This cross stitch quilt is spectacular and it only took five decades to complete.

The quilt is made by making millions of tiny cross stitchings that I started sometime in my 20s and continued into my 30s. All the while there was home, children, work and gardening, weaving and spinning, macrame, sewing and crochet. There were births, helping with school projects and homework and driving to soccer and baseball games, picnics and family reunions. And then there was moving… from Portland, to Estacada, to Lacey, to Whibey Island, to Washogal and Home Valley, then back into Portland.

But all along, the quilt stayed with me, patiently waiting. The children grew and moved away. Finally, in my 40s and 50s, I started the hand quilting but then I started to knit, as well. Then there was the divorce and new relationships. There was years of University and moving to Florida and California. And the beginning of my career. Once again, the quilt was all but forgotten. But I kept it, and it lay dormant, waiting.

Once, I accidentally tipped a cup of tea off the table into the basket sitting beside my chair, soaking into parts of the quilt. That’s when I almost gave up on it. I thought it was forever ruined. I couldn’t wash it because the pattern was not indelible. The ink would wash out leaving me without a guide. But I couldn’t destroy it or even give it away. So, I put it away while getting my BA and my MA and even started and finished my career.

Finally, in my late 60s, I picked up some quilting hoops and worked on the quilting some more. I set up the hoop stand in the living room where I looked at it every day. The quilting thread and needles beside it and I spent some brief hours working on it. But I somehow knew that sewing tiny running stitches to cover the entire queen sized quilt would never be done. It was discouraging. It was so beautiful, I just couldn’t give up on it.

I was now in my my 70s. I had worked on it and carried it everywhere with me for five decades and I was in danger of never finishing it. It didn’t help that I was developing arthritis in my hands. In the end, would it remain unfinished? The thought saddened me.

Luck was with me, however. Crafting podcasts and vlogs became a thing. I watched them constantly while I knitted. I had my favorites but once, by the recommendation of other crafters, I came across a woman who lived on the English border with Scotland. Her blog, Kate of the Last Homely House, a reference to Tolkien’s, “The Hobbit”, became a favorite of mine. Anyone who loves Tolkien is a friend of mine.

After her mom passed away, Kate was left with boxes of unfinished patchwork quilts that only needed the quilting to be done. It was then that she mentioned Kat, a long arm quilter, who lives in Scotland, who she would employ to quilt her mother’s quilts. What is this, she says? Could I find someone near me to finish mine? I had no idea. I had no clue as to what a long arm quilter was.

It took only a simple Google search to find a few long arm quilters in my area. I called one of them and made an appointment for the very next day. I packed up my tea stained quilt (the stain had faded over the years) and entered the world of long arm quilting. The machine is huge and nearly filled the entire workshop. It’s connected to a computer whose software programs a multitude of designs to choose from. I showed my soon to be savior my “art piece”, chose a design and I said, “f***k it”, when I accepted the $300 quote with ease. In two weeks, voila!, I had my beautiful finished quilt in hand.

But wait! It still wasn’t finished. A quilt consists of three layers. The top, the batting, or the fill, and the backing. The four raw edges of these layers need to be bound. Would the quilt now languish once again? No. Not this time. I was inspired by already having paid for the quilting and its beauty.

Some months ago, I bought the fabric for the binding, I made the binding, machine stitched the binding to the front, then, I finished it by handsewing the binding to the back.

I washed it in the clawfoot bathtub, hung it to dry and here it is in all it’s glory. The stain is still visible if you really look for it but that doesn’t bother me at all. As an archivist, I see every part of this quilt as evidence of its journey to the present. I wouldn’t change a thing.

The only problem is, now that it’s finished, what shall I do with it? I can’t leave it on the bed because the dog sleeps with me and she’s got dagger claws. It wouldn’t take long for it to be ruined.

Shall I just fold it up and display it on the end of the bed or should I figure out which wall I could hang it on?

Besides that dilemma, I am really over the moon, and all the stars, that it’s finished. For now, it hangs out on my foot stool where I can enjoy it all day long, every day. It’s already almost an heirloom.