Gardens, Guests, Quilts, & Other Stuff

I know this much about gardening and quilting: they're alike.

Not certain I can tellya why -- or prove it: but it seems to me that lotsa people who love gardening, also love quilting. Antiquing fits in there too. Something about appreciating old stuff, homey stuff. Something about appreciating beauty. Something about collecting and increasing beauty, creating it with one's own hands.

Economy works into it, too: part of the challenge is being able to make something beautiful out of basic resources -- out of what one has at hand. Early quilt-tops were created out of scrap materials collected over time from worn-out garments and tag-ends of materials left over, in the days when much clothing was made in one's own home.

Gardening's also like that. My Gramma taught me basic gardening skills when I was growing up in her old homestead. It was an aging and ramshackle place. But her gardens were colorful, well-designed, and striking.

Never mind the paint was crinkling off the house. She was too old and frail to scrape and repaint the house. Nor could she afford to pay someone else to do it. But she could beautify the place in other ways. The house was surrounded by mature perennial gardens. She taught me to enrich the soil, split and transplant perennials, prune roses and ornamental bushes, clean and weed the gardens, and dispose of cuttings. We burnt the hard cuttings of the trimmed bushes. The ashes from that fire joined soft trimmings in a compact mulch pit.

Seems to me that gardening (like quilting) is an activity that rotates materials: Gramma always said "Use it up! Wear it out! Make it do. . .or do without!" Hers was a scarcity culture. I can't remember ever going to a gardening outlet. (Were there any?) That came three or four decades later when Nancy and I had two incomes rolling into our household. Gramma never spent a dime on her garden. She developed her own mulch, split and transplanted, increased her garden, and made it more beautiful every year. She didn't sew much, because by the time I worked with her, her eyes were failing, and her fingers were no longer nimble.

Nancy enhanced my gardening skills, but mostly, she taught me quilting. She was a wizard at coordinating colors and patterns. I built into the double closet of her sewing room an extensive array of rolling baskets in which she collected and stored materials. She bought cotton material by the yard, arranged it in striking combinations -- pallets, she called them -- and stored them away in the sliding baskets, knowing that during Christmas vacation or on lazy mid-summer days when the major gardening chores had been accomplished, she would fire up her wonderful Bernina sewing machine and churn out ten -- or more -- quilt tops. She would also search out old hand-made patches in antique shops. These she'd reassemble and strip-out into wonderful tops.

Then we'd stretch one quilt-top, the batten, and the coordinated-color quilt-back on her marvelous antique rotating frame. This one we'd mark and work on together. Meanwhile we sent the others to our Amish friend in Holmes County (Ohio). This friend would distribute among various Amish quilters, the tops and backs, Nancy's quilting-design directions, and the binding. We didn't hurry with our own quilting. But within a few months, the Amish quilters' work would begin to arrive UPS. After a reasonable period -- about every three or four weeks -- a finished quilt or two would arrive. Every box felt like Christmas!

Nancy's own quilting was tiny, ten-twelve regular stitches to the inch. She taught me. One of the proudest days I remember was the day she studied my stitches and didn't strip them out. By that time, it was difficult to distinguish my quilting from her own. As I said: a proud day.

Sounds silly, I suppose -- especially coming from a man. But quilting is more than a discreet set of skills. Our long, antique frame mounted and stretched the developing quilt between two ratcheted rollers set 18 inches apart. I worked from one side on the curvilinear stitches. She worked from the other side on the rectilinear. We were often working so close together that our heads were together side-by-side. We could carry on quiet conversations, whisper sweet-nothings into each other's ears. And yes, even smooch a little, though that might lead in dangerous directions: an amorous guy might accidentally wind up poking his own fingers with the needle.


Anyway. . . . This past week has been crowded with gardening chores -- between rains. During rains I did some UNnecessary housecleaning, too. A solitary male runs the sweeper only when absolutely necessary. . . like when rubble threatens to turn his ankle, for instance. Suffice it to say my bum-knee was at hazard. So I had to break up some clods and run the sweeper. Dusted and polished a little too. Cleaned my bathroom (Aaaaargh! Ulp!). Scoured the shower floor when I dropped a wash-cloth and it disappeared into a cavernous foot-print. That kinda stuff.

BUT!

At the end of the week, Nancy's brother and his wife visited for a long weekend. And we spent two long and wonderful days antiquing and attending an immense flea-market and quilt auction in Loomis (in central Michigan near Clare). To give you some idea of the scope of this quilt auction, Friday's auction of quilt tops and hangings approached 350 separate pieces. Saturday's catalog of finished quilts, miniatures, and hangings may have been slightly longer.

