Dressing Warm

The decision to move to Vermont didn’t include much thought about the weather. That would have meant thinking ahead, being practical, actually recognizing that when people ask, “Have you been in Vermont in the winter?”, they actually were trying to tell me something.

In early January, I returned a Christmas gift from my parents – a teal-colored Woolrich winter coat, warm enough to allow me to survive on the frozen arctic tundra with only underwear beneath, tight enough to understand how a sausage might feel if a sausage could feel anything – because I’ve discovered that all the claims about layers are true. Three layers of clothing topped by a barn coat works.

The dense quilt-lined coat had been bought from a shop on Main Street in North Conway, NH whose website was lousy, but the owner was enthusiastic about helping me find items better suited for sheep farming, windows that are tested in the face of 35 mph winds, and crummy hand and feet circulation. By phone he ticked off what he had on the shelf and I had the fun job of saying, yes, yes and sure, why not. The return of the coat enabled me to triple my cold weather wardrobe – two kinds of long underwear, flannel lined pants, two pairs of thick Smartwool socks and a fleece sports bra. I also got the very latest in farm fashion, a pair of Kuhl pants, a bit snug with the fleece long underwear, but that’s the price of fending off the chill and styling all at once. Today, I no longer dread the single digits on the thermometer.  If I dread anything, it’s that wind speed.  Take me over 20 mph, in any direction, and I’ve just got to pop on another layer.

Peg