Virginia Real : Cuttin’ A Rug…

February 17, 2014

When my parents were just a young married couple in the early 1940’s, they lived way back in a “Hollow” in the county where they were born. At that time, all of the “Hollow” roads were still one-lane, dirt and gravel roads. Across from their house, there was a long driveway that crossed a stream and went slightly upward, leading to a small, white-washed cabin that was probably at least a hundred years old. In this cabin lived their neighbor whom they called “Cousin Janie”. I don’t know if she was really related to them or not, but I do know that they couldn’t have loved and respected her more had she been their real grandmother.

Cousin Janie had gotten married when she was 31-years old. I am not sure why she waited so long to get married, but I always thought that was a sensible thing to do. I have a couple of pictures of her when she was young and she was absolutely gorgeous. When she did get married, it was to a man who was in his early 60’s at the time. I’m not sure at what age her husband died, but they had three sons. The sons grew up, raised families of their own and lived productive lives.

During their time as neighbors, Cousin Janie taught my mother how to bake bread, dry apples on the tin roof of a shed, how to make apple butter using a big black copper-lined kettle and many other useful skills. Both my mother and Cousin Janie focused their lives on making do with what they had. When I think of them, I am reminded of the sayings, “when life gives you scraps, make quilts” and “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade” because that is just what they did. They made magical things out of almost nothing.

As the years passed, Momma and Daddy moved several times, but still stayed within the same county. They maintained the relationship with Cousin Janie and made regular visits to her house. From the time I was very small, I would go with them on most of those visits. I remember an overwhelming sense of peace and quiet whenever I was at her house. As you might imagine, because we had so many children in our family, moments of peace and quiet were a rare thing. I also grew to love Cousin Janie. She had sparkling blue eyes and fine silver hair that was always pulled back into a neat little bun and covered with a kerchief-type hat that she had fashioned out of thin cotton fabric. She also made her own dresses and she usually wore shoes that she had made from wool. She made the aprons that she wore as well.

I could write for hours and hours about Cousin Janie and how she shaped, not only my mother, but me as well. Even though I only saw her on visits, I was in awe of her because it seemed to me that she lived on almost nothing but her own skills. She cracked black walnuts from the trees that were in her yard and sold them. She sold dried apples as well. In addition, she used cast off wool clothing such as men’s trousers and coats to make the most beautiful braided rugs. Her work on these rugs was legendary in our county and she seemed to be able to sell them as fast as she could make them.

When I was around ten years old, I got up enough nerve to ask her if she would show me how to make them. (I use the term “got up enough nerve” because, if you were a kid in my family and you went to visit someone, you weren’t allowed to speak unless spoken to. My parents strictly adhered to the belief that children should be seen and not heard when we were visiting people. With twelve boisterous children, I guess they had to adopt this rule. Otherwise, visiting with family and friends would’ve rapidly turned into a series of free-for-alls, rather than the leisurely visits that I remember so fondly. So, in this instance, I was basically thumbing my nose at our family’s commandment of “If thou art a child, then thou shalt not speak while visiting…unless thou would like thy butt whupped.”) Cousin Janie patiently showed me the basics of what fabric to use, how to start the rug, how to braid it, and how to connect the braiding together. I was so excited about what I had learned that I went home and immediately started making my own rug. When I took my sad looking little oval back to her, she gently gave suggestions on how to improve my next rug such as making the braids a bit tighter, how to prevent the rug from rolling up into a “cup shape”, how to finish the last row properly and most importantly…always add at least a little bit of red somewhere in the rug.

Cousin Janie lived to be in her 90’s. She was able to live in her cabin up until a few years before she died. At that time, she moved in with her son and daughter-in-law. I have made quite a few braided rugs since she gave me those first lessons. A few years ago, I even knitted “tubes” (also called “I-cord”) and braided those together. Below are pictures of my knitted/braided rug as well as a new rug I’ve started that will go in my kitchen after the renovation is finished. Whenever I work on these rugs, I feel the kindred spirit of Cousin Janie looking over my should and hope that she notices that I do, without fail, put a little bit of red in every rug I make.