.
My Patchwork Quilt
Somewhere within my closet a patchwork quilt rests there;
The patches cut by hands and with stitches sewn with care.
The colorful creation once placed upon my bed,
Provided warmth and comfort for such a sleepy head.
Back in the Great Depression; till nineteen fifty-four
Farm families had no money to buy the clothes they wore.
Farm women sewed their clothing from sacks of feed or flour.
It was a simple way to stretch their buying power.
My patchwork quilt was fashioned from clothes my mother wore.
They weren’t the fancy dresses displayed within a store.
Repair, reuse, recycle, make do and do again
Are not a new invention. Farm families did them then.
No sock was left unmended cause women gave a darn.
The sweaters oft were knitted from colored skeins of yarn.
The patches on my blue jeans were taken from the old.
The zippers too recycled as if of solid gold.
My patchwork quilt reminds me of all my mom went through.
The patches tell a story of all that she could do.
It isn’t just the patches that I am thinking of;
This comforter was made of my mother’s warming love.
.
.
LTC Roy E. Peterson, US Army Military Intelligence and Russian Foreign Area Officer (Retired) has published more than 5,000 poems in 78 of his 101 books. He has been an Army Attaché in Moscow, Commander of INF Portal Monitoring in Votkinsk, first US Foreign Commercial Officer in Vladivostok, Russia and Regional Manager in the Russian Far East for IBM. He holds a BA, Hardin-Simmons University (Political Science); MA, University of Arizona (Political Science); MA, University of Southern California (Int. Relations) and MBA University of Phoenix. He taught at the University of Arizona, Western New Mexico University, University of Maryland, Travel University and the University of Phoenix.
What a beautiful memory and tribute this is, Roy, to a woman who must have been very special and represents the best of her generation! She represents a time when people were strong, resourceful, prudent, unwasteful, meticulous, uncomplaining — the opposite of so many character flaws we see in people in this monetarily richer — but spiritually far poorer — era. You’ve surely done your mother proud. Thank you for the smile this morning.
Bless you, Brian, for such touching comments. When I grew up on the farm in the upper Midwest, we had to make do with what we had. I hated to have patches on my jeans and go to school, but inevitably both of my pairs of jeans that were my yearly allotment would suffer from my aggressive play and require at least one patch before the end of the school year. I am thinking about sending a poem specifically on my mother who was a school teacher among other things and lived to be 100.
A super poem that brings back so many memories, but times were so different
then. A time of common sense, a good work ethic, little government intervention in people’s lives, and good schools. A great poem this morning, Thank you sir.
Excellent comment, Phil, that concisely describes what I intended this poem to communicate. Thank you.
I grew up in the era of hand-me-downs, patches on blue jeans and darned socks. The current generation talks a lot about “repair, reuse, recycle” but nobody really does anything about it. The great generation never talked about it but actually just did the right thing. This is a great tribute to your mother and a reminder that we could do with a lot less virtue signaling and a lot more of people just doing what’s right
Warren, we must be from the same generation that took care of things and were greater savers than over consumers of fancy goods. We had to make do with the limited resources we had, as you so ably pointed out.
This kind of careful husbandry of materials was also practiced by city folk. One of my grandmothers not only preserved material to make new garments or to patch old ones, but she also saved the strong muslin pockets of worn-out pants to re-use in clothing repair. My other grandmother had rolls of handmade linen sheets that she had brought from Sicily in 1905, and which were used for various purposes right up to the 1980s. I have a poem titled “Spindle, Shuttle, Loom” about the subject somewhere here at the SCP.
Roy’s poem has a hexameter rhythm, with a strong caesura in each line:
My PATCHwork QUILT was FASHioned // from CLOTHES my MOther WORE…
The double-entendre of “women gave a darn” is perfect. And yes, metal zippers were highly prized, because they were expensive to purchase in the thread-and-needle shops. Today most zippers are crappy plastic garbage, and you won’t find a thread-and-needle shop anywhere since the feminists convinced women that any kind of sewing or fabric-work is a form of sexist degradation.
Dr. Salemi, your corroborating comments and condensed teaching points are always highly appreciated and especially prized by me. Our mothers seem to have been cut from the same cloth, though mine in the country and yours in the city. Much of that rubbed off on me. I repurpose and attempt repairs on things I fear my children would just throw away in our modern consumer era. I looked in vain for a “thread-and needle” shop in the last few places I lived in the states. Thank you so much for telling a little about your background.
