Blankets. We have a lot of them. Five people. Four seasons. Picnics. Camping. Star Gazing. Forts.
As we move through each passing season, I take a day to clean out the linen closet. Washing each of the pieces. Rotating the heavy woolen covers of winter in exchange for light cotton quilts of warmer days.
This year, as I removed them from the line and folded them into piles, I realized that almost all of our blankets are made by hand. By each of the generations I hold in my memory.
Great-grandmothers, grandmothers, and mothers.
Each of a different medium.
Some knit. Some crochet. Some sewn by hand.
Four generations of stitches.
All made with love.