“You have to keep taking the next necessary stitch, and the next one, and the next…you realize that the secret of life is patch patch patch. Thread your needle, make a knot, find one place on the other piece of torn cloth where you can make one stitch that will hold. And do it again. And again. And again. ” — Anne Lamott
***
It’s a ritual of autumn. The changing of our summer comforter to a heavy quilt, made for us by a friend. A few nights ago, as sleet tapped against the window, I slipped into bed and pulled the quilt close under my chin. Admired the patchwork. Taupe, rust, emerald, peach. Grass-green and olive. Pearl. Oyster.
As he quilted, our friend incorporated the transient autumn colors of prairie grasses into the coverlet. I was nestled into the prairie itself. Deep under. I might go dormant. Sleep for several months. Awaken to a cleansing fire in February, and leaf out. Be fresher. Vibrant. Renewed.
It’s a heavy quilt, made from denims and corduroys; a quilt that—like the Midwestern prairies—looks tough and ready to handle anything the future might throw at it. A quilt for the ages.
As I slipped off to sleep, I thought of the thousands of tiny stitches in this quilt and the prairie it reflects. The time and the care that one person put into one quilt. And the time and the care — all the “stitches” that have been put into the care and repair of the grasslands which have been lost to us in the Midwest.
How will the grasslands “quilt” be patched back together?
We need the conservationist in the field, who is bringing back the bison. One stitch.
We need the research student, who is trying to understand why the bison make a difference to the upland sandpipers and prairie vole and the dung beetle. Stitch. Stitch. Stitch.
We need the steward who cares for the remnant where the new bison are browsing, and reconstructs new prairie plantings close by. She knows these new plantings won’t exactly replicate the old, but she hopes, she hopes… .
The activist at the state capital, who has ridden the bus and marched with a sign, and spent the day pleading the case of the natural world to the legislators. Stitch.
We need the poet who sees little bluestem, red and wet under November rains, rippling in the wind, and wrestles with just the right words to share what she sees on paper. More stitches.
Or the textile artist, the photographer, or the painter…
…creating images that share prairie in ways that open doors of understanding to those who may not have experienced prairie before. Stitch.
The gardeners, who make their backyards their painter’s palettes. They plant prairie patches that swirl and glimmer with color and motion. A neighbor pauses. Asks a question. A spark is kindled. Another stitch.
Or people like my friend the quilter, who took up his needle and created something beautiful.
Each person who places each stitch—one carefully thought-out restoration, one painstakingly done research study on hands and knees in the cold and rain—each photograph, wall hanging, poem, book, song, painting, quilt—
—adds another stitch to the patches of the prairie patchwork quilt. Brings us closer to the beautiful whole of the Midwestern tallgrass that once was complete, and now is lost.
Keep hoping.
Keep stitching.
Sweet dreams.
***
The opening quote is from Anne Lamott’s (1954-) Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair. Read some highlights of her book here.
All photos copyright Cindy Crosby: prairie patchwork quilt by Lynn Johnson; prescribed burn on the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, United States Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy, Wilmington, IL; volunteer collecting seed, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bison (Bison bison), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL, compass plant (Silphium laciniatum) with water droplets, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL , purple prairie clover (Dalea purpurea) on the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; clouds over the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; grasses in the rain at Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; photographer at Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Flint Hills prairie, Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve, U. S. National Park Service, The Nature Conservancy, Strong City, KS; fences at Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, United States Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy, Wilmington, IL; savanna at Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, United States Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy, Wilmington, IL; Willoway Brook, The Schulenberg Prairie Savanna at The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; harvesting big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, United States Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy, Wilmington, IL; fall at Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; mouse tracks in the snow at the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Franklin Grove, IL.
And with ongoing thanks to my friend Lynn Johnson, whose beautiful prairie patchwork quilt warms me and my husband Jeff each winter. Kudos, my friend.
What a thoughtful friend, and lovely thoughts.
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It’s a beautiful quilt — and so faithful to the prairie palette. Thank you for your kinds words! Welcome back.
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Several years ago my little sis made me a beautiful quilt appropriately after sharing a glorious day in the “Fall colors of Morton Arboretum”! I thought I had the one and only! Very special post, thanks.
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Mike, what a wonderful, thoughtful little sister you must have. I hope there are — and will be — many prairie quilts out there, and more in the making. Thank you for reading and sharing.
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Really enjoyed this post. The symbolism is perfect. All the patches and stitches are important to make the quilt/prairie whole.
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Hi Luann — Thank you for taking time out of your day to read the post, and to share your thoughts. I’m grateful for people like you who care about the prairie!
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This was such a timely post for this season It was especially meaningful for me because of my love for prairie and for quilts. Thank you for this, Cindy!
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I am so grateful for all you do to share your love of the natural world, dear Brenda. Thank you for reading and taking time to comment this morning.
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I’m so grateful to be a small part of Nachusa’s work, and to have met you, Cindy. Your posts are a weekly highlight in my days….a reminder in the swirl.
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What a lovely comment, Sandy. Thank you for your work, and for all you do for prairie. And thank you for your encouragement today! I appreciate you reading and sharing your thoughts.
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Thank you for such lovely, thoughtful, blog posts, Cindy! And your photography captured every Nuance of the Fall Prairie that I love!
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Thank you, Trish — I love the autumn prairie too! I’m grateful for your comments.
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Beautiful photography, inspirational message – as Always.
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Thank you, Katherine, for taking time to read and to comment. So grateful.
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