I entered an essay contest to win a 170th anniversary Singer sewing machine. It was to celebrate the 12,000 subcribers to a YouTube channel called Cow Country's Vintage Sewing Machines and Restoration. We were to write a fictional story about a town called Calico. There are a few towns by that name here in the U.S. and I chose the one in California that is now a ghost town. 

I found out today that...I WON!!!! I am beyond thrilled. So anyway, I thought I'd write that story here so anyone can read it.

                                                      Grandmother's Legacy

     One of my favorite things was when the delivery wagon stopped in front of Lane's Mercantile here in our little town of Calico, California. I'm not sure who gave this rough and tumble little mining town it's name. Whoever it was must have looked out over the hills and valleys surrounding the mine and been reminded of a colorful piece of calico cloth that was worn by a pretty girl they once loved. When the sun shone high in the afternoon the surrounding land took on the look of a patchwork quilt.

     Nestled in a little valley was our little town that had sprung up out of nothing. Many folks moved here because of the mine and the chance to strike it rich with the silver found here. Two years ago when Uncle Joe and I decided to settle here there was already an assessor's office and a saloon. Uncle Joe knew the town would need a general store that would carry all the things folks would need as they settled here. He and my Papa had run a general store back in Boston before my Papa died. They both had a good head for business and did very well with their store. Uncle Joe inherited the shop but was not happy working there without Papa as his partner. Uncle Joe wanted to start fresh somewhere new and that's when we made our move to Calico

When Uncle Joe and I stepped out onto the porch of the mercantile, the delivery driver was already untying the ropes that held the parcels in place. The two horsed hitched to the wagon snorted and stomped anxious to get a little treat. After so many deliveries to our store the came to recognize me. I gave them each a couple of sugar cubes, an apple and a scratch behind their ears. Then I had to take my turn bringing in the parcels we had ordered. I managed all the smaller and lighter packages that I could carry and piled them up onto the counter inside. Uncle Joe and the driver hoisted boxes and barrels of supplies and carried them to the back of the store.

     There was one item on the wagon that was carefully wrapped in a thick blanket tied with rope. It wasn't very big, but it was too heavy for me to lift on my own. Uncle Joe lifted it from the wagon and carefully placed it on the counter inside. Just then our friend Scott Geller arrived to see what had just been delivered. He owned the Cow Country Sewing and Repair shop just up the street. He was almost as anxious to see what was inside the package as I. But I already knew what it was.

     It was both a sad and happy moment as we unwrapped the package. Grandmother had passed on a few months earlier and many of her belongings had been sold or given away. Except this one. She had stated in her will that it was to be handed down to me. I stood in awe as the wrapping fell away to reveal the beautifully polished walnut cover that, when removed, revealed the shiny black and gold sewing machine that was my grandmother's most prized possession. My grandmother was a skilled seamstress and took great pride in the things she had sewn during her lifetime. She taught me how to sew during the time I had lived with her. My eyes welled up with tears of those memories as I ran my fingers over the glossy black finish and golden swirls decorating this wondrous machine. It could be cranked by hand using the pearly white handle that made the needle go up and down through cloth that would become something wonderful to wear, frilly curtains or a patchwork quilt. My heart was filled with pride knowing that this lovely machine was now mine to use and I could continue on with my grandmother's legacy.

                                                                   An excerpt from

                                                          Sarah Lane Mulchay's diary

                                                                      May 5, 1884