THE TRUE ORIGINS OF THE WATERMELON QUILT

Not so very long ago, Bumpa and Noma were bidding farewell to Rootsie, Tootsie and little Squeedunk after a day at the lake.

“Goodbye, Rootsie,” Bumpa said.  “Goodbye, Tootsie.  Goodbye, Pumpkin.”

“I’m not a pumpkin!  I’m a watermelon!” Squeedunk hollered back.

And, indeed, she was a watermelon that day for she was wearing a bathing suit designed to look like a slice of watermelon. Her outfit was largely colored watermelon-flesh red and dotted with black watermelon seeds. A green strip trimmed the outfit like a watermelon rind.

Bumpa laughed.  “Goodbye, Pumpkin,” and drove away.

For months and months, every time Bumpa and Noma would part from the children, Bumpa would say: “Goodbye, Rootsie.  Goodbye, Tootsie.  Goodbye, Pumpkin.”

And Squeedunk would always holler back: “I’m not a pumpkin!  I’m a watermelon!” no matter what she was wearing that day.

Noma likes quilt stores just about as much as Bumpa likes a good cigar or… or… bacon.  Noma can unearth a quilt store in most any town through which the two of them are passing.

Sure enough, one day, while driving around Bend, Oregon, Noma spotted a quilt store and the old couple just had to stop.  There being no cigar stores or bacon stores nearby, Bumpa followed Noma in.

Displayed, as in many stores of this genre, were the works of quilters from throughout the area.  Big and small, bright and subdued, geometric, log cabin, spirally, patchwork and abstract: all manner of quilts hung from the walls and rafters including a pumpkin quilt.

Bumpa saw it first.  Then Noma. 

“That would be perfect for Squeedunk!” Bumpa said.  “It just needs one thing.”

Noma nodded.  “And I know just what it needs.”

Thus, the seed was planted – a watermelon seed – 

-- for Squeedunk’s Pumpkin… Watermelon! Quilt.

© 2019

Church of the Open Road Press

DAY 6, 7, 10, 12 AND 13: A VISIT TO A NEW ENGLAND GUZZI DEALERSHIP (PLEASE?)

More of what has become a random series of recollections about a recent trip to New York City, Boston, MA and the wilds of the Maine’s “Down East” coast.

DATELINE NEW YORK CITY (2011): I've not been one to picture myself associated with the term "exclusivity." But in research this, my first trip to New York City, I figured it would be fun to drop by the local Moto Italiano and talk Guzzi like the Guzzi groupie I am fast becoming.

Sitting with an exclusive looking crowd at a corner Starbucks, I check on-line. "Moto Guzzi New York" leads me to Vespa of Brooklyn. Vespa Brooklyn - at least on line - lists no product from Mandelo del Lario, at least in stock. I'll take the subway, anyway. You know, just to hang out.

Well, that didn’t happen. What we did visit was a fine quilt store in West Village and another one in Tribeca.


DATELINE BOSTON (2011): The MG dealer is out of town a bit. Lacking anything but access to public transit, it may be a challenge making my way over there. I check a map provided by the hotel management and the transit lines in the greater Boston area, all the while humming a tune about some guy named “Charley.”

If only I had a rental car. But that wasn’t scheduled to happen until our day of departure. And we were headed in a different direction. One that would take us to a quilt store in Portsmouth, NH and a quilt store near Cape Neddick, Maine. And one in Rockport, Maine, and one in Ellsworth and one in Bar Harbor. And Old Town. And Concord.

DATELINE GILL, MA (2005): On a late December day, with the temperature hovering between seven and ten degrees, I dropped into A-J’s BMW-Guzzi. The owner was assisting a client in loading a classic BMW K-1 onto a trailer. I lent a hand. Later, inside, coffee and talk was offered:

“Where you from?” “California.” “What do you ride?” “An RT” (at the time.) “How come you didn’t ride it out?” I looked at the sheet of ice that formed the parking lot and crept into the lanes of travel on US 2. “Next time I see you,” he admonished, grinning and refilling my cup, “You oughta be on that bike.”

Six years had elapsed and again I was in a rental car. I couldn’t stop in Gill. It looked as if my goal of hanging out and talking Guzzi would be unmet in the Northeast.

By the way: there’s a nice quilt store in nearby Shelbourne Falls.


DATELINE SOUTHWEST FLIGHT 484 FROM CHICAGO TO SACRAMENTO (with continuing service to San Diego): Flying home, I looked out the window at the occasional towns that dot the region west of the hundredth meridian. I recall those days when outposts sprung up and matured and had but one church to show for every fifteen or so saloons. The upstanding, the pious and the preachers would shake their heads at this ratio. Most everyone else was fine with it.

Now, as I rocket along, I think about the ratio of New England quilt stores to New England Italian motorcycle dealerships and I, too, must simply shake my head.

© 2011
Church of the Open Road Press