15 minutes.

Meanwhile combine:

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ cup chopped walnuts (this is my addition to the original recipe)

Pour hot mixture all at once into dry ingredients and stir thoroughly by hand being sure to break up any clumps of flour that may form when the liquid ingredients are added.

Transfer batter to a greased 8″ square baking dish. Bake at 325 degrees for 30-35 minutes.

Buttercream Frosting

1/3 cup butter, softened

1 pound powdered sugar

2-3 tablespoons very hot milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine all ingredients and beat with an electric beater. The hot milk is vital to making the Frosting taste right. The heat from the milk “cooks” the powdered sugar slightly and gives the frosting a less raw taste. I usually heat 1/3 cup of milk in the microwave to the point of boiling and then add as much as is needed to the frosting to get the correct consistency for spreading on the cake.

As I have told my adult students many times, new skills, like hand applique, are difficult for adults because we are accustomed to being adept at anything we undertake. Being awkward is unpleasant for adults, but children do not mind.

Learning is as much a part of life for children as meals and bedtime. Thus, they keep trying when things are hard and they are not disappointed when their first attempts are not perfect.

As you have probably guessed these students are my granddaughters and we had a great time together. I prepared in advance by charting their names on 7-grid to the inch graph paper and then transferring the cross stitches to a slightly heavy weight cotton fabric—kettle cloth. Each of the three chose their own color of floss and we were off.

Threading needles and knots were a bit troublesome, but they definitely caught on quickly and the next time I visit I think we will be ready to sew their creations into pillows to decorate their beds.

There was plenty of other fun to be had during my visit too.

Being around such youth and enthusiasm for life is rejuvenating. I returned home rested, relaxed and ready to get back to work.

I am now in the process of making American Girl doll quilts for each of the three older girls and will be sure to show you pictures before I send them off.

My favorite holiday is upon us. When the autumn leaves begin to change colors I begin to savor the thoughts of this holiday and I begin to look forward in anticipation of the Day.

When I walk in the early mornings in this country setting where I live, I think of all of the fine meals that will be prepared on Thanksgiving day in the farmhouses that dot the landscape. Or, sometimes I hum to myself and hear the old lyrics to “Over the River and Through the Woods” in my head.

I love the thought of families and loved ones gathering together to celebrate belonging to one another. We all need to be needed and to belong. For me, Thanksgiving celebrates this simple truth.

Thanksgiving also invites us to slow down, look around and realize how fortunate we are both individually and collectively. I am grateful for the bounty I enjoy in family, living where I choose to live, the beauty of my surroundings, and, of course, quilts in progress, quilts yet in my mind waiting to be born, and plenty of raw materials (fabric) to work when I am ready.

Oh sure, there are plenty of things I don’t have that I would like, but I would never let the “want to haves” crowd out the multitude of blessing that are mine already. For me, Thanksgiving, is a day to remember and be grateful.

May your Thanksgiving Day be filled with good food and those you love around you!

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!

On Monday, December 17, the newest member of our family arrived. Here she is just minutes old. Little baby is 21″ long and weighs 7 lb. 10 oz. She is our seventh grandchild.

As you can see, all is well and Mom is doing fine. Little baby is being held below by one of her sisters. Beauty is truly found in the innocent faces of children.

I first met Margaret Kimball on a warm Sunday afternoon in May of 1972. A few weeks earlier I had met her son, Charlie., and we had begun dating on a regular basis. On that particular day Charlie had invited me to his home to meet his mother. As we approached her front door, I was worried and a bit apprehensive that I would not measure up to her expectations of me.We stepped up onto the front porch and Charlie opened the screen door for me to enter. In that moment I saw a flash of a seemingly curious scene. In that instant I saw myself entering through that same screen door with two small children. Charlie was not there, only me and the two children. What an odd thought I remember thinking, but by then I was through the door and Margaret was there to greet me for the first time.A few years later the scene that I had seen on my first visit to her home became a reality and it was repeated many times over as I came to know, love, and appreciate my mother-in-law and the gifts of self that she offered me. She shared with me her cooking skills and her enthusiasm for making holidays an event. She shared her knowledge of gardening and she shared many plant starts from her flower beds. A few of those plants are still going in the yards of those she shared them with.

