The howl of the wind sent a shiver through me just like the first time I heard coyotes’ eerie cries roll like tumbleweeds across the prairie. As the cold breeze whistled outside, I knew winter weather was on the way.
It was time, time to pull out the heavy wool quilt. Carefully, I lifted it from its container so as not to lose any of the memories and history tucked within the folds. The quilt top was made of wool, obviously from woolen scraps of blankets and garments. Heavy batting remained intact even though a few pieces escaped before the worn backing was replaced with a new thick flannel sheet and retied with the original pink wool yarn.
The quilt began its journey 96 years ago when a stiff breeze blew across the prairie pushing a cold rain into Roundup, Montana. On that particular day, the 26th of October 1926, a young couple slid into town in a borrowed car slinging mud from their gumbo caked tires. The weather didn’t dampen their spirits. After all, it was their wedding day.
The dirty automobile pulled up in front of the pastor’s house. Reverend Ernest Fitzpatrick, a newlywed himself, welcomed the couple. The pastor performed the marriage ceremony while his wife, Nell, served as a witness to the event.
As was common, after the couple returned home, family and friends greeted them with an unannounced chivaree. It was all in good fun, but knowing some of those who participated, I would say there was a bit of mischief, too, with a few “pay backs” specifically for the groom. Another tradition was for neighbors and family to present gifts to the newlyweds. One of those gifts was a wool quilt made by the mother of the groom.
For many years, the quilt traveled from place to place as the family moved from Montana to Idaho and back to Montana before making its way South. It became worn, with batting peeking through the rips in the backing. For a time, the tattered quilt seemed almost forgotten and was gently tucked away in a trunk. When the heirloom came to me, I decided it needed new life, so I mended it, and from then on, it has been on my bed on the cold days of winter.
The quilt lovingly made by my great grandmother was given to my grandparents as a wedding gift. No doubt their three children and grandkids slept under its warmth and comfort as well.
When I crawl under the quilt, it is more than comfy, cozy, and warm, it is a cherished treasure. Though it has outlasted its creator and a couple of young newlyweds, it has returned full circle to the prairies of Montana. It remains part of a legacy, a stitch in time, and a testimony to those with a pioneer spirit.
