that ratty old quilt pt 4

I harken back now to my Mother’s small, sad voice as she spoke of her orphan status, and fervently wish that I had started my research while she was still alive. What a wonderful thing it would have been to give her not only cousins in six states but also a look at who her people had been and still are. I could have given her a family of more than the Osburn, Nott, and Smith names she knew, adding Belcher, Bennett, Blevins, Collins, Hill, LeMaster, Lyons, Powers, Remy, and Tackett to her list of ancestors. We could have talked about four of them in particular, and their service to our young country. We could have marveled over the stories of the things they packed and discarded along the way as they drove their wagons ever westward into newly-opened territories. We could have read the story of one brave explorer who, with his Abenaki wife, helped settle Springfield, Vermont. And perhaps we could have talked about this quilt, this wonderful representation of her history, given to my mother on the occasion of her marriage in 1932, embroidered with names of people I was never fortunate enough to know. If only, if only, if only. Thankfully, horse-drawn wagons, wood stoves, and sleeping several children to a bed have quite gone out of fashion. Regretfully so, too, quilting parties and the tradition of presenting a quilt to a new bride. The tradition of a family Bible also seems to have died in this day of quick-buy-new-throw-away-before-it-becomes-old. I almost understand this one, however, because maintaining such a record proves both a blessing and a curse in that the genealogy pages can be a wonderful source of information, but the space available for recording such information is limited. And, unfortunately, there can be only one inheritor of the family treasure. But I have found a way around that. In 2010 I revived the tradition of a Family Bible, but with a new spin. Under my Christmas tree were six small boxes, one for each of my grandchildren. Each box contained a brand new Bible. In the center of each Bible was a plastic sleeve; in it a compact disk. On the disk is a file that reaches back through time and space and presents a comprehensive list of ancestral names, relevant dates, and notes about their lives. My gift for the grandchildren’s future is our past, preserved in a lovingly recorded history of thirteen generations of family on one side and twelve generations on the other. And all because of Wonderful Granddaughter, her astute comment, and that ratty old quilt.