To the editor:
My mother, Ina Porter, loved quilts, and fabrics in general, for that matter. She had quilts made for us kids, a Little Boy Blue for each of my two brothers and a Sunbonnet Sue for me. All were appreciated by us and admired by others.
Before I was born, she made heavy quilts of large pieces of wool for the master bedroom, which stayed cooler than the other bedrooms. These were not quilted, simply tacked in various spots with yarn. She later told me that she held me as a baby while she sat at her Singer electric sewing-machine. A photo of me at 5 months shows me in a teal wide wale corduroy belted coat and matching hat, both trimmed in white fur, made without patterns.
In two more years my brother Leonard was born, Ina was working six days in the studio, while doing housework evenings and Sunday, and sewing stopped. She bought fabric and had quilts made. When I was about 10 and wanted a skirt exactly like one in a magazine, she took me to a yard goods store on Court Street. Yes, they could make it, and I chose material.
Much later on, in the 1970s, she discovered a quilting marvel, possibly a relative, in her 90s. I had left Houlton in 1952, but she told me of this new friend, and, when I came back to visit, showed me cushion and pillow covers that the woman had made. Two went back with me.
Next trip, Ina insisted I had to visit Lily; I think that was her name. She lived on lower Bangor Street, upstairs in a very large room with a quilt on a frame across the end of her bed. Downstairs lived her daughter and family, who, Ina said, brought Lily’s meals up to her.
Ina died in 1980 at the age of 80, and many boxes got packed up to go home with me. Recently, I untaped one and found, amongst towels, the beginning of a quilt. The very next day, photos in the Pioneer suggested that what I had was a quilt block.
Memories of Lily are vivid, but facts are faint. So far, three people have no recall of such a person from over 35 years ago. Perhaps some quilters of today could have heard of Lily or seen her work.