When this you see, remember me.

This quilt was hand-made in the late 19th or very early 20th century. Tiny scraps of colorful cottons are sprinkled over the once-white background. I imagine the maker, a woman, a surrounded by her sewing basket and a collection of fabrics saved and ready. Perhaps she sits in a great-room by a fire. She lifts each piece of cotton, turning it over and over; some are selected, others are saved for another day another quilt.

She cut the selected fabric scraps into little half-square triangles of red and blue and black. Small prints on cotton. Checks and plaids. Each little triangle is sewn by hand and it is quilted with hand stitches. If you look closely, you can see the stitches that were made with pride to keep a family warm and safe.

This quilted was was made to last.

Now here and there the dyes have run onto the white background. And in several spots the print has fallen out of or escaped from the fabric leaving only a trace, a memory of what came before. But I am not bothered by these signs of age and loving use.

This quilt wears its age with grace.

And yes, we do remember.