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Sophie's Quilt

The New Urban Pioneer came home from school with an assignment:  to learn how once it was done, and to do it again.  Shrewd Sophie had her own link to the distant past:  someone who made quilts.  "Would Mari show her how to make a quilt?"

The New Materialism
Mari would.

Sophie would choose the materials, and create a design.  Sophie tilted her head to the side and thought and thought about it, cutting swatches, switching swatches, watching swatches switch; imagining how it ought to be.  

Sometimes what is "old", and what is "new", gets all mixed up.  Mari has had her new sewing machine for a long time.  It was brand-new to Sophie.  

They made a plan.  "It's like an old fashioned quilting bee!" Mari said.  "Why did they call it a 'bee'?"  "I don't know.  You can look it up on Google, just like the Pioneers did, probably."

New Technology, New Generation
"How small my boat, how large the sea!"
First, you are coached through the drills, walking, looking back, asking.  Gradually, you pick up speed, finally running on your own.  

"Have you sewed your fingers together yet, Sophie?"  

"Oh, Grandpa!"

Exploration became routine, and routine became familiar.  "I'll work on this for a while.  My fingers are getting tired."

The pieces fell into place.  



Precision

New Hands, New Quilt
Feeling Good


The generations gathered around, some having been there, some having heard, some wanting to know.   "My mother said they saved all the pieces that had not worn out."  "Sometimes they used feed sacks."  "What's a feed sack?"  "We will use that for the backing."  "What's a backing?"

Gail, Sophie, Mari
Button, Button
















Projects finally come down to the details; to the nitty-gritty, to the pin-pricks and small adjustments, and do-overs, to the funny stitches along the side, and getting the buttons just right.  

"What do you think, Sophie?  Should you have made the quilt bigger, or should you just have made the swatches bigger?"  

"I think . . . ," Sophie said--and her shoulders sagged for a moment.  She spied Boomerang, lying with his head flat on his raggedy rope toy, watching the youngest quilter, moving only his eyes.  "Mama," she said, "should I take Boomerang outside for a while?"


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