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Wednesday, October 31st, 2007

1870s quilt
Why do people collect old quilts? Oh, I suppose there are many reasons. Some buy them as curiosities. Some buy them as “investments.” Some buy them to study their fabrics and design, to ascertain when they might have been made, and to save a piece of history.

Ever since an interest in quilts became more apparent, a trend that has been brewing again since the mid-1960s, dealers have jacked up prices. Demand of the public equals higher prices. Consequently, one sees quilts that probably might have gone to a new home in the landfill years ago, now being offered, and at prices that are high, for what they are.

Sometimes, quilts are ragged beyond belief, or stained, but are worth adding to a collection. They take their rightful place among other more pristine-condition quilts one might collect or make. Old quilts show us where we’ve been.

The 1870s quilt above was purchased in New England but came with no provenance. It looks as though someone spilled bleach on it. In places the patches are totally missing. Nothing about the hand-quilted quilt is “straight, or “correct,” yet someone literally wore it out. Someone loved the quilt. I love what is left of it, especially because of its strong, graphic colors.
In another age, a quilt would be used, not hung on a wall to keep the wall warm. A quilt was just a part of living, common, utilitarian, and yes, sometimes, uninspiring. Today, to those just becoming interested in quilting, it is a big deal to make a first quilt. It’s like being a pioneer, or sailing in uncharted waters. It’s an adventure akin to saying, “Well, tomorrow, I think I’ll just head out on the wagon trail and maybe land in Oregon.” While it is an individual adventure, if you are making a first quilt, you are walking on a well-traveled path, already scouted out by many others before you.

Today, we see quilts that garner high sums of money, and quilts that are shown in international quilt venues and in catalogues geared to rich buyers. Alas, not all quilts are or were created equal. To compare the New England quilt, seen above, to any of those quilts … well, let’s just say that there is cialis drug test.

Why would anyone want to buy a ragged, falling-apart, old quilt? For me, I just love the whimsical way in which the quilter put the blocks together. I found the too-large quilting stitches to be charming, and perhaps the work of a beginner. Finally, I love the quilt for what it represents: the home, the hearth, the making of quilts to keep loved ones warm. This is a New England quilt, in its purest, most unadulterated form. Those who live in New Hampshire, part of the “Yankee” tribe, you know, are simple (not to be confused with simple-minded), and frugal. We subscribe to “the waste not, want not, theory of living.” For these reasons and more, I just had to show you this quilt.

A New Englander, born and bred. It’s in my bones.

Patricia Cummings

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Monday, October 29th, 2007

Road rooster

“Road Rooster” – a photo by James Cummings

The old joke goes, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
Answer: “To get to the other side.”

Well, being a farm girl at heart, I was quite pleased when a rooster walked out into the middle of the road to greet us, last week, when were visiting a small New Hampshire town. He had high hopes of being fed, and so did his buddies, that you see trailing behind.

There are always surprises in life, at every turn. This was one of them. The rooster eyed us, in what I interpreted to be a friendly manner. In contrast, I can’t help but recall the two Easter chicks that my sister brought home when I was little.

My parents were fit to be tied, as we lived in the city then. Sure enough, the “cute” chicks turned into these two fly-in-your-face, peck-you-at-every-chance, monsters. In fact, they were so annoying that when we, and they, were transplanted onto a farm in the country, my brother would take great delight in giving them their comeupance by tossing them high into the air, as high as he could. After that, they would behave themselves for awhile, mainly by avoiding humans.

Basically, I cialis drug test like fowl, except when they are foul. On the farm, I had a pair of little Bantam chickens, make that a chicken and a rooster. The hen was very discreet. She hid her 12 eggs in a hay bale, and I only discovered them hours before they hatched. It was such a neat thing to see her “babies” trailing behind her. Little fluff balls, they were. Six of the chicks were pure white, but not albino, just a genetic fluke. I won blue ribbons, for several of them, at the local agricultural fair, as 4-H project entries.

Chickens are fun. The rooster we saw in the road was well-behaved, that’s for sure. When he saw that we were not “Greeks, bearing gifts,” he buck-bucked a little bit, then turned and went back into his yard.

