They are loden, lined bibs, given to me many Christmases ago from someone who loved me. They are stiff and not much to look at, but we all know appearances can deceive us.
Like a trusty old friend, they embrace me as the last leaf flickers off the branch against a gray November sky. They shield me from cold, damp winds on a frosty morning when the first snow flies.
They are as toasty as a cozy flannel blanket wrapped around me. I throw a coat on over them, and out the door, I go. A pre-programmed flinch against the anticipated cold is avoided, and my heart takes a little leap as I inwardly appreciate my Carhartt layer of protection. I am in a cocoon of warmth.
Bring on the beasts and send a welcome to the elements: snow, sleet, or a squirrely fresh heifer on cold cement; a snowy tractor seat, or an iron barn gate. I am ready! I feel assured that nothing will get through this robust layer I have donned to work in mother nature. They are durable!
Warm and quilted on the inside, tough and ready on the outside, they never allow a draft to sneak in from either direction, high or low.
My Carhartts travel with me in the car during the cold winter months; they have gone many miles across the NY thruway and up over the mountains in Vermont. They are my security blanket that says you’ll be warm no matter what the weather…under my watch.
They cover me up and help me forget about feeling fat on certain days. “Can I have an extra donut with that coffee?” True friendship.
And hidden underneath (sometimes) are my pajama bottoms. It’s our little secret— think anyone will notice?
Forgiving of dirt, they never look soiled, so I rarely have to wash them!
My kids laugh and roll their eyes…it must be winter; Mom has her Carhartts on.
“Come on, old friend, we have another winter to battle….”
Carharrt, how I love thee...