Kathleen Marple Kalb's Blog, page 4
December 11, 2024
KING'S CORDS
Late autumn is prime corduroy season. Even in years where it’s not the hot thing, many of us just can’t resist pulling out an old jacket or slacks because the velvety finish feels so good.
You may have heard that it stems from cord “du roi,” or “from the king,” in French – until I started researching this piece, I believed it! The experts at Wikipedia, though, say it actually comes from the 18th century “cord and duroy,” meaning a coarse woollen cloth made in England. The cloth we recognize as corduroy was around before the name, though. Some historians believe cloth woven in the Ancient Egyptian city of Al-Fustat, which became known as fustian by the medieval period, was the original corduroy. Fustian, though, apparently did not have ribs. Meanwhile, as far back as the 15th and 16th centuries, a cloth with ribbed cords was being woven in Norwich, England and worn mostly for jackets.
Fast-forward a few centuries later, to the late 18th century, at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, and we find working men in Manchester, England wearing pants that we’d recognize as cords. Because it was warm, comfortable, and hard-wearing, the cloth became a favorite for hunting and outdoor gear for higher-class folks.
By the 20th century, corduroy pants and jackets were firmly established as classic pieces, hovering in that wide and nebulous area of sportswear occupied by things that are not wool dress suits, but aren’t dungarees, either. From the middle of the 20th century on, corduroy blazers with suede elbow patches, once huntsman’s gear, became associated with college professors. Even now, when you first meet an academic on a TV show, he’s often wearing one. It’s a quick shorthand way to mark him as a particular kind of person.
Some fashion experts believe we reached “peak corduroy” in the 1970s, with men AND women sporting all kinds of colorful variations on the theme. It’s hard to argue, considering all the surviving pictures of women in wide-leg cords trimmed up with embroidered daisies or beads…and men in lime-green corduroy leisure suits. Peak corduroy, we might observe, does not necessarily mean good corduroy.
The preppy 80s knocked down the worst excesses, but left cords as a key part of any wardrobe. By the 90s, the color experiments were on again. I will admit to owning a purple corduroy overall jumper, which I wore with black corduroy sneakers!
At this point, cords are part of the fashion cycle. The brown or tan ones, and the jackets with elbow patches are always around at some level -- especially if you don’t mind looking like a stereotypical egghead professor! -- and anyone who spends weekends in the country, or just want to look like they do, may have a corduroy barn jacket. Colors come back every few years. I still regret not getting one gorgeous deep-blue pair the last time they were cool.
But never lime green.
Those who do not learn from clothing history are condemned to repeat it…and some things really DO belong on the dust heap!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
You may have heard that it stems from cord “du roi,” or “from the king,” in French – until I started researching this piece, I believed it! The experts at Wikipedia, though, say it actually comes from the 18th century “cord and duroy,” meaning a coarse woollen cloth made in England. The cloth we recognize as corduroy was around before the name, though. Some historians believe cloth woven in the Ancient Egyptian city of Al-Fustat, which became known as fustian by the medieval period, was the original corduroy. Fustian, though, apparently did not have ribs. Meanwhile, as far back as the 15th and 16th centuries, a cloth with ribbed cords was being woven in Norwich, England and worn mostly for jackets.
Fast-forward a few centuries later, to the late 18th century, at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, and we find working men in Manchester, England wearing pants that we’d recognize as cords. Because it was warm, comfortable, and hard-wearing, the cloth became a favorite for hunting and outdoor gear for higher-class folks.
By the 20th century, corduroy pants and jackets were firmly established as classic pieces, hovering in that wide and nebulous area of sportswear occupied by things that are not wool dress suits, but aren’t dungarees, either. From the middle of the 20th century on, corduroy blazers with suede elbow patches, once huntsman’s gear, became associated with college professors. Even now, when you first meet an academic on a TV show, he’s often wearing one. It’s a quick shorthand way to mark him as a particular kind of person.
Some fashion experts believe we reached “peak corduroy” in the 1970s, with men AND women sporting all kinds of colorful variations on the theme. It’s hard to argue, considering all the surviving pictures of women in wide-leg cords trimmed up with embroidered daisies or beads…and men in lime-green corduroy leisure suits. Peak corduroy, we might observe, does not necessarily mean good corduroy.