When Jim and I first lived in this old house, there was a chicken coop out back and we kept chickens. There was one problem. The rooster was cockadoodle-doing too much at about 4 a.m. and he was beginning to irritate us, and probably the neighbors, too. So, my sister-in-law, who was no stranger to killing chickens, took a hatchet to all of them, including the rooster, and that was the end of that saga. We kept some of them and she took the others to put in the freezer for the winter.

Now, if those poor chickens had known of their upcoming fate as Chicken Stew and Dumplings, I am more sure than sure that they would have crossed the road, too.

I hope you enjoyed seeing the roosters above. I thought and think they are beautiful creatures, and I always enjoy meeting mild-mannered critters, whether folk or fowl.

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, October 28th, 2007

When I was a girl … I wore pretty dresses, white ankle socks with lace, and black, patent leather shoes.

When I was a girl … I had to listen to the songs, “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To,” “Don’t Leave Your Chewing Gum on the Bedpost Overnight,” and Elvis’, “Blue Suede Shoes.”

When I was a girl … I played with dolls, built an igloo with my big brother, and I collected toads (yes, real ones).

When I was a girl … a Hershey chocolate bar cost a nickel, the idea of “a really good show” was the Ed Sullivan Show, and I used to skip school to watch, “I Love Lucy.”

When I was a girl … the boy sitting next to me in school drew unspeakable images of Superman flying through the air. Oops! The nun did not appreciate being reminded that there were such anatomically-correct parts as were noticeable in those drawings, and the poor lad’s creativity was stifled by the use of a ruler over the knuckles. Then, he’d do it again. Being noticed is far better than being ignored.

When I was a girl … my mother would braid my hair, so I could be just as pretty as Elizabeth, the doctor’s daughter. Mother would also give me smelly hair permanents, and cut my hair with a razor. It was something akin to torture. She always wanted to be a hairdresser and I was practice material.

When I was a girl … “gay” meant happy and I was “happy” to read the book, cialis drug test. If I remember correctly, I received an “A” on my book report.

When I was a girl … I once ate TWO hamburgers, much to the amazement of my parents, as I weighed all of 110 pounds, at the time. Between hot fudge sundaes and more hamburgers, I cannot claim that is anywhere near the present situation.

When I was a girl … people were more friendly. I’ve been trying to figure that out. I’ve come to the conclusion that the media keeps reminding us all of how evil everyone else is, and that “sexual predators” and child molesters might be living right in the neighborhood. It’s true, but that has always has been true. Crime is not a new invention. We’d all be happier to not be reminded. (Sorry, I just did!)

When I was a girl … I had every confidence that my dreams would come true. Except for the neighborhood boy throwing stones at me to knock me off my bicycle because my family was not of the same religious affiliation as his, I had a pretty peaceful existence. I’d lay in the clover and look up at the sky and imagine that all the shapes of clouds were various animals.

I’d borrow blankets from my mother and have her throw them over a metal clothesline in the backyard so I could play “house” inside, with my girl friend. When I was alone, I’d go to the stream down back, flanked by Skunk Cabbage, and watch the ripples in the water, and the little insects, and try to catch minnows with my hands.

Then, making my way up the hill, through the bushes, I’d run into the house and borrow a tin pie plate that the bakery truck had delivered, once full, with blueberry pie. I’d go back outside to collect choke cherries (poisonous before they are cooked, by the way), and I’d mix them with mud and call the concoction, “Mulligatawney Stew.”

In looking back at my childhood, I can see that it set the stage for my later life. I still love music, I still enjoy comedy, I still like my own company, and while I sometimes seek the company of others, I mostly like to think and that requires being alone and being quiet.

The 50s were great, odd, and crazy, and as goofy as the times in which we now live. Truth be known, what I really miss is the chocolate candy bar delight … for just a plug nickel.

