svenskaflicka1

i remember my grandma on the farm making rugs on a huge floor loom she had brought from sweden. i would sit under it (i was about two or three) and watch the shuttle fly, and be awed by the patterns forming. i remember sitting under the big suspended quilting frame at the "missionary meeting" every week or so, with my friend esther, watching the needles coming through the quilt, while our moms and the ladies talked about churchy stuff. (i have a photo of one of the missionaries, angie, in africa, showing off her quilt. it became "her door" on her hut, and allowed her just a bit of privacy, out in the bush.) i remember the treadle machine on the farm, too--and my grandma making that thing just fly. and recently, while cleaning out my dad's basement, i found the old farm quilting frame that used to hang from the parlor ceiling when grandma amalia would tie one of her big, thick wool batt quilts. the quilts, too, now live at my house, and i still love them. i blame her, in particular, for my loving quilts so much...