The preppy 80s knocked down the worst excesses, but left cords as a key part of any wardrobe. By the 90s, the color experiments were on again. I will admit to owning a purple corduroy overall jumper, which I wore with black corduroy sneakers!
At this point, cords are part of the fashion cycle. The brown or tan ones, and the jackets with elbow patches are always around at some level -- especially if you don’t mind looking like a stereotypical egghead professor! -- and anyone who spends weekends in the country, or just want to look like they do, may have a corduroy barn jacket. Colors come back every few years. I still regret not getting one gorgeous deep-blue pair the last time they were cool.
But never lime green.
Those who do not learn from clothing history are condemned to repeat it…and some things really DO belong on the dust heap!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
December 4, 2024
WITH THEIR BOOTS ON
Boot season, when the talk of snow sends most of us digging through the closet to reacquaint ourselves with our warmer footwear, is a fairly new thing.
For most of shoe history, the majority of people had only a pair or two and wore them until they fell apart. And for much of that time, those shoes were boots.
It makes sense.
If you can only afford one or two things to protect your feet, you’re going to buy (make, scrounge) the most useful thing you can get. And in any part of the world where there’s bad weather, that meant boots.
Boots started out as a status symbol in the warmer corners of the ancient world, where the Greeks, Romans, and Ancient Egyptians wore them to differentiate the important royals and generals from the barefoot lower orders.
By the Middle Ages, men were wearing high boots, and women were wearing ankle-length things we’d recognize as “shooties.” The powers-that-be were extremely serious about boot styling at the time: one of the charges that got Joan of Arc sent to the stake was that she wore male footwear: thigh-high boots.
Upper-class women who didn’t have to worry about trudging through the snow have always worn lighter, softer, and prettier shoes, sometimes with high heels (another post for another day!) but working women needed sturdy, sensible footwear.
Regency maidens and Romantic heroines were fond of sweet slippers, but their maids would have been wearing the same pair of boots until they couldn’t be repaired any more. Same with the men working in the fields or stables.
Shiny riding boots started becoming a thing for men in the 18th century, starting in military uniforms and spreading to upper class fashion. As women do with any good male style, the ladies quickly realized riding boots looked just as good on them, and they became part of the female kit, too. The guys were happy to share – from the number of portraits of women in riding gear showing off their boots, they were clearly a thing.
For pioneers and really poor people in the 19th century (and well into the 20th in some areas) it was boots or barefoot. Kids ran barefoot all summer and put on boots for school and/or cold weather. Often, the boots were hand-me-downs, with the oldest child getting a new pair, and everyone else getting the outgrown ones.
As mass-produced footwear became more common, and the growing middle classes had more money, women (and men’s) attention naturally turned to expanding the shoe collection. But people still wore boots much of the time. A good pair of boots was the start – not the cold-weather extra.
It helped that by the turn of the 20th century, standard daily shoes were more like boots anyhow. The high-button shoes we associate with this era would be boots if you wore them with a modern outfit. (Which, by the way, is a great idea!)
Many ladies even wore boots for dress-up. In some memoirs from the time, graduates wax lyrical about the white boots they wore with their lovely dresses. For some girls, those white boots were the first shoes they ever owned that weren’t plain and serviceable.
These days, you don’t have to be a Gilded Age dollar princess to have a shoe wardrobe, and however you feel about snow, bringing out the boots is still a fun way to mark the change of seasons.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
For most of shoe history, the majority of people had only a pair or two and wore them until they fell apart. And for much of that time, those shoes were boots.
It makes sense.
If you can only afford one or two things to protect your feet, you’re going to buy (make, scrounge) the most useful thing you can get. And in any part of the world where there’s bad weather, that meant boots.
Boots started out as a status symbol in the warmer corners of the ancient world, where the Greeks, Romans, and Ancient Egyptians wore them to differentiate the important royals and generals from the barefoot lower orders.
By the Middle Ages, men were wearing high boots, and women were wearing ankle-length things we’d recognize as “shooties.” The powers-that-be were extremely serious about boot styling at the time: one of the charges that got Joan of Arc sent to the stake was that she wore male footwear: thigh-high boots.
Upper-class women who didn’t have to worry about trudging through the snow have always worn lighter, softer, and prettier shoes, sometimes with high heels (another post for another day!) but working women needed sturdy, sensible footwear.
