costumes served tea and cookies on elegant china, while those gathered had a chance to view the three cloth quilts that showcase the blocks in the Western Ontario quilt trails. Glen and I met a young woman named Christina who, with her service dog Charlie, had traveled all three of the quilt trails by scooter, taking about a year and a half to see all of the blocks. Christina was such an enthusiastic adventurer, and as she related her stories of stopping to speak with farmers, getting lost and asking strangers for directions, determined to find her way alone, I was reminded of my solo travels along the quilt trail in years past.
Glen and I made our way east and stopped for a couple of days in Niagara Falls before crossing into New York. An icy cold dousing aboard the Maid of the Mist at the base of the falls made for an energizing break from work for both of us. Wearing wide smiles and Smurf-blue raincoats, Glen and I celebrated the anniversary of our first date. It had been an exceptional year.
new york
I HAD BEEN in contact with Lynne Belluscio several times and we had developed a long-distance rapport. On hearing of our mishap, she immediately opened her home to Glen, Gracie, and me. Once again the generosity of spirit that underlies the quilt trail was manifested in welcoming hospitality. Lynne is director of the LeRoy Historical Society, just east of Buffalo, New York, and headed up the barn quilt trail there. I was eager to see what they had accomplished. Lynne is also the curator of the Jell-O museum, and we looked forward to adding a quirky stop to our itinerary.
We arrived at Lynne’s home where we were greeted by Lynne’s Whig Rose barn quilt and an unlocked front door, with a note on the table telling us that Lynne would be back soon. A heavy wooden door in the kitchen led to a one-room log cabin adjoining the house, our headquarters for a couple of days. Glen and I were glad to have our own space, especially since Gracie does not care for other dogs. She is sweet towards humans but seems to think that smallish dogs like Lynne’s two Shelties just might be good for a snack.
The next day, Glen and Gracie began their day in the cabin, while Lynne and I hit the road. The first thing I asked was how to spell and pronounce the name of the town. She replied that as far as the pronunciation goes, it depends on who you ask whether it is LEEroy or LeROI, and it might be one word or two. But, “It’s got to be a capital R.”
The quilt trail was begun in the fall of 2011 in anticipation of the town’s bicentennial, with a goal of twenty-five barn quilts by the June 2012 celebration. Lynne knew she needed key people to get involved, and Shelley Stein was at the top of her list. Shelley had been town supervisor, and her family also owns one of the largest dairy farms in town. Lynne said, “She understands agritourism and pride in family farms.” In one person, Lynne had both of the ingredients that, combined, were key to success.
Monkey Wrench (Churn Dash)
Lynne and I stopped off to see one of the Stein barns, and I was dismayed that it was a modern building that lacked the character of a classic barn. “Some say that it’s an ugly barn,” Lynne said, “but it’s a working farm. I know on some trails they limit it to barns that are a certain number of years old, but we wanted to showcase agriculture in our town.” The philosophy certainly made sense. Lynne went on to explain that the Churn Dash barn quilt occupied the space where a Stein Farms sign once hung. Obviously, these folks were staunch supporters of the quilt trail. The yellow and green in the pattern stand for the green alfalfa fields and yellow corn, with black and white for Holstein cows. We both liked the choice of Churn Dash as it might also represent dairy farming, and when we met Shelley, I was delighted to find that there was a connection to a family quilt as well.
Shelley talked a bit about how she views the barn quilts: “We have such a strong agricultural 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
