A grim-looking morning, fiercely windy, gave way by noon to something like summer. Miraculous, hot, windows open, lemonade. I slouched on a patio chair in the filtered sun as the hens puttered around digging their dustbaths and scratching through the debris left behind by months of snow. Some of the hens are getting broody, spring-feverish, I guess. I found three of them all trying to sit on the same single egg, piled on top of each other in the nest box, panting. PIcking them up, plopping them in the garden—it’s a nice day, get outside and play!—they sighed, bupped at me a little, conceded the egg. I read The Goldfinch, which kept making me want to paint something golden and glowing. I put laundry on the clothesline, which whipped dry in about four minutes, and I made this quilt for the little girl next door who is having a baby now, unbelievable, she was pedaling around in a plastic car shaped like a turtle when they moved in over there, a long time ago. She’s six feet tall now, and married. A gorgeous, red-haired girl. Time is flying.
This is 36” x 48”, a crib-sized, blankie-sized, quilt. The squares are 4”, finished. I machine-quilted it, and a few rows in I remembered how much I don’t like machine quilting, and wished I had done it by hand. All four mitered corners are, dare I admit this, perfect! First time ever. I am learning! I washed it, and tumbled it in the dryer, to give it a rumply, comfy softness. There is so much satisfaction in a little quilt like this, done in a day, made of scraps. I hope the baby loves it to pieces. I hope he drags it around behind him, sucking on one ratty corner, until they finally one day have to take it away from him because it’s gotten too disgusting. The quilter’s wish. Let it get loved all the way up.