Regency maidens and Romantic heroines were fond of sweet slippers, but their maids would have been wearing the same pair of boots until they couldn’t be repaired any more. Same with the men working in the fields or stables.
Shiny riding boots started becoming a thing for men in the 18th century, starting in military uniforms and spreading to upper class fashion. As women do with any good male style, the ladies quickly realized riding boots looked just as good on them, and they became part of the female kit, too. The guys were happy to share – from the number of portraits of women in riding gear showing off their boots, they were clearly a thing.
For pioneers and really poor people in the 19th century (and well into the 20th in some areas) it was boots or barefoot. Kids ran barefoot all summer and put on boots for school and/or cold weather. Often, the boots were hand-me-downs, with the oldest child getting a new pair, and everyone else getting the outgrown ones.
As mass-produced footwear became more common, and the growing middle classes had more money, women (and men’s) attention naturally turned to expanding the shoe collection. But people still wore boots much of the time. A good pair of boots was the start – not the cold-weather extra.
It helped that by the turn of the 20th century, standard daily shoes were more like boots anyhow. The high-button shoes we associate with this era would be boots if you wore them with a modern outfit. (Which, by the way, is a great idea!)
Many ladies even wore boots for dress-up. In some memoirs from the time, graduates wax lyrical about the white boots they wore with their lovely dresses. For some girls, those white boots were the first shoes they ever owned that weren’t plain and serviceable.
These days, you don’t have to be a Gilded Age dollar princess to have a shoe wardrobe, and however you feel about snow, bringing out the boots is still a fun way to mark the change of seasons.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
November 27, 2024
TAKE THAT WITH YOUR TURKEY
It’s the one thing even the vegetarians can agree on at the Thanksgiving table: the sides.
Even the folks who believe the turkey is a factory-farmed horror (and they’re not entirely wrong!) and the relatives who want to tell you why you voted for the wrong person will often go quiet in the presence of succotash, cornbread dressing or stuffing, pumpkin pie – and sweet potatoes.
It’s no accident that the traditional Thanksgiving meal is heavy on New World ingredients. Whatever actually happened between the Indigenous people and the Pilgrims in the 17th century – and, spoiler alert, it was not a TV-ready sit-down – the newcomers quickly learned to grow and love the local crops.
For thousands of years before the Puritans arrived, Indigenous people had been cultivating corn, squash, and beans, the “Three Sisters,” because the growing processes complement each other. Early settlers took the new ingredients and adapted them to the recipes in the cookery books they’d brought.
Succotash, with a name adapted from an Indigenous dish, is a great example. The Europeans took the new ingredients and the idea for combining them and added them to their own cooking conventions. The idea – and the dish – stuck. At first, it was just what people ate…but by the time Thanksgiving became a national commemoration in the mid-19th century, it was a necessary and traditional part of the feast. Even if nobody liked it. I can recall being forced to eat my grandmother’s succotash (lima beans and corn in gloopy white sauce – ick!) before the pie.
Speaking of – pumpkin pie is another great example of Indigenous and European traditions melding into something better. Indigenous people grew squash and baked them. The settlers brought their pie tradition and small but significant amounts of fragrant spices like cloves and cinnamon. And just like succotash, a very early dish that became a requirement.
Cranberries, too, which grew naturally in bogs…and benefited considerably from the cane sugar Europeans started bringing in. It’s worth remembering here that the original Thanksgiving feast would have been sweetened only by honey – cane sugar came later, at an unimaginable human cost.
And then there were the sweet potatoes. They started out as another way to add sweetness and nutrition to the meal…and then, things got really interesting. Heavily sweetened yam dishes became popular as Thanksgiving traditions evolved, leading finally to the infamous – or wonderful, depending on your viewpoint – sweet potato casserole with mini-marshmallows. It seems like the height of 1950s processed-product housewifery…until you think about green bean casserole.
Green-bean casserole is probably the real Thanksgiving litmus test. Either you want the kind with canned ingredients: beans, mushroom soup, and fried onions all come ready to open. Or you’re trying to elevate it with fresh haricots vert, sauce from scratch, and frizzled shallots – and good luck to you. How – and if – you do green-bean casserole says everything about where you’re from, what your social background is, and who you think you are.