Patricia Cummings

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Friday, October 26th, 2007

Part of the human experience is wondering why we are here. Some people like to fancy the notion that they are a reincarnated spirit who perhaps will reappear, in another age, as a cat or some other kind of living species. If that were true, I’d come back as a giraffe, as I am used to being tall.

covered bridge in NH
Beautiful Covered Bridge in NH speaks of “simpler times.”
photo by James Cummings

What Will You Be When You Grow Up?

Our values are instilled in us from an early age. What did I ask my grandson when he was six months old? I said, “What will you be when you grow up? a doctor, a lawyer, a bridge-builder? His eyes got wide and he giggled at the last option. Notice that grandma did not say – When you grow up will you be a ditch digger, a sewerage plant operator, or a hamburger flipper at a fast food restaurant. Inherently, there is nothing wrong with those jobs. Like anything, it takes hard work to do them well. It’s just that many of us, especially if we are educated ourselves, expect that our children will be professionals.

Professionalism

Now, why would anyone want to be a “professional” anything? Well, first of all, let’s consider the word “profession.” A profession is a chosen career path, and it is sometimes a life style. A professional is paid for his or her work (versus the definition of hobbyist). Some professionals are paid a lot for their work. To achieve that goal, a considerable amount of dedication to master a skill or a subject area is necessary, but the person also must be intent on making money and getting “ahead.”

Roles Better Defined Previously

In times past, people knew their place in society. Housewives stayed at home. The farmer was the farmer. The shopkeeper was the shopkeeper. The minister was the minister. The town’s poor lived at “the poor farm.” Often, people didn’t move from the town in which they were born. Their main point of socialization was local church activities, or an impromptu gathering at the country store. Everyone in town knew them, and they knew everyone.

These days, that is all changing. Now, Big Money moves in from out of state and builds mini-mansions, in the woods. The people who live in the fancy houses never enjoy them. In fact, they are hardly ever home. Instead, they are working, often south of New Hampshire, in Massachusetts, hustling for the buck to try to buy a few moments of tranquility.

Small Town Friendliness Still A Part of the Landscape

Today, we drove through a small town and I was taken back in time for a moment. I recalled when my family first moved to a small NH town, when I was eleven years old. The custom there was to stop whatever you were doing and wave to whomever was passing by in a car. Sometimes, it was a total stranger, but nonetheless, the person would wave back. Genuine country friendliness. Well, this afternoon, the two people we saw, as we drove along waved. One person was an old man; the other a teenager, giving me faith that this tradition continues in the smaller towns of New Hampshire.

Why Are We Here?

We are here to be pleasant. We are here to be helpful. We are here to forgive others. We are here to be human: to love, to hate, to laugh, to cry, to mourn, to resent, to regret, to be happy, to be kind, to give before we ask to “get.” We are here to live our lives as best we can, in the only manner we know how. We are here to set an example. We are here to share. We are here to be ALL that we are called to be. Why are we here? For the reasons just listed, and more.

Be well. Be happy. Be strong.

Goodness shall prevail.

Patricia Cummings

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Thursday, October 25th, 2007

Large Egyptian Tent Panel

10′ x 12′ Egyptian tent panel

A reader has sent us the photo seen above. Her description of it is as follows: “This tent panel is appliqud on four hand loomed cotton panels. The green has faded to gray.” One of her friends explained that the script is from the “Love Song of Omar Kyam,” and so this panel is probably one of many, cialis drug test panels that made up a celebratory marriage tent.

One of the reader’s questions is about how best to store such an item.

My Thoughts

First of all, thank you so much for sharing a photo of this wonderful item.

Storage of large, room-size items, such as this, becomes very difficult in a home situation. Ideally, the piece would best be stored flat, rather than rolled. Rolling squishes the innermost edge.

Depending on the strength of the fibers, the panel could be secured to hang vertically, using a “museum mount” method that stabilizes all four edges. In that method, usually a rectangular (or square) frame, made of wood, and treated with several coats of cialis drug test, and hook and grip tape, such as Velcro, are used. A professional framer could be of further assistance. The main problem in most homes would be finding wall space large enough to hang the mounted piece.

If I remember correctly, I’ve listed more details about framing and textile care, in general, in my (free-to-read) online book, Straight Talk About Quilt Care.

