The Quilters

Meet Nancy, Debbie, Jan, Bonnie, Sheri, Carol, and Jill in abstentia. Here, they are doing something they call "turkey necks." I'm not entirely sure what this means, but it has something to do with ameliorating the natural acquisition of double and triple chins as the years pass. These ladies call themselves the Cross County Quilters, and for one Friday night each month for as long as I can remember, these seven women have gotten together at one another's homes and shared new patterns and recipes, swapped stories of the trials and tribulations of raising children, offered support during times of scary health diagnoses, family deaths, and broken marriages, and most importantly, celebrated friendship. My dad always says with all the gabbing, they never get much quilting done.

My mother Sheri founded the group over twenty-five years ago, and a few women have drifted in and out in the intervening years. One died of ovarian cancer; one got too busy with her family's activities to come any longer, and one is about to marry for the second time and move to another state. My three best childhood girlfriends (more like sisters, really) are daughters of two of the quilters. And although the premise of the group is to quilt, sew, and create (and several wedding and graduation quilts, as well as bridesmaids dresses HAVE been made ...), I can't help but liken the social companionship of these modern-day quilters to the pioneer women of many decades ago. In those days, day-long quilting bees served as rare opportunities for women to gather, celebrate, and rejoice in each other's company. It's really no different from today --- women surviving together through breast cancer, untimely deaths of children and spouses, husbands walking out on marriages, planning their daughters' weddings, burying their parents, and raising children and grandchildren. And through all that life throws at them, they continue to meet one Friday night a month excited to share a new knitting trick, a fabric sale, or the latest advances in digital sewing machines. I've told my mother on numerous occasions that a book could be written about these women ... and who knows? Perhaps someday one will.