You really do not know cold, unless you have spent a winter in Iowa. Vermont may have more snow, Nebraska more wind, and Montana lower temperatures, but until you have been pierced by an Iowa winter, you don't know cold. Her death-gray skies linger through the shortened day, and her mocking winds howl daring anyone to brave winter's sharp, biting teeth. Like a fighter staring down his opponent in the middle of the ring, winter glares through your window from the open plains, where she has taken hostage the unguarded land and all that it subsumes. There is no worst chill that you will experience than winter in Iowa.

And it is that prospect of shivering muscles and bones that keeps Juliana indoors during the calendar's harshest months. She is content to avoid the cold, opting instead to watch winter stare through the windows, while she sits by the crackling fireplace, her quilting needles nearby. The season cynically asks her to come out and "play," but she would prefer to sit quietly, wait it out, and work on her putting when the sun is more inviting. Juliana is a patient person during winter. It gives her time to think, to plan, to ponder all the questions she faces regarding the prospect of next year's disc golf season. She does not challenge the Iowa skies during winter. She just waits for them to pass, until the warmth and promise of spring tip-toe into the dominion she has known all her life.

It is during this waiting that she finds an abundance of time to pursue another one of her favorite endeavors-quilting. Square-by-square, Juliana threads together a covering that may keep her warm next winter, or that she may hang in her room as a reminder of the cruel winter passed, or that she may pass on to another to show her appreciation. But while she pieces it together, I cannot help but wonder if, in her mind, she also pieces together a life that has afforded her the athletic prowess to become a world champion, the intellect to chart her course, and the personality to endear her to all she encounters. She must have pondered the risks of giving up her faculty position at the college and taking on the rigors and responsibilities of becoming a touring disc golf pro. How do those pieces fit into the quilt of her life she is now constructing? And what square of the 168 was she working on when she decided to devote her life to our great game? Though we play for fun, our livelihoods do not depend on the couple hundred dollars the smallish women's open division pays out every weekend. Her livelihood depends on so much out of her control: a decent purse; the reliability of a vehicle that can make it to the next venue; the support of those around her who understand what this means to her.

What square was it? Which one tipped the scale of her life to join the tour? To join a gang so much unlike herself, except for their passion to play disc golf. Was it the starry square that implored her to follow her dreams? Did the subtle yellows and auburns of that patch jog the memory of her father who refused to release the hot iron in his arms just because they said it could not be held for over a minute? Was it his inspiration to endure the pain, rather than succumb to what others felt was impossible that lead her to defy the advise of all those around her?

Or was it the patch of the crescent moon that triggered her decision to live this life of long roads and the befriending of constant strangers she now faces at every event? For it may be in that moon she found solace one night when her mother was braiding her hair on the back porch after the loss of her dog Roscoe to the Kerr's speeding pickup truck. In that fading moon the night Roscoe died, she may have learned her most valuable lesson in life; do what you can do, what you want to do, today, because you may not be around to see the light of the full, smiling moon when it swings around on the other side.

Or was it the plaid square of her ancestry that reminded Juliana of her grandmother, who always told her that 'we all need to believe in something'? Despite what she thought she knew not always being true, and what she did not know being without certainty, there was one thing in which Juliana always maintained a strong belief-herself. Granny taught her about strength, not by telling, but by showing, leading, providing. And it gave Juliana the fortitude to forge ahead to an advanced degree, to move along in her relationships, to do 1006 sit-ups to set the high school record. Was it that plaid square that convinced her it was alright to move along, to believe in what she really wanted to do?

Maybe the vanilla white square provided the inspiration on a frigid winter day in Iowa. For in that white square was a story waiting to be written. The blank square may have reminded Juliana of the infinite possibility she faced to create a life for herself, not determined by the standards of others, but molded by her own hand. Or did the white square move her gaze from the blanket and out the window into the snowy Iowa winter that was holding her captive, bound to a chair by the fire, unable to reach her potential? Maybe being held hostage by those cold, white flakes piled high outside her door helped her to understand her situation and to throw off the chains of a life she knew could be so much better.

Whatever square might have provided the impetus for Juliana to become a touring pro, it is the entire quilt that tells the story. Like a blade of grass does not make up the whole lawn, nor a single throw constitute an entire round, it is the cumulative experience of one that brings to bear how we run our lives. There may be instances that alter our course forever, but only our complete experience give us the tools to navigate life. So when deciding on how you will act, what you will do, and why you are doing it, take an inventory of the squares of your life, but never loose sight of the entire quilt.

EPILOGUE.
When Juliana came out of hibernation a few summers back, our family had the good fortune to host her for ten days. With a guest room, unlimited internet access, and an understanding wife, we welcomed Juliana into our home to let her know that we understood the risks she was taking and to show our support for her. Though intensely shy, she accepted our offer and arrived on a weekday afternoon.

During those ten days, our family was provided a glimpse into the life of one of the most private persons I have ever met. And we respected this without reservation. Since our crew is quite boisterous, it was sometimes awkward and sometimes welcoming to have her around. But it was always a privilege to get to know Juliana just a little bit better than I knew her before.

As a sign of her appreciation, Juliana gave our family this quilt she sewed by hand during the Winter of 1998-1999. It was unexpected and unneeded, but it is a treasure that we hold with great value in our home. Thanks Juliana. Your gift and your example have taught us lessons that words could never convey.

© copyright 2002 John G. Duesler, Jr.