From your note, I could not tell whether you wish to sell this item or if you would like to donate it somewhere, as you mention that a museum might like it. In most museums, textiles barely ever see the light of day, except in a special exhibit from time to time. Textiles are labor intensive to maintain in good shape, and museums often do not have the time or paid, qualified staff who are able to devote a lot of work in that area.

If you can see fit to do so, please consider donating this panel to a university that has a teaching program for textiles. Off the top of my head, I can think of at least four such universities who maintain extensive textile collections, teach students how to preserve, clean, and properly handle textiles, and which also share textile holdings online in databases that the general public can enjoy. I would be happy to provide specific recommendations.

I am responding to this query, in a public manner, so that more people can benefit from 1) viewing this terrific textile, and 2) hearing my advice.

Should anyone have any comment, please click on the comments button below. Please keep in mind that all comments are monitored to keep out the nut cases, but serious, well-thought ideas are always welcome here.

Patricia Cummings

Contact me personally at:

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Thursday, October 25th, 2007

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Thanks to the generosity and vision of Toronto collectors Alvin and Gloria Rosenberg, the University of Alberta has been gifted with a breathtaking assortment of 677 North American quilts worth almost half a million dollars.

The Rosenberg Quilt Collection is a vibrant, world class addition to the University of Alberta’s existing Clothing and Textiles Colleciton, the only university teaching collection in Canada. “The breadth and depth of the Rosenberg collection ensures that the art of quilting not only pays heed to the artisans of the past, but extends to future generations,” said Beverly Lemire, Henry Marshall Tory Chair in Human Ecology at the University of Alberta.

Some of these exquisite quilts are on display at the McMullen Gallery in the University of Alberta Hospital from October 26 to December 9, 2007. Some of the collection will also be exhibited in the main foyer of the Human Ecology Building on the University of Alberta campus during this time.

Crafted from materials as diverse as homespun wool, men’s suits and flour sacks, these patchwork wonders span more than 100 years; the oldest quilt is believed to date to about 1840. Mrs. Rosenberg, a Toronto based dealer for many years, began collecting quilts in 1958 and purchased her last one in 1990. Gathered from the United States and Canada, the varied collection reflects a kaleidoscope of pattern and form; from Victorian silk ‘crazy’ quilts to subdued, work-a-day versions handcrafted by Amish and Mennonite women.

The Rosenbergs chose to donate their extensive collection to the University of Alberta for the valuable use it will have in a teaching environment. “A quilt can fill many needs. It can provide warmth and comfort. It can satisfy the desire for beauty. A quilt creates an opportunity for social interaction, and the university can help ensure that through its classroom programs, the legacy of this beautiful and functional art form is preserved,” said Mrs. Rosenberg.

The one-of-a-kind collection will be used as a teaching tool of U of A students, but will also be open to the public and to other academics as a resource for research and inspiration.

The University of Alberta Clothing and Textiles Collection, located in the Department of Human Ecology in the Faculty of Agriculture, Forestry and Home Economics, houses more than 16,000 textiles, garments, and related artifacts. The collection spans 250 years of fashions for women, men, and children as well as artifacts such as looms, spindles, and clothing patterns.

The University of Alberta in Edmonton is one of the top 100 teaching and research universities in the world, serving some 36,000 students with more than 11,000 faculty and staff. Founded almost a century ago, the university has an annual budget in excess of $1 billion and attracts more than $480 million in external research funding. It offers close to 400 undergraduate and graduate programs in 18 faculties.

For more information contact:

Beverly Lemire
Professor and Henry Marshall Tory Chair
Department of History & Classics
Department of Human Ecology
780-492-3327

Julia Petrov
Exhibitions Coordinator
University of Alberta
Department of Human Ecology
780-492-2528

This information provided courtesy of Quilter’s Muse Publications.

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Wednesday, October 24th, 2007

Covered Bridges fascinate us! Many of them were built at the turn of the century. They served to keep the wooden bridges themselves from rotting away due to exposure to the elements. New Hampshire has some particularly nice old bridges of this type. We added an article about a few of them, to our website, this week.

