We are Bed & Breakfast travelers sometimes. When we leave home, we like adventure. B&Bs provide a unique experience every time. And, in thirty years of enjoying this, I can’t think of one that didn’t prove to be positive. Of course, there was the one where we stopped and looked around, but choose not to stay the night because it seemed spooky to Jim.
We’ve stayed in one inn, the York House, so many times that we know more of its history than the most recent owners. Others we’ve visited a few times, many only one time. In Asheville, we stayed in a former insane asylum, in Pigeon Forge, we stayed in Patricia Neal’s favorite home-away-from-home, and in Waynesville, we were given a free upgrade to the Tasha Tudor room when I recognized some of her work framed on the wall.
Though all are one of a kind, our experiences have revealed some similarities. Included in this list are quaint decor, privacy, friendly service, and a sense of getting away from it all. Rarely are there noisy residents (though we did share a B&B one time with a wedding party who was a bit raucous after the rehearsal dinner), phones ringing, televisions blaring.
We’ve stayed in B&Bs in the mountains, at the beach, in warm weather and cold (oh, my goodness was it cold once in Charleston – and our room was at the back of a long addition to an antebellum cottage. We thought the heat must have been distributed from the front to the back). We’ve enjoyed them in small, medium, and large cities, and in out-of-the-way places that made us wonder how guests ever found them often enough to keep them in business.
Breakfast is always provided. Sometimes its’s on a silver tray delivered to the room at the designated time with coffee and fresh baked pastries. Other times, breakfast is served in a large dining room with family style seating with other guests. My journals have pages of descriptions of conversations with fellow travelers. Names usually escape me, but some of their adventures I remember. The couple who rode Segways around an art village, the potter whose mugs hold our coffee twenty-something years later, the Florida couple looking for mountain real estate in North Carolina, and the innkeeper asking if we met the resident ghost during the night come to mind.
I suspect some of those people remember me as the lady who takes a sewing basket wherever she goes.
B&Bs are often in old houses with creaky floors, clawfoot tubs, temperamental water faucets, and steep stairs. In our most recent B&B abode, we actually stayed in a cottage property which had a kitchen of sorts. The stove and refrigerator were minimal in size, and even the sloped roof seemed designed for small people.
The tiny desk tucked in a corner made us think of all the creativity that had come from such quaint attic spaces. Jim commented on the quaintness at the same time that he said he would go insane ducking his head all the time. My reply was that many creative people did just that – went insane.
The make-do decor in B&B’s is always interesting. Many time inn owners have clearly been decorating on a budget, saving the big bucks for luxurious towels, fine soaps, and good food. This kitchen faucet intrigued us. Perhaps repurposed, it extended past the perimeter of the sink in most positions. Fun and funny to us!
Photos: The blue tumbling block quilt measures 26″ square. I was working on it while visiting Waynesville, NC, in 2005. It is hand pieced and free-motion machine quilted. Here I am seen stitching the binding. But the blocks are hand pieced, and that is a great sewing project for travel.
The white house with blue star is the fabric interpretation of a cottage in Mt. Dora, Fl. That block is part of Fifty-Two Wednesdays, still in progress.
Sarah Beth, Sarah Bob, Sarah Frances. Margaret Ann, Lou Emmelyn, Mary Frances; all are common names in the South. And with women, both halves of the double names are used on a daily basis. Shortened forms of Mary Elizabeths I’ve known were Lilly Bet, Mae Liz, and the ever popular Mary Beth. To get the right perspective here, you should read the list aloud, slowly. Very slowly. Put a little twang in there. Now you’ve got it.
es of popularity. In one generation, almost all the Sadies have died out. Then there is a rash of little Sadies running around. I think that particular name is beautiful, because it is beautiful, and the Sadie (actually in her generation it was Sadie Belle) in my life was a beautiful person. She is the woman pictured at the top of this post. There was a beautiful Cleo in my life, too. But I’m not hoping to see that name resurrected. The same goes for Ena Belle, Maudie Lee, and Mary Etta. Those don’t roll trippingly off the tongue.
In the South, if a woman doesn’t have a double name already, we make it so by adding Miss or Aunt. Miss Lily, Miss Emily, Aunt Gladys (though no kinship exists) were big in my life. And then I became Miss Sandy.
Miz Sadie Turns 80 was made for my mother-in-law in 2004. The blocks are the traditional Ohio Star blocks, finished at 9”. Sashing is 1” wide (beginning my insistence that narrow sashing separates, but doesn’t overwhelm the blocks). The overall quilt measures 63” square. It is pictured here hanging at the Georgia National Fair in 2004, one of the first quilt competitions I entered. It won a blue ribbon, and Miz Sadie was so pleased that she asked if she could have the ribbon, too. The quilt hung in her home with ribbon attached, as long as she lived there.
The label is a 
I’ve written before about how stitching soothes my soul. That happens when I’m in front of the tv and multitasking, when I’m visiting with family and friends and my hands are busy, or sometimes when riding in the car. Those are often the times when my hand stitching gets done.
