| Sunny Side Up Oct. 22, 2003 �2003, Kathleen Gibson Caring to share the warmth Most prairie folk know how to dress for winter. My B.C. kin shake their head in amusement when I step off the plane in my ankle-length, snugly hooded coat. "Did you think you were coming to the Arctic?" they tease, smug in sweaters and slickers. I shrug and remind them that their Pacific winter is far too damp for me. That I'm always cold when I visit, and that I'll likely need it over my pyjamas at night. I was first educated in the whines and wherefores of prairie winters in 1974 when I left my Vancouver home for college. A week of Winnipeg's infamous wind convinced me that my short jacket wouldn't perform well, come winter. I'd purchased it the previous summer, with embarrassingly na�ve hopes. Warm and chic all year, I'd thought, fingering the forest-green suede. Right. An ex-student came to my rescue, the girl who'd previously inhabited my dorm room. She'd left her ankle-length winter coat in the closet. And this message: "I don't need this anymore. It's really warm-use it." I snorted when I first saw it, but that slicing wind perma-frosted my 'chic' notions. I was wearing Mary's coat long before Christmas. "Muskrat," said those who knew such things. 1920's, and very worn. Strips of glossy brown fur hung in tatters. Buttons were missing. I repaired what I could and wore the fur for four winters. A warmer coat I've never had. But a coat alone does not a winter outfit make. Mine assembled gradually over the season. In the end the coat was complemented by a pair of knee-high mukluks of golden fur so deep my feet planted twelve inches apart when I walked; a multi-colored, hand-crocheted hat/scarf combination (long enough to circle the earth three times); and tan suede workman's mitts. All dressed, I was a formidable sight. Before I moved back to B.C., four years later, I passed the muskrat on to another student who'd coveted it for two years. All I have left of my prairie winter training outfit are the memories. How long it took to get everything on. How little I could see from behind all those miles of crocheted scarf. How people laughed at those overgrown fur mukluks-and how little I cared. I was warm as waffles. 'Chic' had checked out of my dictionary. Mary's old muskrat is still making the rounds-in spirit anyway. Over the years, the memory of its encompassing warmth has made it easy to pass on winter coats of my own to friends who need them more. If you've ever done the same, you know the pleasure it brings. It's the warmest feeling of all-warmer even than the weight of that 1920's muskrat on a moody Manitoba March morning. This is the time of year prairie communities are collecting Coats for Kids. Because, whatever the reason, not all prairie people can properly dress for winter. If you've got a few spare coats,�share. It's what Jesus would do. You can respond to these words at [email protected] |
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