I spent a week in Asheville, North Carolina this summer to participate in a food seminar taught by Lauren Winner at the Glen Workshop. One day, I had the honor of participating in an activity called visio divina. The instant I saw Scrap Up by Amelia Bennett, I knew it had something to say.
I sit on a bench and stared at the quilt hanging on the wall. The plaid shimmers in the light, inviting me to Come, sit. Stay a while.
I love its imperfections. The curves where you expect straight lines. The seams in the middle. The uneven binding securing it all together. It is these slight imperfections that make it unique.
I close my eyes and see it lying on a rolling field of grass. Filled with people. Cluttered with sandwiches, bags of chips, tupperware filled with grapes and berries. There’s no silverware or dishes–it’s all finger goods on a hot summer day. Cold fried chicken. Huge chunks of watermelon.
The edges are littered with shoes, tiny socks, a roll of paper towels. A small cooler sits on one corner, holding it down in case of wind. The shade of a large magnolia tree covers it in its entirety.
I’m reminded of picnics we had when I was a child. Sitting at a city park, with our white bread sandwiches. On an old blanket thrown on the ground; surrounded by family and friends.
I wonder about the family that sat around this blanket after it was first made. In an instant, I’m transported to my own memory: Stone Mountain on the Fourth of July. Blanket after blanket lies on the ground; each family making their own memories. As they share food together, they talk about the things they notice. The birds chirping. The train horn. The kids leave the blanket to put a penny on the track, to watch it be smashed as the train rolls by, and then back to the blanket they go, new treasure held tightly in their hand.
Several years ago I made a similar picnic blanket from various pieces of material I had lying around. I’d love to put my quilt next to this one and compare. They are functional quilts. Not meant to be sentimental or art; they are meant to be used. To lay on the dirt and soak up the spills.
This is the kind of useful quilt every family needs. The one you throw together hastily from whatever material you find. Hand stitched from old clothes. Tattered and torn. Washed over and over again. Signs of a life well loved.
When I put my own picnic blanket down, whether it's mealtime or not, there’s an expectation that there will be food involved. It’s a ritual of sorts. We come together to nourish our relationships. And also our bellies. One is inevitably connected to the other.
At a picnic, no one really cares what’s on the blanket. What design, what fabric, how it’s pieced together. My kids somehow eat anything I bring to a picnic. Maybe it’s because I put an inordinate amount of thought behind what I pack, but I can’t help but wonder if they actually care about what they are eating. No one sits around a picnic blanket critiquing the food.
We watch the clouds. We look for birds. We play frisbee or Spike Ball or read a book.The picnic blanket is home base. The food an activity that wakes up our senses and pulls us together. The food only matters as a means to share conversation.
This quilt has its stories to tell. My quilt has their own stories to tell.
What picnic stories do you have to share?
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