“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”  Colossians 3:23-24 NIV

The first rustic wedding I ever attended was my cousin’s oldest daughter’s. It was lovely. I stole the idea of using hay bales for seating from her, with her blessing. I’ve been on the hunt for quilts the last couple of weeks to lay over the hay bales and I’ve found enough, I think. I was rummaging around in some tubs and found some quilts I’d forgotten I even had. This one has a story. 

There was once a time in my life when I was downright agoraphobic. I could go to work and I could go shopping, with some discomfort. But to go “out”…to stretch my boundaries and go someplace alone was way too much for me. I would be sick for three days before I traveled anywhere just fretting about it. I’m not sure why or how I got that way but it took quite a while to get over it. 

I started by taking off by myself in WV when I went home in the summers for a visit. I knew WV. I was comfortable there. One summer, my older daughter was visiting her father in Kentucky and Hubby #2 was in medical school. I had saved up all year to go see my family and while I was there, I went on a little three day road trip. I was driving in the southern part of the state when I saw a sign for Hinton, WV. There was a railroad museum and a few antique stores so I took the exit and meandered on the backroads of WV till I found myself in a dusty little town on the banks of the New River. Most of downtown Hinton was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1984. It reached its peak population in 1930 with 6,654, according to the census. The population has steadily dwindled over the years till the year 2016 recorded 2,469 living souls inhabiting this bucolic little burg. 

I stopped at the only shop open that rainy summer afternoon. The old railroad station was a thrift and antique store. My collecting passion at that time was quilts and there was a lovely wedding ring baby quilt hanging on the wall. It was done in soft pastels and the stitching was really rough. But something about it spoke to me. It had a little hand-printed tag with a woman’s name and the price. I can’t remember now how much I paid for it but I’d be surprised if it was over fifty dollars, given that Hubby #2 was in medical school and money was scarce. 

I asked the sales clerk if she could take down the quilt so I could get a closer look. What I thought was just “rough” quilting looked more like a young child had done it. I nearly told the clerk to put it back but that quilt kept speaking to me. I asked her if she knew the woman whose name was on the tag. Was she the quilter?

“Oh, that would be Miss Nellie,” she said. “She’s an old, black woman that lives in a cabin back up the holler yonder.” She pointed in a general direction off somewhere to the south. “She’s blind, don’t you know!”

“Really? And she made this quilt?” I asked. I ran my fingers over the rough stitches, the pieces all puckered. “How does she do that?”

“Well, her granddaughter cuts the pattern and sets the pieces out on the dining room table. Then Miss Nellie sews them by hand, one by one, feeling for the next shape to fit in. She’s been quilting all her life so it’s her fingers that ‘see’ the work,” the clerk explained. 

It was such a piece of American Folk Art, I had to have it. That quilt hung over our bed for a very long time. Over the years, it’s been toted and packed and moved and somehow it got wet. There are stains I can’t remove, but that just seems to add to its charm. This will be one of the quilts that graces a seat at our wedding on Saturday. I’ll picture Miss Nellie in her best Sunday-go-Meetin’ dress, her cracked patent leather handbag resting on her lap…a hanky clasped in one hand. I’m sure weddings made her cry. She is surely long gone now. She was ninety one when she made this quilt. 

They are delivering the tent today. Our longtime friends, Dianne and Bobby are coming over to help us decorate. The hay will be under cover for the hard rain we are expecting tomorrow. My final fitting for my dress is this afternoon. I am meeting a friend for coffee and a little visit first. She has some quilts for me to use. 

The grandkids were over yesterday and while I worked inside and visited with our granddaughter and great granddaughter, her husband was out with Mr. FixIt moving the woodpile that refused to burn. They hauled it down to the end of the field along the fence line in the woods near the old apple tree. They loaded the trailer up with more junk to take to the scrap yard today. They cut down trees around the building and piled the second brush pile a little more compactly and set it ablaze. It’s almost gone now. We had burgers and sat out by the pool as the sunset cast shades from hot pink to salmon to yellow-gold in the sky above us. A day well-worked is a day well-lived. 

The place looks SO much better. I told Mr. FixIt there comes a point when he has to say enough is enough. And you know what? It’s going to rain tomorrow so God is going to force him inside to take a day of rest before things get exciting Friday! Wednesday-Thursday-Friday….

SATURDAY!!! 

It’s almost here!!! ❤️