Whoever YOU think you are, may you have a blessed, joyful, and grateful Thanksgiving…and may your only argument be about ice cream or cheese on the apple pie!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Even the folks who believe the turkey is a factory-farmed horror (and they’re not entirely wrong!) and the relatives who want to tell you why you voted for the wrong person will often go quiet in the presence of succotash, cornbread dressing or stuffing, pumpkin pie – and sweet potatoes.
It’s no accident that the traditional Thanksgiving meal is heavy on New World ingredients. Whatever actually happened between the Indigenous people and the Pilgrims in the 17th century – and, spoiler alert, it was not a TV-ready sit-down – the newcomers quickly learned to grow and love the local crops.
For thousands of years before the Puritans arrived, Indigenous people had been cultivating corn, squash, and beans, the “Three Sisters,” because the growing processes complement each other. Early settlers took the new ingredients and adapted them to the recipes in the cookery books they’d brought.
Succotash, with a name adapted from an Indigenous dish, is a great example. The Europeans took the new ingredients and the idea for combining them and added them to their own cooking conventions. The idea – and the dish – stuck. At first, it was just what people ate…but by the time Thanksgiving became a national commemoration in the mid-19th century, it was a necessary and traditional part of the feast. Even if nobody liked it. I can recall being forced to eat my grandmother’s succotash (lima beans and corn in gloopy white sauce – ick!) before the pie.
Speaking of – pumpkin pie is another great example of Indigenous and European traditions melding into something better. Indigenous people grew squash and baked them. The settlers brought their pie tradition and small but significant amounts of fragrant spices like cloves and cinnamon. And just like succotash, a very early dish that became a requirement.
Cranberries, too, which grew naturally in bogs…and benefited considerably from the cane sugar Europeans started bringing in. It’s worth remembering here that the original Thanksgiving feast would have been sweetened only by honey – cane sugar came later, at an unimaginable human cost.
And then there were the sweet potatoes. They started out as another way to add sweetness and nutrition to the meal…and then, things got really interesting. Heavily sweetened yam dishes became popular as Thanksgiving traditions evolved, leading finally to the infamous – or wonderful, depending on your viewpoint – sweet potato casserole with mini-marshmallows. It seems like the height of 1950s processed-product housewifery…until you think about green bean casserole.
Green-bean casserole is probably the real Thanksgiving litmus test. Either you want the kind with canned ingredients: beans, mushroom soup, and fried onions all come ready to open. Or you’re trying to elevate it with fresh haricots vert, sauce from scratch, and frizzled shallots – and good luck to you. How – and if – you do green-bean casserole says everything about where you’re from, what your social background is, and who you think you are.
Whoever YOU think you are, may you have a blessed, joyful, and grateful Thanksgiving…and may your only argument be about ice cream or cheese on the apple pie!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
November 20, 2024
BLONDE AMBITION
What is it about blondes?
Born or bottle, they’ve been fascinating the world for thousands of years.
Some of it’s just the fact that they stand out.
In most parts of the world, natural blondes are rare. Before safe and reliable haircoloring, you just didn’t see them very often, unless you hung around in some parts of Northern Europe. While people moved around more than we tend to think they did (and mostly not for good reasons) there were still a lot of places where a blonde person was not an everyday sight.
The science says light hair and skin can be an adaptation to cold climates, which is how you get the Vikings. But there are other genetic mutations that produce blonde hair, so you see light haired people in just about every population.
And they get all kinds of attentions.
The mythology around blonds pretty much started with mythology itself.
No surprise that Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love and beauty, was blond.
Naturally blonde, I hasten to add.
The whole taboo on bleaching blonde started in Ancient Greece. At that time, hair dye was incredibly expensive, since the process involved saffron. As in the world’s priciest spice. Gold powder was another option, but not a cheaper one. Most women didn’t have the time or money for that, but for prostitutes, it might just be a good investment.
By the Roman Era, hair coloring was firmly associated with courtesans…to the point that one philosopher allowed as how only black haired women could be respectable matrons.
Most observers didn’t take it that far. Natural blonde hair was rare and special enough that it had to mean something good, at least in many people’s view.
Note here: we can’t talk about the whole “fair is good” trope without acknowledging the obvious racism…but the deep dive is for another day.
The whole good natural/bad bottle blonde dynamic was firmly in place by the medieval period. The Virgin Mary was usually shown as a blonde, and there’s no question she was born that way. Good queens are often portrayed with fair hair (as it was called and celebrated then) whatever their natural shade.