Just now, I discovered a really nice vocal mp3 file about the covered bridges of New Brunswick, Canada, where we spent our October vacation last year. I thought you might enjoy hearing the song, too. If so, . Then, select “The Place That I Call Home.”

Pat

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Wednesday, October 24th, 2007

Whenever I hear from Pedro Oliveros, who lives in Peru, it is a special day. He has an uncanny knack of contacting me just when I need a pick up from the floor. I savor his words of wisdom. I have publish some of his works on my website, and I am sure that he would not mind my sharing his letter of this evening with you.

Gracias, Pedro, por ser un amigo especial. ~ Pat ~

Pat,

How are you? I suppose busy, as always.

Time really flies. This year is almost gone from our hands, like water, like air; and we are unable to stop it. Who could stop it?

Once, I saw a movie (of the James Bond’s era) in which the villainous character does not sleep. Instead, he wore a “dream machine.” So, in a very short period of time, he could rest and recover energy. His principal reason was “not to waste time”.

I know it is fiction, but I think that man, if he could, would invent something like that, in order to avoid the inexorable pass of the “silent tyrant,” whose mission is to be the watchman of the road which leads to Immortality. It is the cialis drug test (or cialis drug test herald who makes us remember that life is short and both our life and our works will really end some day, and we absolutely can do anything to avoid it.

So, we have to live, putting all our cialis drug testcialis drug testinto whatever we do.

Good thoughts. Thanks so much for sharing them, Pedro.

Patricia

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Sunday, October 21st, 2007

Photos are probably most meaningful when they introduce someone to us, to whom we are related, but whom we have never met. While I never had the chance to know any of my grandparents, I am lucky to have photos of everyone except my mother’s father. For some reason, he doesn’t appear in any known photo. Perhaps I should check with other family members.

Below are photos of my father’s mother and father.

Grandmother

My father’s mother, according to family oral history, once worked as a pastry chef in the White House.

John A. Grace

My grandfather, a descendant of Irish immigrants, was a trolley car driver in Manchester, NH.

My grandmother, standing next to her mother. My father is standing in the foreground. In all, Grammy would have seven children.

The picture above is one of only two images I have of my paternal great-grandmother.

Time moves along faster than we can ever imagine. Many of us who are “baby boomers” are grandmothers already! It’s fun to experience the joy of seeing a grandchild growing, at the touch of a button that connects me to photos, like the one below, and which I conveniently “lift” to show you. Just shoot me!
Patrick

Our grandson, Patrick, amid the pumpkins at Schartner’s Farm. Eventually, he ended up with a Patrick-size pumpkin!

The challenge in the future will be how to store digital images so that they don’t get corrupted or lost, over time. Luckily, I hear that there are new archival “gold” discs for saving photos. They are most costly, but are said to store information for 100 years. That could be worth investigating, not that I plan to still be here then!

Patricia Cummings

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Friday, October 19th, 2007

The most intriguing photos in the family album represent people whom I have never met. Just a few of these images exist but are precious to me. They show just a glimpse of my mother’s grandparents, her uncle and his wife, and a few cousins, one of whom can be seen in a posed photo because he was a professional boxer.

Eddie Moad
Eddie Moad, my mother’s cousin.

All of those people were left behind when my mother, her siblings, and her parents left the poverty of Georgia and migrated north to Manchester, New Hampshire, in search of work in the mills.

my great grandfather

My mother’s grandfather is seen here holding his son’s son, in Georgia. My great grandfather stayed behind when some of the family came to New Hampshire, and he later died in Tampa, Florida.

I am fond of the photo above because I remember the love my mother was given throughout her life, by her grandfather. He was crushed when the family moved north, yet felt too old to make any geographical changes. I wondered why he always wrote notes to my mother, in pencil. Just recently, my son remembered being told by his grandmother that her grandfather’s brother had worked at the National Pencil factory in Atlanta!

Her grandfather always called my mother “weency scrap” – that is how he wrote the words, in the short letters he mailed, scrawled on scrap paper. Later, my mother’s uncle would pick up the habit of addressing her in this manner, but by then she had children, so he would add … “and all the little weensey scraps.”

