running around the property and had fetched decoys in the water. I worried about Gracie’s health, as she was then thirteen years old, so I always liked to know that she had been active. After their time in the water, Glen said with a smile, “We sat on the beach by the pond, sat in the shade under the tree, sat on the porch.” I was glad that he seemed to have enjoyed his day and, once again, was grateful for Ginny and Bill’s hospitality.
Our visit closed with a celebration of the local hardware store’s 125th anniversary. Country music played under a tent where dozens of families were gathered for a cookout. The mood was like a reunion, with kids playing along the fringes and adults talking from one table to the next. I loved hearing familiar songs played so far from home and grinned when I heard the lyrics from the stage: “You’d better leave this long-haired country boy alone.”
When a watermelon-eating contest was announced, the emcee asked whether anyone in the crowd might be willing to take on the local champ. Glen is naturally reserved, but he does have a healthy appetite. I shouted his name, and before long the chant began: “Glen! Glen! Glen! Glen!” He nodded his agreement, and almost immediately, I regretted having urged him to do so. He was wearing his Paddle Georgia 2011 T-shirt, a one-of-a-kind memento of the trip during which we had met. With his shirt turned inside out to minimize staining, Glen chomped and spit and chewed as fast as he could. In the end, he took second prize and donated his small cash winnings to the local quilt trail, in recognition of the warm welcome we had received in New York.
ohio
OUR LITTLE FAMILY moved on to southern Pennsylvania and a two-week break from travel. With no quilt trail stops to make, we began a series of lackluster stays in chain motels. The rooms were confining with no natural light, as opening curtains meant exposing ourselves to passersby just inches away. I appreciated having the downtime but missed the camaraderie of our visits to LeRoy and Schoharie, and the expansive lawns and pastures that had surrounded us. Restaurant fare was a poor substitute for the home-cooked meals we had enjoyed. And I was irritable from lack of sleep. Glen rises early and by the time I wake, he has been at work for a couple of hours. During our recent stays, he had been able to work in another room, and I could sleep undisturbed. Now we were in a shared space. Glen could not work without light, and I could not sleep with it. The clang of a spoon against a coffee cup, the jangle of Gracie’s leash, the creak of a chair broke both the silence and my rest, and chattering keyboard clicks kept me awake.
The bus would not be ready for another three weeks, and we both were miserable and moody. We could not survive if we allowed our bickering to escalate. With some trepidation, we agreed to state our grievances with an eye toward problem solving rather than recrimination, and together we found solutions. Now Glen’s soft voice woke me each morning, “Here is a towel for your eyes and here are your earplugs. Shh, now go back to sleep.” We agreed that Gracie would wait a couple of hours before her morning walk, a habit that continues to this day. Our mutual dissatisfaction with constant restaurant meals led me to scour cooking websites for motel-friendly dishes. I put together a traveling pantry that included essential spices, then visited a thrift store to find suitable utensils and dishes. Being able to prepare a simple meal of spaghetti with a Caesar salad in our temporary home restored a sense of control. It took a week or so, but together we created a pleasant motel lifestyle. More importantly, the habit that we developed during that difficult time—of sharing our frustrations and asking for each other’s help—has served us well since.
Time away from the quilt trail did give us a chance to explore Pennsylvania. A kayak tour on the Susquehanna River took us through the heart of Harrisburg, a lazy day baking ourselves in the sunshine that we had craved. Gettysburg was a highlight of the year. The battlefields were immense, and driving through them impressed us with just how momentous the fight had been. Glen was especially moved when we stopped to read about a “witness tree” that stood near the road. “Can you imagine? This tree was here, right in the middle of things. It makes you realize that it just was not that long ago.”
Heading west a week later, I was surprised at the terrain. Somehow, the Keystone State of my imagination was mostly flat; instead this was the first time in our trip that we encountered mountains. Part of me was glad to be in the nimble car rather than in the bus as Glen negotiated the twists and turns. Dozens of barns appeared along the roadside—red, white, gray, even yellow—some just a few yards from the highway. Most seemed to be in good repair, and some were larger than any I had seen, grand dames surveying the landscape and marking centuries of change. I couldn’t help wondering how many barns had been lost when the road shoved its way through. After a day’s long drive, we passed through the last tunnel and wound our way down the mountains to Ohio, birthplace of the quilt trail.
The corn was up, and abundant fields lined the roads, vivid green curtains shielding our view for miles at a time. As we neared our destination, a Victorian house with rounded towers and extravagant gingerbread trim popped up out of nowhere; we simultaneously said, “Wow. Look at that!” We drew close and were ready to stop for a closer inspection when we realized that we had arrived at Barb and Jim Gabriel’s home, where we would be staying for the next few days. The interior of the home fascinated us. Dormer windows over each dark-planked door swiveled on pegs, and tall ceilings were higher than even Glen’s long arms could reach.
There is nothing better than waking up to a cool morning with windows open, hearing Glen’s voice from downstairs, enthusiastically engaged in conversation. He would spend the day alone, so this morning social time with our hosts was his. I lingered upstairs for a while, not wanting to break the spell by emerging downstairs before time to hit the road.
As Jim drove, Barb told me a bit about the Hancock County Quilt Trail. Several barn quilts were already in place nearby when Barb decided to create one for their property. Barb was soon working with the Arts Partnership to expand the quilt trail. During an event called Artswalk, a block designed by art teachers was painted by college students but no location for the quilt square had been determined. Jim pointed out the quilt block, mounted on an old grain elevator standing out front of a car dealership. “He didn’t really know what he was agreeing to,” Barb said.
Flowers and Snails
Interest grew, and Barb soon found herself very busy producing barn quilts. Of course, the Gabriels added quilt blocks to their property, a Compass and a variation of the Ohio Star, which are easily visible on new garages next to the drive. One of the buildings is also home to a workshop where both Barb and members of the local community paint quilt blocks.
The quilt design on Dave and Jan Reese’s barn echoed one that was well known to me. The center swirl of their quilt block resembled the Snail’s Trail on Donna Sue and Maxine Groves’s barn in Adams County, but the unusual colors and yellow flowers around the fringes marked it as an original. Jan invited us inside for lavender-infused lemonade and said that she grows flowers, including fragrant lavender, as a business. Before long, we were behind the barn checking out the lavender labyrinth she had created. Now the patterns and colors of Jan’s Flowers and Snails quilt block design made sense.
Dave is the third generation on the family farm and remembers the dairy barn fondly as “full of noise and lots of chaos.” His grandfather purchased the barn in 1918, but through Friends of Ohio Barns, the building was dated to the 1860s. The barn was in poor condition, but Dave and Jan had no qualms about the very costly renovation. “It was really important to us to save the barn,” Dave said. “Jan’s work area has brought new life to the barn; I think the barn quilt symbolizes that new life with the restoration and the barn being repurposed.”
We
