My family wasn’t rich financially. But we do have “treasures” handed down from to generation.
Some have more meaning than others.
When my mom passed away four years ago, my siblings and I painstakingly sifted through boxes and boxes of photos, books and letters.
The most interesting item, to me, was a Farm Bureau cookbook that featured recipes from members throughout the Grand Traverse region, including farm wives from Leelanau County.
My grandmother and her twin, my greataunt were among contributors. They lived on the Old Mission Peninsula.
Other items discovered included framed prints of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary, which were part of Works Progress Administration (WPA) and its Federal Art Project (FAP) during the Great Depression. The government employed artists to create public art, including prints, murals, and sculptures, aiming to provide relief and boost morale. I hold onto these as they hearken back to a specific time in history.
Most recently, I discovered another heirloom: a blanket made by my mother for our youngest daughter, Grace.
While in Portland, Oregon last month for the birth of our fifth granddaughter, Aditi, I was surprised to see the blanket in the nursery which my mom had cross-stitched farm/woodland animals, identified by their French name. For example “le lapin” (rabbit) and “le cochon” (pig).
I was touched. My 32-year-old daughter had saved the blanket, which has become dingy traveling with her to Brazil, where she had been a Rotary exchange student; for undergraduate studies at Lake Superior State University and graduate school at Michigan State University.
Discovery of this heirloom, moved me to reconsider my decision to forego my efforts to knit a blanket for my granddaughter.
Arts and crafts are not my forte. But it I try. My mom tried to teach me to knit years ago. Sadly, I didn’t have patience needed and became frustrated.
But with age, I asked for more instruction. I’ve knitted blankets, but gravitating toward the most basic pattern.
In the months preceding the baby’s arrival, I bought several skeins of yarn in hopes of producing something special for the new baby.
Let’s just say, inconsistencies and dropped stitches lead me on multiple occasions to rip out what I had done and start over. I did this so often, that my husband jokingly wondered if I was wearing out the yarn. As our trip West grew closer, I worked feverishly, but I wasn’t able to complete the project.
However, seeing the blanket my mother had made, I was resolute to complete the project upon my return home. So, I grabbed my yarn and needles and got back at it.
Things were going great until about half-way through the blanket, when I mysteriously tangled things up. Earlier this year, my co-worker Sheila Lingaur offered to give me a hand, but I declined.
This time, I humbled myself and reached out to Sheila for help. She took my yarn and needles and made sense of what I couldn’t and overnight, returned it — ready for me to finish.
I am on the last few rows of the blanket and with a little patience, will complete a new heirloom, something from “Andma,” (granddaughter nickname for grandma), Aditi can hand down to her own children.
