The citizen. [volume] (Berea, Ky.) 1899-1958, 1916-08-17
HOME DEPARTMENT


i
IL an artist Who kneels at the altar
Of Beauty and Love and receives
from the hands Of the gods her
share Of that priceless draught.
What can one see in these old
patterns? What can you not see2
Poetry, romance, religion, sociology,
politics, and history and "all that's
in human life" The names Of
these patterns tell stories in them
selves. The wcavers who gave them
are poets. How IL touches our
hearts when we think Of the poor
mountain woman with a love and
yearning for the beautiful, whose
soul held something for which she
had no means Of expression except
in the weaving and naming of a
hand woven coverlet.
Let me explain a pattern or two.
The Worlds Wonder"
This woman had toiled long at the
wheel and dyepot and loom. She
had cut the breadths and sewed them
together and hcmmed them with
coarse homespun thread. Then she
swept and garnished her room
spread the beautiful coverlet on the
fluffy bed and viewed the effect.
What could be more beautiful than
the snowy white foundation showing
family thru the rich tracery of dark
blue? Indeed il was wonder and
so the woman christened il, THE
Worlds Wonder"
Lonely Heart" tells the story of
lonely girl whose lover had died.
Youth and Beauty"
Can't you see the picture of two
old women bent with care and sor-
row, bending over their looms and
naming their handiwork in men,
DRY of a swift winged splendor that
was theirs but that can never be
again.
Young Mans Fancy"
I'm the spring, a young mans fan
cy lightly turns to thoughts Of love-"
Can't you imagine the story back
Of that?
"0wsley Forks"
Can't you see the current of the
creek flowing by the little home Of
mountain weaver in Kentucky?
She made the creek the theme of
her weaving as Tennyson made the
brook the theme Of his poetry: and
who shall say that this poor uncul-
tured mountain woman is not soul
kin to this great English poet or TO
the greatest artist that has ever
lived?
How these weavers loved their
work. How reyerently should we
touch these old patterns made by
the toil-worn hands Of a patient
woman who wOve with every thread
thought of love for the home that
would be beautiful and/ another
thought of husband and children
who would sleep warmer thru all
life's winters under the blankets
and beautiful covers made by her
own hand. Around every piece
hangs fringe Of memories and
traditions, little stories Of life, love
and death. The warps were not
mere threads but were spun from
the substance we call human
life, and the colOrs of its wool are
the rainbow hues OF a woman's hopes
and joys.
Many people are proud TO trace
their ancestry back to a red hand
ed warrior or a degenerate king but
how much prouder should we be TO
trace ours back to a woman who
never "ate the bread of idleness."
This alone entities us to noble
birth.
Girls, your hands are soft and
white-hers hard and knotted; your
speech has the elegance Of one who
has studied in school and college
hers plain and ungramatical; you
have a knowledge Of science, his
tory, art and literature-she had
only what she got from the Bible;
The Pilgrims PROGRESS was her only
fiction. All her poetry and music
lay inside the hymn-book; her only
glimpse into the land of art was
when she dyed her thread, spun and
wove the beautiful designs handed
down thru ages. Her love and beau
ty was more sincere and deeper than
ours, hers is the record of tireless
industry, her patience, her love, her
soul of beautiful ideals.
Should we not honor these grand
mothers of ours and the beautiful
idaaIs handad dnUn IN ma thpu thair