She said, “We all love our big barns, but most of us had never been inside of ’em.” With local resident Sue Moore on board as the “mover and shaker” that Kitch needed, within two weeks the idea moved from a discussion to a reality, under the direction of a committee of four couples and the Vicksburg Historical Society. The Rinehart’s garage served as the painting headquarters, but it was definitely a community effort. Kitch said, “We have everybody painting—neighbors, friends, grandchildren, and even paint parties in town. We spread a great big orange tarp and four sets of sawhorses, and it was nonstop for a year and a half.”
Kitch and I visited the local farmers’ market, where the music from a three-piece bluegrass band enlivened the shops and rows of vendors. I had no need for produce or cheese or even beefalo but I grabbed some homemade fudge—dark chocolate for me, and milk chocolate with pistachios for Glen.
The Unique Furnishings shop sits among the brick storefronts of Vicksburg’s main street, and we found owner Christina Klok waiting. Within, a ceiling of creamy white tin set off antique light fixtures and fans. Glass showcases were laden with jewelry and trinkets, and shelves of handcrafted décor, soaps, and candles lined the aisles. I spotted a jar of salted caramels on a shelf along the wall and was tempted to grab a few, but Christina and Kitch were already seated, waiting for me to join them.
Before the conversation turned to barn quilts, Christina asked about our mishap. “I heard you had a challenging trip here. Holy Cow, when I read that email I thought, ‘These things don’t just happen to me!’”
Christina shared the significance of the Wreath of Lilies quilt block that she and her husband Leonard chose: “People traveled from far and wide to see the lotus lilies on Sunset Lake. They are what put Vicksburg on the map.” Christina had photographs of Victorian-era visitors and articles about the unusual blossoms. She went on to say that the trains carrying folks to the Chicago World Fair stopped in Vicksburg so that passengers could see the lotus lilies and buy them. Local kids uprooted the plants and sold them for a quarter or fifty cents each. The lilies were found in few other places, so the saucer-sized blooms remained a tourist attraction until the early 1930s, when they disappeared due to overharvesting. Referring to her quilt block Christina said, “We love flowers and the water, and we still have flowers over there—just not the lilies.”
Wreath of Lilies
Kitch and I moved on, and again our drive provided a chance to chat. Kitch explained how the quilt trail got started. “I knew one person—Sue. She had come to do a talk about our lake and she took some pictures from my house. She introduced herself and we clicked. It just happened later that I knew the right person to call.” One out of every five who were asked to host a barn quilt declined. An elderly woman was wary of having people coming into her property, and some others had recently added metal siding to their barn and didn’t want holes punched in it. Kitch said, “They had good reasons, but they broke my heart.”
I exclaimed, “That’s a cool barn,” just as Kitch slowed to pull into the drive where Dawn Hippen Hall stood ready to talk about her barn quilt. The family considered a patriotic design for their barn quilt, but the quilt trail already included a red-white-and-blue quilt block. Dawn said, “My parents, me, and my brother, and my daughter; we are like a star.” Dawn looked online and found Broken Star, which seemed appropriate. “When Kitch called me, my father had just passed away three weeks previous, and I had taken care of him for two years. I felt like the family had just broken up. The colors remind me of a rainbow and starting over,” she said.
Broken Star
Dawn and her brother, Daryl, especially love the fabric designs in the quilt block. Hugh and Kitch primed and dropped off the boards at the high school, where students painted the star, carefully using texture to create the look of fabric. Afterwards, all of the painters signed the border with their names and where they were from. The group included international students from Morocco, Italy, and Germany. Dawn and her family signed the quilt block also, and Dawn was very pleased with the final product. “She saw it and immediately started grinning,” Kitch said.
Dawn said, “It had been really tough. The farm was really important to my parents, and I have lived here almost all of my life. When I grew up there were barns all over, and I realized when Kitch called me that there aren’t as many as there used to be.” Dawn had touched on a critical aspect of the barn quilt movement, that of barn preservation. Many a barn owner has reported saving his barn so that it could be home to a quilt square.
Kitch and I drove on to Deb Fisher’s home, where we both commented on the well-tended gardens out front. Deb said immediately on our approach, “I hear you had some trouble on the way here.” I told her the repairs to the bus would take a couple of months, thinking at the time that my statement was hyperbole. Kitch laughed and said, “This was the shakedown cruise of this RV,” and she went on to relate that Glen and I were considering making the bus our permanent home.
“Not that one!” Deb exclaimed.
We got to the discussion of Deb’s quilt block and the cloth quilt that it represents. The quilt belonged to Deb’s great-grandmother Lenora VanGuilder Fisher, who lived from 1871 to 1941. Deb smiled when I asked how she came to have the quilt. Deb has no children, and her mother wanted the quilt to be passed down to someone in the family. “That’s why I painted it,” Deb said. “I had seen the blocks on the other buildings and decided I was going to put one up whether it’s sanctioned or not.” The Rineharts admired her work and appreciated the connection to the family quilt and welcomed Deb’s addition to the quilt trail. Deb’s mother was impressed as well, so she gave great-grandmother Lenora’s quilt to Deb. The quilt will eventually go to one of her nieces or nephews, but for now it is Deb’s to enjoy.
Deb said that Drunkard’s Path was associated with the temperance movement, and I asked what she knew about the history. She told us that after the Civil War, a lot of men came home with substance-abuse problems. Also, a lot of those who were immigrating in the early twentieth century, such as Irish Catholics and Jews from Eastern Europe, used alcohol as a part of their religious ceremonies. They weren’t teetotalers like the strict Protestants. Deb wasn’t certain how the quilter felt about alcohol, but she knew one thing for certain. “My grandmother was very much against drink, and she was the one who first showed the quilt to me.” I could understand a quilt being symbolic but wondered how quilt making could have actually supported the temperance movement. Deb explained that quilts might have been sold as fundraisers so that women could pamphleteer. Quilting might also have been a way to bring women together to spread the notion that drinking was evil. Deb said, “A woman in the house who didn’t like alcohol was going to make a man’s life hell and make him quit drinking. Maybe they used it as a way to proselytize among the women. If the scions of the community are anti-drink, the young ladies are going to want to be seen as morally upright people.”
Deb’s quilt, which is not a scrap quilt but is made of just three fabrics, is at least a century old. “I know that the majority of the quilt squares are about the barn and the farm, but mine is about the quilt,” Deb said. “This place has been a farm for a long time, but none of the barns are left. The last one is under that flower patch,” Deb said, gesturing toward the gardens we had admired earlier.
Deb Fisher with her Drunkard’s Path quilt and barn quilt
As we headed back to the lake and dinner, Kitch and I agreed that the day had been a success. The four of us relaxed around a bonfire in the sand that evening while Gracie attempted to stalk the Rinehart’s yellow cat, Murphy. I was concerned, but Kitch assured me that Murphy could handle himself. Moments later a loud yelp confirmed that the cat had taught the seventy-four-pound dog a lesson. Poor Gracie refused to venture outside for the rest of our stay if she glimpsed Murphy anywhere nearby. Gracie’s scratched nose and the cowboy costume that Hugh donned the next morning as he prepared for a shooting competition