Roy, to truly appreciate this lovely poem it helps to be at least 60 years old. You recount a very common 1950s-on-back circumstance that groomed countless children to become as frugal as their elders. Today some of the most expensive clothing on the rack are pieces that mimic the repairs and patchwork our mothers and their mothers made to what very few, back then, could afford to simply throw away. Wonderful piece… take me back…
Wonderful comment, Mark. We appreciated whatever we had regardless of our circumstances. We knew the true value of thrift and hard work to achieve greater goals in life.
What a memory to cherish. All I have of one grandmother is a knitted quilt that she made for me as a Christmas gift when I was a teenager, and I’ll keep it until my dying day. I once read in a book about the Depression that women eagerly looked forward to being able to acquire & re-purpose the flour and seed sacks for the lovely patterns. Such clothing is now considered vintage.
Bless you, Cheryl, for telling me about your grandmother’s quilt. I also have one mine made me to commemorate a birthday. When I was very young, I remember my mother took me to a quilting bee. Those sacks were so important to the women back in the day.
Dear Roy,
Thank you for this poem – a tribute to your mom, to love, to a work ethic nearly extinct.
I, too, love the line using a double meaning for darn.
I have several patchwork quilts in my home, mostly made by my mother’s mother. I love to look at the scraps that make them up as I recall the garments that they came from.
Many years ago my mother found a beautiful handmade quilt wrapped around a water heater in her mother’s basement. Nana had made it to be useful and so she used it! My mother bought a water-heater cover to insulate the water heater and rescue the quilt.
Gigi
That is such a precious memory, Gigi. I know the emotions of your mother saving a handmade quilt in her mother’s basement must have been very special. Thank you for sharing this and for catching the double entendre. I love to use them in my poems but so few seem to catch it, or at least do not mention it.
This poem took me to the time when my mother was stronger than she is today and more active in her sewing hobbies. How beautiful it is that the one who births leaves her memories in the little things made with love. For you, it’s a patchwork quilt; for someone else, it might be a woollen shirt. Your poem also speaks about a time when people found absorption in manual creative works because they didn’t have the digital world. Things were way simpler back then. Thank you for this precious piece, Mr. Peterson.
Bless you for sharing such kind and reflective comments. Woolen shirts made by mothers with love fit perfectly. The modern world has lost so much, but such memories warm our hearts.
The strong caesura Joseph Salemi noticed in each line allows you, Roy, to work up to the final important word “love” with TWO stressed “ofs” eagerly anticipating it. Great conclusion with a technique I don’t recall noticing before.
The attention to sewing and reuse brought my own grandmother to mind. She made many dresses for my sisters and me, and decoratively repaired one of mine that was badly ripped on first wearing when a frightened cat jumped out of my arms. I learned from her by doing the easy tasks first: hemming skirts (much better done by hand than by machine) and applying buttons when I could be trusted to place them properly. I made my own wedding dress, and as the evening gown design was not covered enough for church, added a lace cape with long extension in back to serve as my train. But the glory of the outfit was recycled from my grandmother’s wedding dress. Hers was not preserved, but she had saved the expensive imported luxury of French Alencon lace collar and cuffs. Now when was the last time you saw collar and cuffs on a wedding dress? I used the material to decorate the bodice of my lace cape, in something of the same way Nana had repaired the dress ripped by the cat when I was young.
Your analysis was fascinating. I tend to write as I feel the words and flow of the lines. Thank you for mentioning them. I was hoping for some great stories about quilts, quilting, and recycling. I loved the ones you shared. I can just imagine the frightened cat ripping your dress and jumping out of your arms. Making your own wedding dress and using recycled parts of your grandmother’s wedding dress is precious and priceless. What a great way to honor all the generations.
Roy, as you can see from the responses above, your poem has touched many people and stirred fond memories. When you write poems of this nature, which I would characterize as Americana, they are specific to you and your lived experience, but at the same time they have broader appeal to the general reading public; and this, I believe, is the charm and beauty of your poetry. I hope to see more poems like this in the future!
I am honored and humbled by your precious comments, Cheryl. I do have a lot that fit this category. I will think of sending more of this type of poem.
Cheryl, thanks to you, I changed my “Nostalgia” title for a section of my next book to “Americana.”
Heart-warming and heart-felt poem Roy – it makes me feel a fond affection and warmth towards your mother, though obviously I never met. It is in these small details that love emerges.
This is a beautiful tribute to a beloved mother and makes me feel nostalgia for times and customs I never knew personally. Very touching. And it is very true that the strong caesura adds a memorable musicality to the verse that echoes in the memory after the reading is over.