As I watched her video where Jude is adding white hearts to a heavily stitched white nine-patch and emphasizing the touch points of the hearts with red thread, she notices that they remind her of a scar. Her perception always gives me pause, and this struck me deeply.
I can’t explain why, but I had a flashback to my life working with teachers. One of my colleagues heard a teacher say, “we like this book because we can go in the classroom and teach without having to think about it.” Harriet said to me, “I don’t want teachers who don’t think about what they are teaching.” Indeed.
Sometimes I sew without thinking about sewing. And, that is relaxing to me, to be sure. The rhythmic pulling of thread through cloth allows my mind to be somewhere else, planning something. But Jude’s symbology in her work, her soul searching thoughts remind me to pursue even more depth in my stitching stories. She reminds me that only when we share the stories behind our work, the symbology we’ve included, the strategies we’ve used, do others really appreciate our art. I admit if I had seen the white hearts on white stitching, I might not have noticed the red thread, and if I had, I might not have made the “scar” connection.
Photos: The photos of the “beast” piece is one I was fortunate enough to buy from Jude. When her pieces go on sale, you have to be sitting at the computer watching (or lucky) because they sell quickly. I love having this piece to examine. Seeing her stitches and handling her work informed me of her techniques so much that I began to consider selling some of my own work. If my work could help another quilt maker with a particular technique, or if the final result gave a viewer satisfaction, than I would be willing to share it that way. You see images of the whole piece, approximately 6” x 9”, and closeups of the front and back.
The photos of the blue hearts are my work. I made that piece after watching Jude’s 
As is our habit, we were eating after the crowded hour, in fact, we had the place to ourselves. It was open, inviting, very clean, and offered just the menu we were looking for; soups, sandwiches, salads.
Our waitress Vicki told us that the soup was almost gone, being in high demand on a such a cold day. There was less than a serving (by their standards) left of today’s special so they gave us a complimentary bowl. It was fabulous, as were our sandwiches. But before the food was served, I was captivated by the decor. There were quilts! An old log cabin quilt first caught my eye. It was hung above a beautiful dresser and its subtle colors and handwork stole my heart! A more modern medallion quilt was displayed in another corner, and yet another eyecatcher, a blue and white quilt, was used on a table.
Jo is not a quilter, but has treasured the quilts these family members made and decorates her home and restaurant with them. Vicki has done needlework in the past, but quilting is not part of her experience (yet) though she has friends who sew and quilt.
The sisterhood of experiences connecting us with needle and thread is never to be denied. Vicki told of her friend who makes bags, pillows, quilts, when she hears of a need. I recalled the women in the Peachtree City guild who were making tote bags and duffle bags for children in foster care to use. I never cease to be amazed at the generosity of women who sew.
Grits are a staple in any southern girl’s diet. We have them for breakfast sometimes, but all my life I’ve had grits at sunset more often than at sunrise.
Every time I make grits, I think of my friend Ferrelle. Ferrelle owned a wonderful cooking, kitchen, and gift shop, and served up fabulous ideas for enjoying life. We once had a conversation about grits which “upped my game”. Ferrelle’s advice included using stone ground grits (we favor the yellow ones from Nora’s Mill in Helen, GA), cooking them with chicken broth rather than water, and adding a bit of cream right before removing them from the heat. Oh, my. They are so rich and creamy. I vary the flavor by adding different cheeses at times, and cooked, crumbled bacon on top adds flavor and garnish.
Photo notes: Since I seem to think everything should be a story in cloth, I’ve begun stitching on a Nora’s Mill bag. You see images of the front and backside. More work to be done, but I know you’re hungry, so go cook some grits.
In recent months, I’ve had several opportunities to share my quilting stories. The emphasis is on sharing – listening to quilting stories from other people as much telling them about mine. There is the frequent conversation beginning with, “I remember seeing my grandmother make quilts,” but there are many different experiences along those lines. I also hear, “I’ve always wanted to learn to quilt”, “I have my mother’s sewing machine”, and “I find it so relaxing to sit and stitch.” I never hear, “what is a quilt?” Everyone seems to have memories of quilts in their lives.
A few weeks ago, I spent three days sharing Fifty-two Tuesdays, the quilt and the book at Mistletoe Market ( a festival-like weekend shopping experience in Perry, Ga.). As I repeatedly summarized my experience with that journal quilt, I came to realize how that adventure changed my focus from traditional quilts to story quilts. In the fifty-two weeks of 2015, I depicted a scene that represented an experience in my life each week. I also explored every quilting technique I could, in essence making it a sampler quilt, too. In so doing, I tried things that I would not have wanted to pursue on a large scale.
I learned that printing on silk fabric gave a luster to photographs that seemed dull when printed on paper or canvas. Now I’ve explored that more fully with several art quilts. (Examples written about here are 
Make no mistake, I still love traditional quilts and will continue to make those. But the freedom to tell a story in a small piece of cloth, using traditional quiltmaking techniques is very compelling right now.
I am assembling the blocks from Fifty-Two Wednesdays, my journal quilt for 2016. I’m still imagining what the journal quilt for 2017 might be – if I do the weekly quilt block again. I have a few days to decide; I will continue the weekly format I’ve done before, using Thursday as my deadline.