{ Posts Tagged ‘gardening hats’ }

Hat happiness

I hate sunscreen. I know I’m not alone. It is a necessary nuisance of the summer, especially with Chris’ history of melanoma, and I know it’s important, but I avoid it when humanly possible. For instance, I try to garden in the earlier morning and late afternoon and evening. I wear longer shorts, and loose fitting long sleeves. I work in the shade.

And I try to wear a hat.

I say try, because I have the hardest time finding good gardening hats. They’re either too tight, don’t have a decent brim, are too heavy for summer, or so loose they blow off in a decent breeze (which is ever present around here).

Monday last was our fifteenth wedding anniversary (yay us!) and so Chris and I went out for the day, had dinner and did some very romantic house paint shopping. I know, we’re party animals. Anyhow, Chris spotted some hats at Winners and called me over to try one on. Nice wide brim, breathable weave… nice colours… I popped it on my head and–miracle of miracles–it fit! I didn’t have to jam it down, and it didn’t shift uselessly every time I turned.

It may seem silly to act so blissful over something as basic as a hat, but I am oh so much more comfortable working outside. I really am. Plus it’s Ralph Lauren for eighteen bucks. Smiles all around.

 

Hats off

A helpful friend just reminded me that fall is officially here. Go tell that to my summer containers, which are still blooming their hearts out. No need to go rushing out to pick up pots of mums or asters for the front steps, when my tuberous begonias continue to put on such a glorious show (they’re a lot more sturdy than people give them credit for, by the way).

With the advent of fall, some things do need to be changed, I guess. Take the straw hats on my hallstand, which scream of summer garden parties and a minty, fruit-and-cucumber-filled glass of Pimm’s. Two of them are vintage–my favourite one has strawberries both on and underneath the brim; very Carmen Miranda. Another is covered with pansies and black tulle–definitely not a mucking about in the garden kind of hat but just right for an outdoor soiree.

Underneath the hall stand is a basket filled with the more prosaic fabric hats and gloves I wear in the garden when I’m out there working. (With my fair skin, I’m vigilant about sunscreen and covering up in the sun–the doctor has already sliced a pre-cancerous chunk out of my chin, and it doesn’t look like a cleft).

I suspect, however, that just like my sandals, which also have yet to put away, I’ll drag my feet on stashing the hats. For once they go, it means I need to pull out and display the winter ones, which of course also means acknowledging the beginning of six months of largely grey and often dreary days, few of them spent in the garden.