I remember when I first started making quilts the thought of signing them never crossed my mind. I did eventually start signing them, but it wasn’t until I got my free motion sewing machine that I began to enjoy it. Now, every time I sign one, I think of a civil war era quilt I saw in a museum in Montpelier, Vermont that had the quilter’s name and date on it. I think of how I was so glad that woman signed her quilt and dated it, because it made me feel like, in some way, I knew her. Or something about her anyway.
Until recently, I was never interested in the idea of leaving something of myself after I died. I actually wanted just the opposite. To vanish as if I never existed. But now I like the idea of maybe someday, a hundred years from now, someone finding something I made and it touching them enough to wonder about the person who made it. Like I wonder and make stories up about the woman who made that quilt in Montpelier. Maybe they’ll find a copy of one of Jon’s books and put the pieces together. Some local historian somewhere, or the distant relative of someone reading this right now. Connections across time, the same stories told again and again.