And speaking of shade, there was always plenty for the woman who felt the need to punch up her natural color. Any noticeably unnatural hair coloring was a big bright sign that she was up to something nefarious, and social sanctions were handed out accordingly.
Bottle blonde could easily become its own punishment, too. Chemical lightening wasn’t really safe and reliable until well into the 20th century, and plenty of women suffered permanent scars, hair loss, and more from their efforts to brighten up.
Then came the movies.
From the Girl with the Golden Curls (you know her as Mary Pickford) to Jean Harlow to Marilyn Monroe, blondes ruled the roost on film. Even in black-and-white, they look good. Early producers would sometimes have frames hand-colored to show off those lovely locks.
There’s more. By the time Monroe became the One Blonde to Rule Them All, hair coloring had become sophisticated, safe, and accepted. Nobody doubted that Marilyn had help getting her hair that color, and almost nobody minded. Her hairdresser was even celebrated for cooking up the perfect hot platinum.
It would take a few more years for nice suburban ladies to get into status hair coloring, but once it started, they didn’t look back. The perfect blonde became every bit as much of a trophy as an Hermes bag.
And still is. All because of a little genetic adaptation to cold weather!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
Born or bottle, they’ve been fascinating the world for thousands of years.
Some of it’s just the fact that they stand out.
In most parts of the world, natural blondes are rare. Before safe and reliable haircoloring, you just didn’t see them very often, unless you hung around in some parts of Northern Europe. While people moved around more than we tend to think they did (and mostly not for good reasons) there were still a lot of places where a blonde person was not an everyday sight.
The science says light hair and skin can be an adaptation to cold climates, which is how you get the Vikings. But there are other genetic mutations that produce blonde hair, so you see light haired people in just about every population.
And they get all kinds of attentions.
The mythology around blonds pretty much started with mythology itself.
No surprise that Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love and beauty, was blond.
Naturally blonde, I hasten to add.
The whole taboo on bleaching blonde started in Ancient Greece. At that time, hair dye was incredibly expensive, since the process involved saffron. As in the world’s priciest spice. Gold powder was another option, but not a cheaper one. Most women didn’t have the time or money for that, but for prostitutes, it might just be a good investment.
By the Roman Era, hair coloring was firmly associated with courtesans…to the point that one philosopher allowed as how only black haired women could be respectable matrons.
Most observers didn’t take it that far. Natural blonde hair was rare and special enough that it had to mean something good, at least in many people’s view.
Note here: we can’t talk about the whole “fair is good” trope without acknowledging the obvious racism…but the deep dive is for another day.
The whole good natural/bad bottle blonde dynamic was firmly in place by the medieval period. The Virgin Mary was usually shown as a blonde, and there’s no question she was born that way. Good queens are often portrayed with fair hair (as it was called and celebrated then) whatever their natural shade.
And speaking of shade, there was always plenty for the woman who felt the need to punch up her natural color. Any noticeably unnatural hair coloring was a big bright sign that she was up to something nefarious, and social sanctions were handed out accordingly.
Bottle blonde could easily become its own punishment, too. Chemical lightening wasn’t really safe and reliable until well into the 20th century, and plenty of women suffered permanent scars, hair loss, and more from their efforts to brighten up.
Then came the movies.
From the Girl with the Golden Curls (you know her as Mary Pickford) to Jean Harlow to Marilyn Monroe, blondes ruled the roost on film. Even in black-and-white, they look good. Early producers would sometimes have frames hand-colored to show off those lovely locks.
There’s more. By the time Monroe became the One Blonde to Rule Them All, hair coloring had become sophisticated, safe, and accepted. Nobody doubted that Marilyn had help getting her hair that color, and almost nobody minded. Her hairdresser was even celebrated for cooking up the perfect hot platinum.
It would take a few more years for nice suburban ladies to get into status hair coloring, but once it started, they didn’t look back. The perfect blonde became every bit as much of a trophy as an Hermes bag.
And still is. All because of a little genetic adaptation to cold weather!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
November 13, 2024
IRON-Y ALERT
Ironing has been around pretty much as long as wrinkled cloth.
Historians can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it’s a good bet that some ancient person got sick of everyone looking like they’d been slept in and started smooshing out the wrinkles with a rock. Round linen smoothing stones or glasses start showing up in women’s graves in the Viking era, and by the late medieval period, people -- yes, almost certainly female people! -- were using something called a “slickstone.” It’s pretty much what it sounds like: a smooth stone that could be rubbed across cloth on a flat surface.
