history here. The old quilts were icons that represented people’s families, the way they were involved in agriculture or what their skill sets were.” Shelley had brought some of her great-grandmother’s quilts to Lynne and told her, “These are my heritage; this is what’s going to go on our barns.” Shelley was concerned that perhaps the men of the Stein family would be reluctant because the quilts were from her family, but they didn’t raise a fuss. Shelley is proud that her status as an eighth-generation North American farmer is wrapped into the local project and the family farm.
Shelley echoed Lynne’s earlier sentiment that even though the barn doesn’t have a long history, it has a place on the quilt trail. “For us it has history because our hands built it. And it’s agriculture today.” Though Lynne used the name Churn Dash for the quilt block, Shelley preferred its other name, Monkey Wrench, because the family designs and builds farm equipment in their shop.
The Stein’s other barn quilt is also one of Shelley’s grandmother’s quilt patterns. Shelley said, “When you look at the colors of the barn quilt, you think, ‘OK, they must be hippies,’ but you can see that we really were very true to the colors of the quilt.” Shelley spread the tattered quilt out on the floor, a riot of bright greens, oranges, yellows, reds, and purples. Lynne said that the fabrics were actually typical of the 1930s when the quilt was made. The pattern is known as Robbing Peter to Pay Paul and also as Nonesuch, and Shelley chose the latter for the barn quilt. The barn where the quilt block hangs has a unique color as well. The barn was yellow when purchased by the family in 1989, and Shelley said it will remain that color, adding just a slight touch to the hippie-like appearance.
Lynne and I left Shelley behind and continued on our tour. As the discussion veered away from barn quilts, I realized that Lynne was, in fact, a scholar with a wide knowledge of history. She shared some tidbits about the area and hit upon a subject that has been the topic of many a barn quilt conversation—Underground Railroad quilts. Several quilt trails include these “signal quilts” in their narratives, and both Donna Sue and I are dismayed each time we encounter them. I didn’t share my view but waited to see what Lynne had to say.
Lynne acknowledged that an Underground Railroad route runs through the area but doubts whether any of the buildings were used as hiding places. “Think about it; you don’t know where you are going or who to trust. This is close to Canada, so it was like a funnel, with a lot of law enforcement. Why would you try to hide in someone’s house? I don’t think so. You would stay outside so that you could hear people coming and would move along as quickly as possible.”
The subject turned to those signal quilts. Legend has it that quilts were hung outdoors along the Underground Railroad and that the quilt patterns were a code that provided information to escaping slaves. One pattern was said to mean “time to gather belongings and prepare for the trip,” while another might signify the direction of safe travel. The stories were widespread, but they just didn’t make sense to me. Quilt patterns are not readily discerned at a distance, especially in the dark. Donna Sue agreed, “Unfortunately, we put a romantic spin on a terrible time in our history. Just imagine crossing the Ohio River in the dark of night. You would barely be able to see where you were walking; how would you possibly find a quilt? It’s interesting lore, but it’s just fake-lore.”
Lynne stated her views emphatically: “The signal quilt story is a lie. Academicians have studied it, and it is bogus. But it’s a romantic notion. It’s like Washington cutting down the cherry tree. It’s so romantic, like King Arthur. People don’t want to believe it isn’t true. A family offered a collection of quilts to the museum that they said were signal quilts. They didn’t like it when I told them they ought to print out the reams of scholarship.” Lynne dismissed the topic and I was glad that an expert had confirmed the view that Donna Sue and I both held strongly.
That evening, Lynne invited Glen and me to a horse-driving competition. Glen asked with a deadpan face, “How exactly do horses drive? Are there special cars?” He reveled in that brief moment during which she considered whether the question might be genuine. Of course the driving was on the part of the humans, who guided the horses as they pulled various sorts of wagons. We strolled the grounds where spectators enjoyed elegant picnics and the women wore extravagant hats, relishing the opportunity to be part of a local event. The categories of competition ran from formally dressed ladies and gentlemen driving grand carriages to commercial vehicles. In this category, the brightly painted Jell-O wagon was entered, driven by Lynne’s daughter, Laura.
Lynne’s wagon commemorates the fact that the product was introduced in LeRoy in 1897. She told us that a carpenter who dabbled in patent medicines trademarked the name; it was not a patent, because there were other gelatin products already being produced. The company that bought the name began an aggressive advertising campaign that made the product hugely popular and profitable. Glen couldn’t resist the brilliantly colored wagon, painted in glossy red and his favorite bright yellow. He posed between the front shafts as if to ready to be harnessed and pull, and I added a somewhat goofy photo to my collection.
I was eager to visit with Carol Frost and her daughter, Marny Cleere. Barn quilts are seldom painted in pastels, as they don’t show up at a distance, but the dark brown of the barn and its position close to the road made for a lovely exception to the rule. When Carol arrived with the Lady of the Lake quilt, the picture was complete.
Nonesuch
Carol Frost and Marny Frost Cleere with Lady of the Lake quilt and barn quilt
Marny said that the quilt belonged to her grandmother, who had left each of her grandchildren a family quilt. It had been pieced in 1867 by Marny’s great-great-grandmother McPherson, using the pink fabric from one of her dresses. The McPherson family was one of many Scottish families who settled the area. “It reminded them of home,” Carol said. The McPhersons were a prominent family; in fact the yellow barn that hosts the Stein family Nonesuch quilt block was a McPherson barn. The barn with the Lady of the Lake pattern is the last one on the complex where it stands.
The McPhersons were prolific diary keepers, and Marny’s father, David, keeps the journals at hand and reads them regularly. Most journal entries are mundane discussions of the farm and weather, success and failure of crops, and the various additions to the homestead, but David chose a few of his favorites to share. Reading the handwritten text of the diary on pages deeply yellowed with age was quite a treat. One of the earliest stories concerns Alexander McPherson, who emigrated from Inverness, Scotland, in 1801 and made his way to the area. A century later, Marny’s great-great-grandfather, John McPherson, tells the story:
On reaching the Genesee River, “They found a good many families who wanted to get across the river but water was too deep at the ford. Grand Father McPherson did not propose to camp there until river went down, so suggested building a raft which they did. After raft was completed Grandfather was the first to use it. When he tried to drive his ox team onto raft one of them refused to venture on the raft, after long coaxing, which was of no avail Grand Father unyoked this ox and put his own shoulder under yoke and with the help of the men at wheels they succeeded in getting onto raft, and were poled across. When the ox saw his mate and cow going from him, he went into the river and swam across, none the worse of his cold bath.”
. . .
Glen and I left the rich history of LeRoy behind and headed east to Schoharie, where quilt trail organizer Ginny Schaum and her husband, Bill, had generously invited us to spend the weekend. Here, the barn quilt community focuses not on history but on more recent events. The area was adversely affected by Hurricanes Irene and Lee in 2011, and a mural project had begun in Middleburgh to revitalize the community and make people feel good about the recovery. More public art was proposed to bring in tourists, and Ginny thought the quilt barn trail similar to the ones she had seen in the Carolinas would fit the bill. “People were overjoyed.” Ginny said.
The ebullient mood was quite evident in Diana Cook’s Garden Party quilt block, which is mounted on a restored former firehouse. I pronounced