The Alaska State Writing Consortium
Northern Lit - ASWC's eZine

Stitches in Time

by Jan Love

I watch my sixteen-year-old son sleeping on the couch under a faded flannel comforter. My grandmother made the blanket that wraps my son. My grandmother has filled my life with covers. Growing up, her quilted blankets covered all the beds in our house. With her stitches, she wrapped us close to her heart.

I have a memory of my grandmother waving as our station wagon, limping under the weight of a household, drove us away from her, off to make our way in the new state of Alaska. My sister and I spent most of our childhood too far from Grandma for many visits, but even so our outgrown clothes were boxed up and sent to her. She made them into quilts.  Nine patch or five patch squares pieced from the colors and times of our lives blended our memories with hers.

            Matthew’s feet stick out awkwardly from beneath his blanket. Outgrown again. My grandma started making these soft flannel baby blankets when she found out a great grandson was on the way. He was bundled in a soft duck print when we first carried him into our home. She makes them bigger as he grows.

            Grandma’s stitching fingers have marked all the transitions in my life. A flower garden quilt of interlocking rings as I left high school marked the end of girlhood. A durable comforter of zigzagged polyester pieces to take into my marriage. “It should wear well,” she said of this serviceable piece. And then baby quilts, little boy blankets and husband covers. She is always with us.

            I was with her a few years ago as she prepared to move out of her house of fifty plus years. We were buried in fifty years of clutter, some precious--most junk. Among the clutter was an old quilt. It had been hidden away under my uncle’s boyhood featherbed. Tell me about it I asked.

“That old thing,” she said, “My grandmother made that for me when I married your granddad. Your great-grandma Ninnie helped her stitch it.”

I am moved by the intricate pieces so small and carefully sewn into a pattern of large, sturdy patches. These two women, dearest in my Grandma’s life, stitched it to be carried with her into marriage. Carried across the country to a new life and found a generation later, here in this home where my Grandma had raised her own family. Their careful stitching had always been near.  She fingered the worn binding, thoughtfully smoothing down the frays.

“Take it if you want, old ragged thing.” She said as she carefully passed it into my arms.

I straighten out the blanket over Matthew’s feet and marvel once again at how fast he grows.

About the Author

Jan Love has lived in Sitka most of her life. She teaches at Keet Goohi Heen Elementary School. She usually alternates between fourth and fifth grade. Jan’s happiest times in the classroom are busy and messy.

stitches