Tine's Virtual Walk Through a Patchwork Quilt

Tine had no time for a walk in the village today because of pressing affairs in the world at large.

She did, however, manage to lose herself for a short while in the scenes of the village sewn into a quilt that hangs on the wall at the town library.

"It was a lot like a walk, except for the fact that I didn't have to wear my mittens and Rubob wasn't there," Tine thought. "But lately, Rubob hasn't been on a lot of my walks anyway."

At the start of Tine's quilted walk, there was even a rooster like the one on the weathervane next door to Tine's house.



You might recall the rooster that greets Tine on her walks:



Tine noticed the shift in the direction of the wind and wondered why the four cardinal points aren't called the four rooster points.

"Probably something only an ornithologist could answer," she thought, glancing toward the reference librarian.

Tine looked up at Diamond Glen, as she often does at the start of her walks:



"It appears to be clear of snow," she thought. "They did a nice job plowing it last night. But I think I'll head down to the Meadows where I was yesterday."

Tine came to the Eighty-Acre Bridge, where she walked with Rubob yesterday afternoon.



"See, Rubob -- there's the Pequabuck River flowing beneath the bridge," she thought. This was an issue that had perplexed Rubob the previous day, because there was no sign of a river under the bridge. In the 1980s, the Pequabuck had taken a new direction, and the river and the bridge had apparently reached an amicable separation.

Tine found herself right back in the Meadows where she'd been the previous afternoon.



A quilt walk can be almost like the real thing, only warmer and easier-going underfoot, Tine reflected. "Why it's almost like lying in bed at night and thinking about one's afternoon walk."



She looked down toward the river, where someone was out sleighing.



"My, my -- I wonder whether Rubob would like to try that tomorrow," she thought.

Children skating on the river had evidently lost track of time, because the moon and stars were up -- either that, or Tine had lost track of the hour.



"I must be getting back from my quilt walk," Tine thought. "It's getting quite late."

But when she reached the town's main thoroughfare, as Rubob would call it, she decided she must have just witnessed a solar eclipse. Daylight had returned to Main Street.



"I don't remember all those elms being there yesterday. Perhaps the elm replanting program is proceeding better than expected," Tine reflected.

Fluffly clouds were blowing past Congo, the name Miss Porter's girls had given to the Congregational Church.



"Once again, the snowplow workers haven't wasted any time," Tine thought. "I expect Rev. Porter was out there shoveling with them, bless his heart."

"I'll stop in at the Village Store for a refreshing drink," she thought.



Tine was undecided over whether to get a hot or cold drink. The weather had been a bit changeable today. "Rubob would get a hot chocolate, I'm sure," she thought. "He's probably home enjoying one right now, while I'm out in the world at large doing tedious chores. Well, someone has to toil away."

Children had just been let out of the Noah Wallace School, Tine noticed. "Getting on three o'clock. My, how quickly an afternoon passes when one's busy."



A couple of the schoolchildren looked remarkably like Tine -- and appeared to share her fondness of books.

"Why don't we go down to the river again and look at the Grist Mill," Rubob would say, because he always suggests heading to the river, no matter where he is. So Tine agreed. She was uncharacteristically agreeable on virtual walks with Rubob.



"Yup, that's the Grist Mill," she said to Rubob. "It's all here on our quilted walk, isn't it? I don't think we'll ever need to take a chilly walk in the wintry real world again. We can take our daily walks in the comfort of the library, in the comfort of its quilt. It's a softer version of the village really."

Rubob, however, begged to differ, even though he wasn't actually there with Tine.

"A real walk is in fact a bit more like a patchwork quilt," he said. "One never knows what one's going to run into, and I like that. That's what makes walks so enjoyable."

"It's exactly the same here, under our quilt," Tine said. "What about kids skating in the moonlight? You don't often run into unexpected things like that on afternoon walks, except perhaps during solar eclipses. When was the last time we saw a solar eclipse on one of our walks?"

Rubob had sensibly vanished, perhaps so he wouldn't have to reply to Tine's whimsical musings.

She headed back down the main thoroughfare toward home, passing the "Memento Mori" cemetery on her way.



"See, Rubob -- same sights, same natural occurences as in the real village -- even death. A quilt can't shield you from death. All the exigencies of village life are here, as you might say, but things are a bit softer overall."



"A quilt softens the harsh reality of life," Tine continued. "I probably wouldn't even have to run errands in a quilted village. I could be at home with you enjoying a hot chocolate. What would you say to that?"



But Rubob was having none of it. He was waiting for Tine to return home so they could set out on their daily walk.

"I've had my walk today, Rubob," Tine said -- "and all in all, it was a very pleasant walk."