No Time on My Hands

No Time on My Hands

No Time on My Hands

No Time on My Hands

Synopsis

'No Time on My Hands' is a remarkable chronicle of the sod house era and of Grace Snyder's married life on a ranch in Nebraska's sandhills. From there she finally flies above the clouds to exhibits where her quilts contribute to a worldwide revival of quiltmaking.

Excerpt

In putting this story together for my mother I have had the Privilege of going back fourscore years and more, back to her birthplace in Missouri; the old house mouldered now, retaining little of the elegance that endeared it to my frail little grandmother. I have stood with her on the Nebraska prairie where my grandfather laid up his one-room soddy nearly eighty years ago. There is no trace of it there now, or has there been for many years. But in the grassy hillside below there is still a dimple to mark the spot where Pearlie's heifer calf fell through the dugout roof that long-ago August afternoon. Off to the north a little way there is a ragged gulch in a steep claybank, the unhealed scar where the footpath climbed the hill from the old well in the canyon below. a quarter mile or so to the southwest a straight, narrow strip of grass, different in color from the grasses on either side, ripples across the hills to the skyline. That strip, my mother tells me, is where Poppie plowed his fireguard that first autumn on the homestead. the guard long ago grew back to grass, but it has ever since been darker in hue than the rest of the prairie.

I have walked with her in old Walnut Grove cemetery, in the shadow of the tall cedar hedge. So many of the people who walked in the first pages of this story are sleeping there now. We stop awhile where "Poppie . . ."

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