Reflections on the Fifth Week of Spring

    The 16^th Country Charms Quilt Show dominated my week.

    Wednesday was easy–meet co-chair Marion to print 300 programs at Staples, bake apple and apple-blueberry pies with George wagging his tail by my feet, and gather supplies. My quilt made in a stain glass pattern and my flower appliquéd jacket went on top of the pile for quilt registration Thursday.

    At Gail's Homespun Treasures Quilt Shop I measured length and width of each submission, clipped the entry tag to the side, then placed the folded quilt in the correct size and style category.

    Late afternoon, two judges arrived. Marion, Gail, and I spread quilts for one category at a time in a pile on the table. The judges checked visual impact, design, and workmanship.

One by one judges told me to put a quilt aside. I gathered the quilt in my arms, walked over to hand Marion two corners, and reminded her not to let it drag on the floor while we refolded. At the end of judging each the category, only the prize winners were left on the table. Since Marion and I wanted all the winners hung in the front of the show, I stacked those quilts on a separate table.

    The judges inspected category 101, large pieced quilts, next to last. My mammoth purple, blue, and green quilt was second from the bottom of the pile. I turned my back so I couldn't see them examine it. I could still hear.

    “You can't see where she started and stopped her quilting.”

    “The black sashes are consistent in width and almost perfectly straight.”

    When four quilts remained, a judge said, “We've got to decide. Two have perfect scores.”

    Figuring mine couldn't be perfect, I hoped for third place. That's what I got.

    Friday morning I drove back to Gail's to wrap each pile of quilts in sheets. Mid afternoon three cars transported the quilts cross country to the Cochranton High School Gym. The winners rode in my car along with the place mat I sewed in a log cabin pattern for the guild challenge, two buckets, two dozen rags, and the box of quilt show gear. Spence followed in his truck.

    He and other husbands unloaded the PVC pipes for building racks. Women washed, dried, and sorted pipes. The men built the racks–old fashioned gender roles indeed.

   I supervised unloading the quilts to keep the winners separate from other entries then waited for the small first rack to be built.

   A quilter who'd worked on many shows yelled, “Where are the 101 quilts? A big rack is up. We can get started.”

    Marion explained we wanted to put the winners up front so we were waiting for the smaller rack.

    The complaining quilter said, “That'll take us till eight! We can't wait around that long just to put winners first. What were you thinking?”

    “You aren't in charge this year,” Marion said.

    I grabbed Marion's arm.

    The complainer stomped away.

    Finally the racks were ready. Women pulled open the sheet bundles and clipped plastic pants hangers onto quilt tops. Quilters dashed to the seven rows of racks and hung quilts. Quilters and husbands on ladders reached down for quilts to hang from the top. One woman attached the prize ribbonsguild members had handcrafted to winning quilts. Clicking hangers, thudding footsteps, and swish of fabric echoed off the gym walls.

    With every rack full, we still had eight more quilts to hang. Guild members looked to me for a solution. I folded the quilts in half lengthwise, attached hangers to the top, and handed them to the husbands on ladders to hang on the left side of cross pieces that anchored rows of racks together.

    By six, all the quilters and husbands had left. Marion and I took a break to eat then searched for the last two prize winners.

    Spence arrived and said, “George wants you to come back home.” Spence kept Marion and I company while we finished attaching ribbons, set up the guild challenge display, and put out chairs for visitors.

    Early Saturday, I lugged two pies, a long list of to dos, and my camera to the high school. By the time the show opened at nine, I'd jogged two miles over the unforgiving cement floors to hang signs, fetch supplies, and answer questions.

   “Why did you fold my quilt?”

    “Where are the People's Choice ballots?

    “May I make a suggestion?”

    When no one needed me, I took photos till my legs couldn't carry me another inch. I sat at the door prize table up front and reveled in the happy smiles on visitors' faces when they walked in and out the door.

    “You can feel the energy just walking in.”

    “Just gorgeous.”

    “This is the best show in the area.”

    My first task Sunday was to cut and set out the pies–the cranberry cheese crumb pie was hard to resist–for the women who would be a little late coming from church. Then I took more pictures and visited with three neighbors. The first two sat with me in the cafeteria. Tammy drank water, Kathy ate the cranberry cheese crumb pie, and I had a slice of my apple-blueberry. Later Catherine said my stain glass quilt was “crowd pleasing” and helped me find quilt #12, an intricate lacy entry which won the People's Choice award.

    Near the end of the show, I headed for the supply box to get the sorting numbers we tape along table edges for tear down. On the way to the box, the pie seller said, “I reduced the pies to half price.”

    “Fine,” I said. “I'll have someone make an announcement over the PA system.”

    Another voice stopped me. “Janet, will you take this bag to the country store and tell them to put my stuff in it when they tear down? I can't leave here.”

    I took the bag.

    A third guild member said. “I think we need to have a vendor liaison because I was asked by two to cover for them while they ate lunch, and I was hungry myself.”

    “Did you tell them no?”

    “Well, yes.”

    “Good,” I said, headed for the microphone, and made a mental note to have the liaison make a schedule for lunch relief next year rather than relieve vendors when they asked.

I told someone to announce the half price pies, gave the bag and message to the country store, and, passing Spence and another guild member, headed for the supply box.

    The guild member said, “Janet we need the sorting number signs.”

    I nodded. “I was on the way to get them when three people stopped me.”

    Lee, leader of the men helpers, asked, “Janet, where'd you put the mallets?”

    Spence said, “Wait. Don't interrupt her.”

    I turned to Lee, “The mallets are in the tool box on your dolly back in the corner,” then knelt by the box to fetch the sorting number signs.

    Visitors left. Guild members grabbed quilts off the lower racks. Ladder ladies dropped high-hanging quilts into waiting arms. We removed hangers, folded quilts, and placed them according to entry numbers. In minutes, all four walls of the gym came into view and racks, the ribs of the quilt show, succumbed to mallet whacks. We opened the doors to waiting quilters and returned their quilts.

    Sweaty but satisfied, I hugged Spence.

    Monday morning, I refolded my stain glass quilt, packed it in a large box, and wrote Ellen's address on top. Then I opened the judge's evaluation. I'd received a perfect score of 100 points with a plus sign beside the points for quality of quilting.