I had a wonderful mother, but she was not a great cook. She was a basic cook who knew how to stretch a few dollars into a meal for ten, but cooking was a duty for her. For Margaret, cooking was a pleasure. She made the best fried chicken I had ever eaten. Her strawberry ice cream was remarkable and her Sour Cream Cake with Burnt Butter Frosting is still our daughter’s favorite dessert. A list of the delicious recipes Margaret shared with me, and that became family favorites of our children, could go on and on.

In the early years of our marriage Margaret invited us to Sunday dinner. She would buy a special roast from the butcher and would explain to me how choice it was and how she had selected it above the others. On those occasions I looked forward to that one meal all week long. When we arrived for dinner the smells of that perfect roast cooking, along with potatoes and other vegetables were almost as good as the meal itself.

Being a great cook is a talent, but being willing to teach and share what you know is an even greater trait. She was generous in sharing all that I asked of her and more. The best teachers teach at the rate of a student’s ability to learn and that is how she worked with me. She taught me how to make the best gravy possible from the pan drippings left after cooking a roast.

She also taught me about cooking fresh vegetables to perfection. I had never tasted vegetables cooked the way she did. She combined common and unusual vegetables together in one dish, such as carrots and parsnips. They were served mashed together with a dolop of real butter melting on top. Our children have always loved vegetables and that fact is totally due to Margaret’s influence on my cooking.

When I complimented or commented on her skill she would shrug and say, “That’s the way my mother always cooked.”

I remember the first Thanksgiving I enjoyed at her house. Preparations began weeks ahead when she ordered a nice big fresh hen turkey (lots of breast meat) from Main Street Poultry. Then a few days ahead of the big event she would prepare and freeze the Cranberry Ice. Next came the making of pumpkin pie one or two days ahead. Anticipation continued to build when on the eve of the big day she and Ruth York (her next door neighbor) made the trip to Main Street Poultry to pick up “the turkey.” Anyone who happened to stop by her house that day was invited to come to the fridge and inspect the special turkey.

Later that evening R. always crumbled a couple of loaves of bread in preparation for the stuffing that she would make at 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. before stuffing the turkey and getting it in the oven by 6:00 a.m Thanksgiving morning. This early morning preparation was for her family. I believe it was a source of pride and pleasure to her to know that her children would be awaken by the enticing smell of roasting turkey.

The meal was always delicious and perfectly presented, but the anticipation and preparations before the event were as enjoyable as the meal itself.

Christmas was equally celebrated with candy making well in advance and much checking and tasting of the candy to see how it was aging as the days drew nearer to Christmas. The ritual of the turkey dinner preparations were repeated again at Christmastime. In addition to the food she always gave generous gifts. Her income was modest but she spent little on herself and saved her money to be able to give her family the best. She loved her children and grandchildren dearly and one of the ways she demonstrated that affection was through her generous gifts to them.

Margaret was an early riser and she did her daily household chores long before the day began for many people. R., our son, and I lived with her for a few months before our daughter was born. Since R. and I both worked full time, we looked forward to sleeping in on Saturday mornings, but between Margaret’s energetic cleaning and our son’s young age, it did not happen often.

We slept in the basement and as we emerged into the light of day we were always greeted with a sunny good morning from Margaret. Her favorite chair was in the dining room next to an east-facing window. I can still see her there with the morning paper opened to the crossword puzzle and a smile on her face.

In looking back to those years it is hard for me to separate her next-door-neighbor, Ruth York, from Margaret in terms of everyday life. The two of them were in each other’s houses on a daily basis. Whatever one would do, the other would soon follow.

For example, when one of them made spaghetti sauce she would explain to me in great detail how it was done, and then the next day the other would have a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove and explain to me how her special sauce was made, and then, she would carefully explain how her spaghetti sauce was better than the other one’s version.

They were a formidable team on the lookout for the best sales. Every week they scanned the ads and, if necessary, they drove across town to capture the best prices on anything they needed. Wherever they shopped the clerks always remembered them. On the occasions when I accompanied Margaret on her errands I was impressed that so many of the store clerks knew her by name.

Ruth had a newer car but she did not like to drive. Margaret had an old car and was willing to drive, so often when they shopped Margaret drove Ruth’s 1964 Ford Mustang. The two little ladies with gray hair were quite a sight driving along in Ruth’s sporty pink car.

Theirs was a fun and interesting friendship and rivalry to observe, but I am sure that they enjoyed it even more.