Another photo which I think is just “grand” is that of my mother’s grandmother.

This photo was obviously black and white, and was later touched up with color. I think she is beautiful.

my mother's grandfather
My mother’s grandfather, when he was younger. Now I know where my brother’s red hair and blue eyes originated!

Without these images, I would have no clue whatsoever as to what my ancestors looked like. Photos can say so much more than words. Photo images tell it all. They capture “the moments of our lives.”
grandson and his mom - 10-07

Rebecca Gorham and her son, Patrick, enjoy some fun at the seashore. photo by James Gorham. The two photos above are five generations removed from Patrick.

Just last year, at this time, we were expecting a new member of the family. Now, our grandson, Patrick, has stolen our hearts and is a healthy, growing boy, with bright blue eyes and a happy smile.

Yes, for those who were “there,” photos recall an event. For others, they are a chance to share the moment.

Patricia Cummings

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Tuesday, October 16th, 2007

I am always so happy to hear the good news that yet another soldier has returned safely from Iraq. Charlotte Croft, our faithful Vermont correspondent, has put Flat Stanley up to writing to us to say that her nephew, Doug Croft, has returned from serving with the 131st Eng. Co. and a unit from Arkansas. He was deployed for a year.

Doug Croft

Doug Croft, holding some Iraqi money and his new “friend,” Flat Stanley. His camouflage uniform hangs on the wall behind him. Welcome home, Doug!!!

Pat and Jim Cummings

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Tuesday, October 16th, 2007

I never know what will show up in my mailbox, or who. Today, I received two photos of Flat Stanley. Now, who is he and how did he become such an internet globetrotter? Well, first of all, let me show you the photos so that we have a common point of reference.

Flat Stanley in the Woodpile

Above, you see a photo image taken by Charlotte Croft of Vermont. The little man in the woodpile is, of course, “Flat Stanley.”

According to , Flat Stanley is based on the main character that appears in a series of books for children, written in 1964, by Jeff Brown (1925-2003). Stanley Lambchop becomes flattened after a bulletin board falls on him, and then he has to adjust to his “disability.” There is a complete description of the character at the above site. Here is another image:

Flat Stanley at Dinner

Here he is, ready to have a full course meal at E. Bethel Grange in Vermont.

Charlotte Croft first heard about Stanley from a friend who moved to Anchorage, Alaska. The friend’s niece teaches third grade and had sent Stanley to visit her aunt. When Charlotte expressed an interest in “hosting” Flat Stanley, he arrived in the mail.

Thanks Charlotte for these delightful photos and yet another point of cultural/educational/inspirational information that you are always sharing. What fun!

Best,

Pat Cummings

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Monday, October 15th, 2007

The ladies of Massachusetts have totally outdone themselves this time. Participating museums of Essex County loaned their early quilts for a special two day (only) display, curated by Stephanie Hatch and Susan Stowe. I was pleased and surprised to see my friends, Stella Blunt and Anne Barney, serving as volunteers. Stella embroidered a lovely miniature doll bed quilt that was hanging in the shop as an example for a new pattern based on an old quilt. Pattern directions were written by Susan Stowe.

A steady stream of people visited the exhibit, on both days, I was told. The focal point was one large room filled with old quilts layered on top of each other on every available large table. Each quilt seems to have a story, or a mystery that has been solved as to who made it, or who produced the fabrics. I was very surprised to see an early English “monochrome” in red and beige. As explained by Stephanie Hatch, this was not a French toile, but an English copperplate print.

Unusual quilts were the order of the day. The Crazy Quilt that featured the Lord’s Prayer, a word or a few words at a time had a little of everything, including theorem painting, a photo transfer of a girl or woman whom I’ve seen in at least one other crazy quilt, and lots of surface embroidery.

A felt “Flag” quilt composed of premiums for buying cigars, features country names no longer in existence, or names that would be misspelled by our standards today, such as “Corea” for “Korea.” This was unusual as it had one felt square that says, “Confederate States.”
The unique features of many of the old standbys such as the block “Hickory and Reel” that was pieced, rather than appliqud made by an interesting second look.

