In the room I optimistically call the library,* because one day we will build proper bookshelves in there, is a celadon green couch we inherited from my grandmother Ruth. The walls are creamy and the windows face north; if we could only manage to buy a lightbulb in the proper spectrum it would be a pleasant room. Above the couch hangs a painting of a woman fiddling by moonlight on the shore and a pair of cats dancing to her tune. It’s a dreamy picture by an island artist who’s a friend of my parents, and I’m chiefly drawn to the colors: greens, golds, broody nighttime iris blues and slatey blues and lilac blues. Fox red for the woman’s hair and skirt and one of the cats. A softer red, too, in the faded pencil portrait of red-headed Great-Aunt Priscilla that hangs in the corner.

The couch folds out to form a double bed; this is where our guests sleep. In winter they can snuggle under a green comforter, but in summer they must make do with a motley collection of aged light woolen blankets from my other grandparents’ house. I find these blankets rather charming, with their peculiar seams and haphazard binding—it’s clear they were run up from bolts of fabric for utility. But in their many years of service they have grown yellowed and stained and rather raggy at the edges, and the light summer comforter I best liked to cover them, a simple down-and-calico coverlet that was Priscilla’s when she was small, is no longer sturdy enough for any but the most gentle use. The fabric could be easily torn and I’d hate for a visitor to feel the remorse of accidentally stepping on a corner and shredding it, so I only take it out of the closet for the occasional quiet rainy afternoon of knitting on the couch, and I make the cat keep his paws gentle if he wants to nestle beside me.

In short, I need a quilt for this bed, and the opportunity to make one is just around the corner. My Christmas present from Mr. G’s mother included a quilting class at the big quilting extravaganza in Sisters, Oregon… next week! I’ll be hanging out with the womenfolk of my husband’s family, soaking up as much knowledge as I can (some of the Gee’s Bend quilters are giving a lecture!) and practicing my piecing and hand-quilting skills in two classes taught by Jan and Lou of JanniLou Creations in Philomath, Oregon. The quilt I’ll start making on Friday is an arrangement of four-patch and nine-patch blocks. Because the internet is a land of marvels, I found a picture of the sample. I think it might be the perfect blend of antique and modern for this room.

I bought the fabrics Wednesday, taking my inspiration from the painting above the celadon couch. I found a matching green semi-solid to anchor the midtones, an array of creamy and green- or red-printed neutrals for the light tones, a russet print for the small burgundy squares, and two deep solid blues. The sample is quilted with freehand feather shapes; I’m leaning toward taking inspiration from Too Much Wool Cassie’s beautiful Welsh leaf patterns. (Of course, we may be talking years before this quilt reaches the quilting stage, given my track record.) Something botanical would be appropriate as a connective thread to Priscilla and her sister, my grandmother Caroline, both of whom were avid gardeners and had vast stores of knowledge about plants and trees. And there are botanical prints throughout, from Joanna Figueroa’s Fig Tree, Gypsy Rose, and Dandelion Girl collections.

All this fabric is now cut into the requisite strips and blocks, neatly bundled, and ready for next Friday. Here’s hoping I can squeeze some regular sewing into my summer around the Tour de France project and all the cycling I need to do! A goal: 20 miles every other day, plus longer weekend rides, while the Tour is on. I’m supposed to complete 63 miles for the Tour de Cure in 22 days, so I need to get fit quickly!

*Mr. G derisively calls it the TV room, just to push my buttons. Yes, the television is housed there, and yes, watching it is often one of the things I’m doing when I spend time there, but there’s only the one television against many, many books. And actually, there’s a great deal of wool in various stages of knit in there, too. It’s sort of the Woolery Annex, now I think about it. Someday our children are going to want both these rooms for their own use, but we’ll cross that bridge later on.