Margaret was 54 years old when I first met her. She was enthusiastic about life, a bit of a character, and proud of her children. As all good mentors do, she shared what she knew with me and encouraged me to go beyond the point she had achieved. She is a lovely lady and I am proud to be a part of her life.

While I was away for two weeks in September, the weather changed. I knew it was coming….the calendar does not lie….but I was surprised nonetheless when we went from a continuous line of hummingbirds at the feeders to none at all, and from windows full open to let in fresh air to windows completely shut.

Almost abruptly our continuous and abundant supply of summer squash and tomatoes from the garden ended. The night before the first big frost we searched through the vines and gleaned a nice batch of tomatoes and squash to extend our summer’s bounty a few weeks longer.

This weekend our son, daughter-in-law and two of our grandchildren came down for a visit and to select their pumpkins from our local pumpkin patch. It was cold and snowing on and off throughout the day. Nonetheless we were not deterred and a quick phone call to the owner of the closed pumpkin patch got us permission to trudge through the mud and choose the most perfect pumpkins in the whole patch! That same afternoon we made homemade donuts to celebrate the event. Let the season begin!

P.S. I have received many comments both on and off of this blog about my Houston Quilt show observations. An interesting e-mail on this topic, along with my response, is posted in the Sewing Room. You may find it interesting reading.

Over a year ago I made a strategic error on my calendar which resulted in my being away working for two full weeks in September. It has been a marathon but it is now over and I can stop to catch my breath.

My first commitment was to be a judge for the Houston Quilt Festival Show. Now I ask you, who could turn that honor down? Not me.

It was an amazing experience. Eight hundred quilts were entered. They were juried down to four hundred quilts–the cream of this year’s crop–and I had the honor of seeing and touching every one of those four hundred quilts. Oh my!!!

There are so very many talented, committed, focused and determined quiltmakers out there making amazing quilts. I am in awe of every entrant.

One element of the contest, however, surprised me a great deal—I still can’t get over it. The last time I paid attention to quilt contests, the categories with the most quilts seemed to be traditional quilts.

It is not so any longer. The entries have dropped so low in traditional pieced and traditional applique that there is only one category for each—no longer are there two categories with one being large quilts and the other being small. What happened!? Where are all of the traditional quilts? Are we traditional quiltmakers intimidated by the non-traditional quilts? Are we not competitive? Are we not finishing our quilts? Or, heaven forbid, are there less of us!!!??? Whatever the reason, there is now lots of room at the top for anyone who will enter in traditional categories. Lets get going!!

After one day at home, I was off again to teach at the Utah State Quilt Guild’s Annual Quilt Fest. It is home turf for me (as many years ago I served as President of the Utah Quilt Guild). It was a fun and exhilarating week. I saw old friends, met new ones, and in general had a great time.

Several long-time quiltmaking friends reminded me of the days when I brought my young children along to board meetings and even to class when I taught. They also all reminded me how good my children were and that they played quietly under the table while we worked and learned above their heads.

They were good kids

and still are, however, as much as they appreciate my quilts, they don’t have a passion for quiltmaking the way I do. When our daughter married, she immediately began making her first quilt, which delighted me. At the time I mentioned to her that I was surprised at her interest since she had not shown any before she married.

Her answer was unexpected when she said, “Isn’t that what all moms do?” She has since learned that is not the case and she is much too busy with her young family–but maybe later.

When I was young weekly trips to the library and an armful of books to read was my favorite summertime activity. My sisters and I whiled away many a hot summer afternoon with Nancy Drew and friends. Although we lay outstretched on our stomachs reading, in our minds we were miles away catching criminals and solving mysteries.

These days, a stack of entertaining books to read is a luxury I do not often get the time to enjoy, but I did join a book club this year. It has been a pleasure to escape into a good book for a few hours in the past few months. Two books I have particularly enjoyed are A Train to Potevka by Mike Ramsdell and Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story by Benjamin Carson. In both of these non-fiction works the authors experienced a moment, that they describe in detail, wherein they realized their potential as a person and their very personal relationship to a power greater than themselves. Both of these authors and their books were inspiring and uplifting to me.

The photo above is a recent snapshot of my oldest granddaughter. She will start second grade in a few weeks. It is obvious that she too has discovered a great summer pastime and that she finds great possibilities in the written word.