I am eighteen years, four months, and eight days old. Yesterday, I graduated high school; I walked across a stage, nervously grabbed my diploma from a man whom I believe to be one of the most intimidating high school principals in the greater Portland area, and then high-tailed it back to my assigned chair. There, I reveled in the greatest achievement of my lifetime until the one hundred, thirty-nine students of my small graduating class were released into a mass of paparazzi comprised of parents, grandparents, distant relatives and family friends.
Graduation brings with it an onslaught of nostalgia for the recently passed "good ol' days", as well as a bombardment of embarrassing memories and landmark regrets ("shoulda, coulda, woulda"). It's a sad day, but it marks the beginning of the rest of your life, and it happens to lie right in the middle of a two-week period where it is considered acceptable to receive large sums of money from people you've never actually met.
I've retrieved more than two dozen heartfelt cards from the rickety old mailbox at the end of my driveway since the 31 of May, and generous contributions to my college fund have totaled to well over one thousand dollars. That being said, however, my favorite graduation gift was not adorned with the face of a famous American patriot; it was a quilt, sent by my grandfather's younger sister Barbara.
I've only met my aging Great Aunt Barbara once, but in the short few days that she visited our home two years ago from Kansas City, I came to know her as one of kindest people that I have ever met. I like to think that, in this short interval of time, Aunt Barbara and I became friends.
When I found a package on my doorstep yesterday, clearly labeled with her return address, I was thrilled to see that she'd thought of me at the time of my high school graduation... and my happiness multiplied when I discovered the beautiful handcrafted quilt inside. ("What a perfect addition to my college dorm room this will be!" I thought.) I struggled to pull the massive amount of fabric free from its brown paper packaging in order to admire it further, and I found a page-long letter, typed with an old typewriter, beneath its folds. This is what it said:
Dear Megann,
Well, the big moment has finally arrived-- Graduation day! Congratulations! I know your family is very proud of you. Now the door to the future swings wide open and there will be many decisions to make: college and other career choices, marriage and children of your own.
Enclosed is a gift to take with you wherever your adventurous spirit leads you. The name of the quilt is "Grandmother's Fan" and the fabric is from the collection called "Canning Days". I mention this because I have a story to tell you from my childhood. Yes, believe it or not, I was young once. But this story is not so much about me, but memories of my Grandmother Lou and Aunt Helen during canning days.
Our home in Los Angeles had several fruit trees in the backyard. One was a large apricot tree which stood right beside my playhouse. Its branches spread well over the little house, providing much shade. The second tree, a peach, was a little smaller. Both trees produced an abundant amount of fruit during the months of June and July.
I remember Uncle Maurice climbing up into the branches of the apricot tree with pails in hand, and picking the ripening fruit. I preferred picking the sweet fruit from the lower branches, and popping them into my mouth. Yum! Uncle Maurice would spend hours picking the fruit and bringing pails into the kitchen where Grandma Lou and Aunt Helen waited.
One the stove were large kettles with water boiling, sterilizing the canning jars into which the fruit would be poured. The procedure of canning was labor intensive and it took hours.
It didn't take long before the steam from the kettles on the stove began heating up the kitchen. I remember coming into the kitchen and seeing Grandma Lou and Aunt Helen fanning themselves with whatever they could find at hand: perhaps a folded newspaper or magazine... anything that would cool them down as perspiration trickled down their face and neck. We had no air conditioning, as we lived only a few miles from the ocean, and were able to enjoy the afternoon sea breezes; however, these did not cool down a hot and steamy kitchen during canning days.
We reaped the benefits of those hot summer days though, when, in the fall and winter months, Grandma Lou would reach into a lower cupboard and pull out apricot and peach preserves. We spread the delicious preserves on our morning toast and would smack our lips. It tasted so-o good.
While you may never experience canning fresh fruit for your future family, I hope you will remember this little story whenever you look at the quilt called "Grandmother's Fan".
Sending you love and best wishes for the future,
Aunt Barbara
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