Feeling I Belong With a Drawer Full of Aprons -One Day at a Time

One of the things I received after finishing up at the International School of Baking was an apron. I treasure it more than the certificate! It’s white and crisp, long and functional.

I especially like how the “apron strings” are long enough to wrap all the way around from the back to the front of me and tie neatly to the right side. I tuck a clean towel in by my left hip so I can wipe my hands on it as I’m working.

I love aprons—always have. I snatch them up at junk stores and have even sewn a few in my day. I have several in a box upstairs in storage and three drawers full in my bakery! I pull them out and wear them feeling the love from the person that they may have belonged to, or from the friend that made my daily apron selection. It’s comforting and on some strange level, wearing the apron makes me feel like I belong.

A farrier/blacksmith wears a heavy, leather apron. A welder wears the same. A seamstress, a gardener, a carpenter, a scientist all wear an apron. A hairdresser, a painter, and a housekeeper. A baker, a chef, a chemist, an x-ray tech, a waitperson, and a homemaker wear an apron. The apron that we wear somehow says here’s what I do and where I belong!

The word apron is a derivative of a French word from the 14-century “naperon”, (“napron” by the 17th century) which means: small tablecloth, napkin, or frock. Of course we know that is worn to cover up and protect our frontside and clothing from harm or damage. (Merriam-webster.com)

What is your memory of an apron? Do you wear one for your line of work? Maybe you are like June Cleaver and wear one to protect your dress as you prepare for your dinner party! Many mothers and housewives wore aprons daily in the 50’s and 60’s. It was part of their attire for that day and they may have even changed into a clean “frock” when their man came through the door from a hard day’s work. There were of course dressy, sheer lacy aprons, and plain, muslin, functional aprons.

I still have a very colorful apron from my Grandma Betty. It’s still one of my favorites to don while baking up my culinary delights. We have a family slide of my Grandma Lily at Christmastime standing in her kitchen with a snappy, little apron covering her dress clothes while she is smashing potatoes.

I always loved going into the City Bakery in Red Lodge, MT. In the old days they had all of those old aprons strung along the tops of the walls with a clothes line and clothes pins to add to the antique themed decor.

There are many good books on the history of aprons. I love that you can even pinpoint the year in which the apron was made or worn by the fabric, buttons and decorative notions. (Remember rick rack? Was that just a 70’s thing?!)

With Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner, I hope you find some joy in the kitchen baking up something new with family and friends. Or, you could just order pizza! Either way you have my permission to pull out that apron, put it on, and enjoy each new day as it comes. 

Interestingly, I have found the only thing I can control is my attitude. I sure wish I controlled the weather and that the throes of winter weren’t before us. Even so, the warmth of an oven baking up my favorite bread and the hugs of a colorful apron to keep my wayward thoughts focused on loved ones will certainly pass the dark, long night of Wyoming winters. Find joy in the little things—because we can. 

Here’s a little food for thought:

“One Day at a Time”

Everyday now, the countryman will remind you, is another day toward spring. If it is bright and sunny, it is a bonus day to weigh against the winter averages. If it is raw and blustery, full of snow or sleet or torturing wind, it is one more day of winter endured. Either way, it moves us another step toward April.

The days themselves are changing. When the year turned, the sun was in the sky for only a little more than nine hours. In mid-February it will be there, visible or not, an hour and a half longer. And the night hours of darkness are loosing their grip on the numbing cold. Until the middle of February, the nights will have been losing about two minutes of darkness each day, but after this period they will lose almost three.

Don’t go looking for spring just down the road. All you will find is March. The vernal equinox now is just weeks ahead, true; but spring isn’t a date on a calendar, and it isn’t an astronomical calculation set down in an almanac. Spring is a new sprout, an unfolding leaf, a blossom and a bee. It is brooks chattering across the meadows and peepers shrilling in the bogland in the dusk.

But first, winter must pass. And winter, whether it lifts your heart or tries your soul, still passes one day at a time. —Editorial in the New York Times

dianewhitlockagency.com