This is another of the quilts I remember from early childhood, the ones that formed my definition of "quilt." It was made by Great Grandma Walters.
The poor thing is just worn out. We cringe to look at that now, but if it hadn't been out and on a bed, it wouldn't have had such an influence on me. Some of the flowers have frayed away except for their edges.
I couldn't get a decent picture of the hand quilting against that white fabric, but it's there and it's amazing. This is why I don't hand quilt. I thought the standard was for those perfect teeny tiny stitches.
It looks like someone added borders later to make the quilt larger.
Be sure to stop back tomorrow afternoon and see the quilt that Grandma Walters's mother, Grandma Rowell made. So much for my not thinking there weren't quilters in the family!