My mind is swimming with thoughts of all of the many wonderful quilts I saw today. I wish you could have been there. I also wish that the museums would collaborate to create a print publication so that those who are not within traveling distance could enjoy these treasures, too.

The Wenham Museum hosted this special quilt event. They have a lovely gift shop, and an attached building that previously served as the actual living quarters for the couple who built it when our nation was young.

I particularly enjoyed the two bedrooms upstairs that had quilted petticoats on display, a Civil War soldier’s sewing pouch, a gorgeous wholecloth, yellow, silk quilt that was finely hand-quilted, and, a bed rugg, one of a handful in existence, according to the docent. Bed ruggs are made of wool, worked over a base of linsey-woolsey, and this particular one was indigo blue and white.

The museum’s collection of early doll quilts is beyond superb. Their gift shop offers many patterns for pieced and embroidered quilts of that kind.

One could spend all day at this museum, even if no special quilt display was in place. I did not even go downstairs where there is a major collection of trains and other things.

Sadly, I can offer you no visuals, just the consolation of saying, “Wish you’d been able to see this exhibit.” I am very thankful to museums who take the time to share with the public. I feel that it builds goodwill and a willingness by more people to support institutions that care for worldly goods. Jim and I love museums and visit them as often as possible. Today, I enjoyed the chance to chat with some friendly folks. If there is a museum near you, why not drop by soon?

Patricia Cummings

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Sunday, October 14th, 2007

In this year’s show, the Cocheco Guild Quilters outdid themselves, as usual. Some of the entries could delay a person a very long time, in order to sufficiently admire all of the features. We liked many of the quilts in the show, but when all was said and done, Jim and I most enjoyed the cialis drug test made by Nancy Henry. She won a blue ribbon for her efforts, but let us join in by saying “Congratulations, Nancy!”

Nancy Henry's award-winning chuppah

Nancy Henry’s award-winning “cialis drug test.” See the label for the quilt below.

Label for chuppah

Thanks to all who participated in the show. Looks as though great individual effort AND teamwork have again paid off.

Patricia Cummings
October 13, 2007

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Friday, October 12th, 2007

In Vermont and New Hampshire, we take our pumpkins seriously. I had to smile when a photo arrived in my mailbox tonight from my friend, Charlotte Croft, our volunteer roving photographer in Vermont.

Pumpkin Totem in Woodstock, VT

“Pumpkin Totem” in Woodstock, VT

On her way home today, Charlotte Croft spotted the pumpkin totem seen above. What a clever way to celebrate autumn!

Previously, she had sent the next photo that shows pumpkins on display at a local fair.

pumpkins at fair in VT

Pumpkins at a Fair in Vermont

The more industrious women of New England make their own pumpkin pie filling from … pumpkins! I have only sampled this sweet treat made in this manner, only once. I usually resort to opening a can of pumpkin to make a pie.

Good Memories

Just seeing pumpkins makes me smile because I remember how much my own son loved Halloween and all that went with it. He would get pretty elaborate and even recorded some “scary” music using a keyboard synthesizer. He carved “jack o’ lanterns,” and put together a stuffed man, using old clothes, one year. The fall seemed to be his favorite time of year, as well as ours.

Autumn in New England

There really is nothing like the autumn in New England. This week, we have posted more photos of foliage on this blog and on our main website. Cider is being made at the orchards, and the last of crops are being harvested. The smell of wood smoke is again in the air. At this time of year, our thoughts turn “to batting down the hatches.”

Just today, Jim made a wonderful Borsch soup, using just a portion of a gigantic beet he pulled from our garden, plus other vegetables, such as parsnips and carrots, from the same source. It was very tasty with its homemade chicken broth base. I hope he will share his recipe with you.

Technically, we are on vacation, but since we love home more than anywhere else on earth, we are here, doing the work we enjoy the most. There is no place like home.

Thank you, Charlotte. We really enjoy your photos.

Pat and Jim