Small smoothing devices survived into the 19th century because they were handy, a quick way to mash out a few wrinkles without the effort of heating up an iron.
Serious ironing was a project – and sometimes a profession – from Ancient Egypt onward. Somebody had to press those pleated linen robes the pharaohs wore, and that somebody used hot iron pokers. Tomb paintings show workers pressing each little pleat into place. A thousand years later, in the Renaissance, similar small pokers would be used to shape those big white neck ruffs.
Most ironing, though, wasn’t done with pokers. Flat irons – which look very much like the ones we use today – start showing up in the late Middle Ages. While many were, yes, iron, they could also be made of stone or terra cotta. All required a rag or towel around the handle, because wooden ones weren’t invented until the 1870s. Anyone who wanted to get the ironing done fairly quickly would need at least two of them – one to use and one to heat.
These pieces were also called “sad irons,” not because ironing was depressing (though it makes sense!) but because “sad” stemmed from an older word for solid.
Eventually, the box iron joined the laundry arsenal: with its space for hot coals, it could stay hotter longer, and make the process a bit less onerous.
Just ten years after the wooden handle came the biggest technological innovation: electricity. Henry Seely of New York patented the “electric flatiron” in 1882. It took another decade for General Electric and Crompton and Company to come up with a way to adjust the iron’s heat.
From there, iron-makers added all kinds of bells and whistles intended to appeal to the women who used them. By the 1950s, ironing took up a huge amount of space in the household hints books, and we have to assume, the minds of their readers. A properly-ironed shirt was a matter of pride for both the white-collar man who wore it – and the wife who maintained it.
These days, though, thanks to new fabric treatments and looser dress codes, it’s entirely possible to be a decently-dressed professional human of any gender without benefit of ironing. Lifestyle writers wonder about the future of ironing, with good reason.
While it’s not generally popular now, ironing is still an important and useful skill in fiber arts. Everything from adhesive jewels to properly-blocked scarves requires ironing.
In the Old Stuff series, ironing is relaxing. Main character Christian Shaw irons her vintage oxfords every Saturday night, enjoying the scent of clean cotton and steam, and the satisfaction of crisp, smooth fabric. Since she’s an expert on 18th and 19th century home goods, she’s well aware of the background, which only adds to her fun. And if she enjoys being interrupted by a call from an appealing prosecutor, one Joe Poli…well, that’s her business!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
Historians can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it’s a good bet that some ancient person got sick of everyone looking like they’d been slept in and started smooshing out the wrinkles with a rock. Round linen smoothing stones or glasses start showing up in women’s graves in the Viking era, and by the late medieval period, people -- yes, almost certainly female people! -- were using something called a “slickstone.” It’s pretty much what it sounds like: a smooth stone that could be rubbed across cloth on a flat surface.
Small smoothing devices survived into the 19th century because they were handy, a quick way to mash out a few wrinkles without the effort of heating up an iron.
Serious ironing was a project – and sometimes a profession – from Ancient Egypt onward. Somebody had to press those pleated linen robes the pharaohs wore, and that somebody used hot iron pokers. Tomb paintings show workers pressing each little pleat into place. A thousand years later, in the Renaissance, similar small pokers would be used to shape those big white neck ruffs.
Most ironing, though, wasn’t done with pokers. Flat irons – which look very much like the ones we use today – start showing up in the late Middle Ages. While many were, yes, iron, they could also be made of stone or terra cotta. All required a rag or towel around the handle, because wooden ones weren’t invented until the 1870s. Anyone who wanted to get the ironing done fairly quickly would need at least two of them – one to use and one to heat.
These pieces were also called “sad irons,” not because ironing was depressing (though it makes sense!) but because “sad” stemmed from an older word for solid.
Eventually, the box iron joined the laundry arsenal: with its space for hot coals, it could stay hotter longer, and make the process a bit less onerous.
Just ten years after the wooden handle came the biggest technological innovation: electricity. Henry Seely of New York patented the “electric flatiron” in 1882. It took another decade for General Electric and Crompton and Company to come up with a way to adjust the iron’s heat.
