Chasing Lightning Bugs Studio Blog

 last week a man came to the studio, with a bag of fabrics that had belonged to his mother.  his mother was born in 1890, and she died almost 35 years ago.  she was a seamstress and a quilter.  he told me that when she was young she would stay with a farm family for a week and during that time, outfit the entire family with their wardrobe for the year.  and then move on to the next family, clothing their children as she had the last family's.  i loved that story. it seems to represent community in a profound way.   and he was presenting me with her fabric.  fabric that had outlived her. some little scraps were neatly folded in tiny bundles and tied with a strip of the same fabric.  lovingly.  she loved her fabric.  and now i love it.  yardage of perfect florals that i can imagine my own grandmother using to fashion a dress or an apron.  i feel very fortunate as the buzz of the studio is swift and strong now.  the quilts pumping through my hands.  and i love it.  the constant rush of the fabrics in my hands and my eye watching all the colors and dreamy little patterns spill into quilts. 

                                
i just came inside.  i've been out on the porch while ezra was sniffing around the yard in the dark.  there is a lick of cool to the air tonight that wasn't there last night.  or the night before.  this week the summer night sounds seemed to shriek. as if the creatures doing the singing know their show is almost over. and the heat is almost gone.