Serious bidders arrive an hour early, don plastic gloves, and work carefully through the racks, assiduously selecting and marking on their catalogs the items they think are worth acquiring. Tastes and pocketbooks vary. But typically I come prepared to wait two or three hours between items I wish to acquire. Imagine a 13-16-page catalog, 24-26 items per page. I might have marked an item on the first page, then on the third, perhaps two on the sixth. . .and so on. Quilt auctions demand more than money. They demand patient determination and the wiliness of high stakes poker.

Bill has a massive hand-tool collection. Turn him loose in a Flea Market and he'll turn up ingenious antique hand-tool-gizmos I can neither name, nor tell you how they were once used. Meg's an ingenious quilt designer and fabricator. Her work is becoming known across the midwest. Turn her loose at a quilt auction, and she'll spot every unique and beautiful piece available.

Bill antiqued most of both days. Meg and I did the show. Bill got a tool or two I can't adequately describe, except that they pleased him mightily. But he also spent time with us on and off.

I got an unbelievably gorgeous quilt and four miniatures. I also got $500.00 beyond my limit. It was Meg's fault. She's petite, and was unable to wrestle my card from me.

I absolutely stole the best quilt in the show, and four miniatures, exquisitely beautiful beyond description. I'm getting into these tiny, exquisite hangings for two reasons. First, my quilt cabinets are bulging. Second, the miniatures are a relatively new quilting technique that make compelling wall-hangings individually, or in clusters on a wall. For a long time I've had three of Nancy's original miniatures squirreled away. These were designed primarily with bright color-combinations on black backgrounds. Stunning stuff. Anyway, I got four new ones of Best-in-Show quality -- different designs: brightly-colored pin-wheels-encircled, nine-patch-on-diagonal, and such -- executed on a black background. My plan is to combine Nancy's with these and make a stunning seven-piece wall-arrangement where a large picture of us hangs at present.

Now I've got enough pieces. But I had to break some hearts and competitors to do it.

Auctions of any sort are exciting. But the Yoder Sale is exceptionally so. The major reason for that is that over the years it has attracted exquisite Amish quilts and miniatures from all over the country. Another reason is that the main auctioneer is a warm and spell-binding showman. I've studied him now for years. Leroy is the kinda guy who'll stop right in the middle of a running sale and speak to me personally, if I drop out of a sequence:

(All amiable and engaging): "Now Mr. Bob! You almost got this piece sewed up! I likeya too much ta letcha stop now! Come-on one more bid'll do-er!"

(Lyin' through my teeth): "Now Mr. Leroy! This'un's not even the best one I wanna bid on. . . ." (Indicating Meg sitting innocently beside me:) " Gramma's makin' me stop. . . ."

(Eyes all-atwinkle): "Lookee here, Mr. Bob! You go $25.00 more, un I promise ta hammer down."

(Glint in my eye!) "Okay, Mr. Leroy: but you don't, I'm gonna keep-on abiddin' till midnight!"

Bidding's akin to poker. In a way, Leroy's doing two things. First, he's helping me, letting me establish for new-comers that I'm determined and sitting on the national treasury. (Which is the essential bluff.) Few bidders'll go very far beyond such silly and comic conversational stops. But if they do, he counts on me to drive the price up as far as possible. Second, he's establishing a friendly and compelling atmosphere among a huge crowd of bidders and spectators alike. He's an engaging person and a consummate showman! He's the most likable pirate I've ever encountered. He and I've worked a similar show for years.

Driving the price up helps me, even if I drop out. I sacrifice the item, while depleting my competitors' funds. And I always have five or six desirable items I can still bid on. And usually, I can project pretty accurately how far my money'll spread. It's a no-lose situation. If I get the final bid within my desired range, I get the item. If I don't, I'm bound to get one or more of the others. Plus, nice as an item may be, no item is life or death anyway. It's the fun of the battle as much as acquiring the piece. And Leroy always makes such battles fun.

In fact, I have the sense at times that several of us who have attended the auction for years will back off and let an item go, just because we can see how much another bidder wants it. It doesn't make sense to discourage bidders. Why would any decent person wanna hog everything, anyway? Laugh if you wish: but in the end,

a healthy spirit of generosity is by far
more satisfying than acquisitiveness.
Works that way at auctions, too!