Rose Llaird’s Red Quilts

 

    “Grandma, I’ll take good care of them and put them up on a wall so they can be displayed and protected,” I said.

“No, don’t do that. They’re nice warm, strong, quilts. Use them,” Grandma Ruth had insisted.

How could I use something so precious? The gaily-colored red quilts had been made by Rose Llaird, my grandmother’s mother. They had to be at least 80, maybe even 100 years old.

I took the quilts home and put them in my cedar chest while I figured out how to mount them on a wall or quilt-rack. But my grandma’s admonition to just use the quilts bounced around in my brain. And that winter, when it grew colder and I needed an extra blanket, I pulled a bright red and yellow star-pattern quilt out of the chest. It was warm. It was strong. It was a great quilt.

        Last Spring, when the COVID shut-downs began, my children were suddenly home with me all

 day long for weeks on end, and strange and unbelievable news filtered into my house from all around

 the world, Great- Grandma Rose’s second red quilt became my comfort quilt.

My 3-year-old soon discovered the comfort quilt and began dragging it around the house. I frequently had to rescue it and tell her, “No, no. This is mother’s special quilt. You have your own quilts. Mother needs this quilt.”

And I did need it.  I would huddle under the quilt during nap time, smelling its old smell, and feeling its warmth. I would think about Grandma Ruth and Great-Grandma Rose, and the interesting times they had lived through- The Great Depression, World Wars, terrible poverty, the incredible changes sweeping the country and the world.

I finally gave up the battle with the 3-year-old and let her drag the comfort quilt around the house and build forts out of it. I thought it might give Rose Llaird joy to see her great-great-granddaughter cuddling under a quilt she had made with her own hands so many years ago.  

One of the reasons I love the quilts is because they make me feel connected with these strong, hard-working women who came before me. The quilts remind me that just as my grandmother and great-grandmother survived and even thrived through interesting times, so would I.

The world may be a strange and unusual place filled with tragedy and uncertainty, but I will raise my children, and they will survive.

Someday I will give the quilts to my daughters.  

If the quilts are still in good condition and my daughters want to conscientiously store them away, I will say, “No, don’t do that. They are warm and strong. Use them.”