Red Hawk Rustic

One piece of fashion advice I’ve never forgotten came from my grandmother, Baumie.  She told me that if you wear only high heels you won’t be able to walk in flats, and, conversely, if you wear only flats you won’t be able to walk in high heels.  So, mix it up and wear both styles frequently.  I was in my early twenties when she told me that, and it made perfect sense to me then.  Even the first part—that if you wore only heels, you would have trouble in flats.

Baumie had great style.  It was classic, but full of fun details and luxurious accents.  When I was young, she lived on a farm and I saw her both in flannel shirts and jeans and all dressed up for church or a trip to town.  The transformation she made for church always took my breath away.  I see her in my mind’s eye in cream colored cashmere sweaters and brown wool skirts, a sparkly amber brooch and red lipstick.  And she would have amazing shoes.  Suede and patent leather pumps maybe, with a pointy toe and narrow heel.  She would look beautiful—sophisticated and put-together.

She moved from the farmhouse to her townhouse in Montpelier when I was about twelve.  With eleven rooms filled to the hilt, it was the perfect place to explore my middle-school fashion fantasies.  I loved going through her drawers and trying on her jewelry and looking through all her closets at the random finds—a fur coat, a tailored suit, a mohair sweater.  The attic was another story altogether.  That’s where the ball gowns were kept.  My grandfather had been a teacher at Culver Military Academy and there were balls to attend at the formal school.  (Imagine!)  My mom and my aunt attended the dances, too, so there were gowns for each of them along with the ones Baumie wore.  I never tired of rustling through the stored silks and taffetas and crinolines, imagining which one I would wear if I had a formal dance to attend, which of course, I did not. 

On a visit to Baumie when I was in college and in the full throes of vintage style, I stumbled across a cache of shoes in the recesses of a closet I hadn’t noticed before.  It was the closet in what we called the twin bedroom.  There were two twin beds in moss green coverlets and the walls were painted lavender.  I nosed through the closet which reached pretty far back in the narrow wall and found boxes upon boxes of shoes, all labeled and neatly stored.  I opened one after the next and gasped at how perfect they were.  I tried them on.  Most of them fit, though a little snugly.  I never asked if I could have them, because I assumed she still wore them, even though she was in her seventies or eighties at the time.

I’ve got a pile of dress shoes stored, not so neatly, in my closet right now.  I haven’t worn them but once or twice since we moved here.  My day to day life has changed in so many ways since our move, which I expected, but is still strange to realize.  Clothing and footwear are the most visible markers of the switch.  Instead of pretty tops suitable for work, I’ve got drawers of t-shirts, preferably with crew necks to keep the sun off my chest.  And instead of a million different styles of black shoes, I’ve got boots.  Many different kinds of boots.  In the same way that you need a little more heel for that one pair of grey pants, or a little more of a pointy toe for that one dress, you need just the right boot for the country task at foot.   And it’s not just for each different task—gardening, barn chores, riding, hiking—but for each different task in different seasons.  Wet and cold add a whole new set of requirements.

What I will tell you is this: the search for the perfect boot is as elusive as the search for the perfect black shoe.  You need more than one pair.  Period.  Always. 

I miss wearing a dress and heels.  I do.  At my old job, I didn’t have to dress up necessarily, but I could if I wanted to and it wouldn’t be out of place.  Right now, I have very few reasons to dress up.  There is the occasional wedding or party, but most of the time I can wear jeans and a t-shirt and fit right in.  I don’t miss spending money on clothes or, even more annoying, time on shopping.  But, I’m probably losing my ability to float through a room in a pair of heels.  Maybe I’ll start dressing for the grocery.  Who’s to know that I’m not coming from the office or church, that I’m not on my way to something fabulous?

I think my sisters lost out in this fashion shoot--matching dresses? Boring. That's me in between my mom and Baumie. The three of us look dashing, don't you think? : )