Coming out of storage; in a blanket box kept in neighbor's barn since 1996; this is what is coming to me. Sniffed and soaked; washed and dried; ironed and loved; it is mine. Some feedsacks date from the days of WWII when my mother was headlong in love with her soldier boy. Some are mysteries from country auctions that my Mother bid on that nobody else wanted; some scraps are from my highschool clothes I sewed; my sisters' 4-H projects, and more...
Authentic feedsacks held cracked corn for my Grandmother's (Willi Beatrice Bell) chickens in Watson Chapel, Arkansas
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Evidence of Fussy-cut Hexagons from those feedsacks; it took 4 feedsacks to make a lady' dress.
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Unknown: unfinished child's dress transforms into quilting scraps
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Little bundles, tied for posterity, coming now to me.
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