From there, iron-makers added all kinds of bells and whistles intended to appeal to the women who used them. By the 1950s, ironing took up a huge amount of space in the household hints books, and we have to assume, the minds of their readers. A properly-ironed shirt was a matter of pride for both the white-collar man who wore it – and the wife who maintained it.
These days, though, thanks to new fabric treatments and looser dress codes, it’s entirely possible to be a decently-dressed professional human of any gender without benefit of ironing. Lifestyle writers wonder about the future of ironing, with good reason.
While it’s not generally popular now, ironing is still an important and useful skill in fiber arts. Everything from adhesive jewels to properly-blocked scarves requires ironing.
In the Old Stuff series, ironing is relaxing. Main character Christian Shaw irons her vintage oxfords every Saturday night, enjoying the scent of clean cotton and steam, and the satisfaction of crisp, smooth fabric. Since she’s an expert on 18th and 19th century home goods, she’s well aware of the background, which only adds to her fun. And if she enjoys being interrupted by a call from an appealing prosecutor, one Joe Poli…well, that’s her business!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
November 6, 2024
IT'S MY BAG
Whether they’re status bags, practical canvas totes, or phone wallets with glitter trim, purses carry a lot more than just a woman’s stuff. There’s a whole genre of male humor based on the idea that women carry quite literally everything in their bags, and as someone who has a first-aid kit, a sketchbook, one small sock, and two phone chargers in mine right now, I can’t really argue.
But we 21st century pack mules wouldn’t have lasted very long in the Victorian era.
Neither would the phone girls, for that matter.
The basic idea of the purse was pretty much the same as it is now, but the design and making of it were very different. Regency romance readers are familiar with ladies who carried “reticules,” an early version of the purse, and a lot of women carried variations on the theme right through the 19th century.
The interesting twist here, though, is that unlike our modern status bags, where women pay truly stupid money to have someone else make it for them (yes, guilty!) women made these bags themselves, as a way of showing off those ever-important female needle skills. Bags were crocheted, or tatted, or beaded, or embroidered. What mattered was that our genteel lady worked it with her own smooth hands.
And no, you couldn’t fit much in them but some calling cards, a miniature pencil and a “vinaigrette” of smelling salts. Maybe a coin or two, but a sheltered lady would need little or no money.
What wasn’t in that bag was one thing none of us modern ladies could imagine a purse without: makeup. Victorian ladies wore no visible cosmetics, and they certainly wouldn’t risk going out with the possibility that their secret enhancements would fall out of their tiny bag.
It wasn’t until the 1910s and 1920s that women openly carried their rouge and powder, often in beautifully decorated vanity cases.
As for the size of the bag, most fashionable women carried smallish ones. Queen Victoria herself drew an amazing amount of comment when she visited Paris with a good-sized bag decorated with an embroidered poodle. (Of course, her great-great-granddaughter is famous for her impressive, and practical bags!)
Big bags were for servants who did the household shopping, and they carried large sensible baskets.
Women didn’t always carry their bags, either. Throughout the 19th century, the “chatelaine” bag, a purse that attached to a woman’s belt, was also very popular. It wasn’t a new idea; medieval women had worn their castle keys on a belt (hence the name chatelaine!) and Colonial women wore cloth bags known as pockets at their waists. The chatelaine bag, though, is probably closer to our cross-body bag.
There were also all kinds of special bags for special needs. A woman would have her needlework bag for quilting bees, a dance bag to carry her little silk slippers to the party, and an opera bag for her lorgnette and program. These, too, were lovely and elaborately decorated.
And, fellas?
Men carried purses very similar to the ladies’ well into the 19th century. There are surviving men’s purses with beading and tassels and all sorts of decoration. So the next time you boys would like to make a smart comment about our bags, remember, you’ve done it too!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday comment? Drop it in the comments.
But we 21st century pack mules wouldn’t have lasted very long in the Victorian era.
Neither would the phone girls, for that matter.
The basic idea of the purse was pretty much the same as it is now, but the design and making of it were very different. Regency romance readers are familiar with ladies who carried “reticules,” an early version of the purse, and a lot of women carried variations on the theme right through the 19th century.
The interesting twist here, though, is that unlike our modern status bags, where women pay truly stupid money to have someone else make it for them (yes, guilty!) women made these bags themselves, as a way of showing off those ever-important female needle skills. Bags were crocheted, or tatted, or beaded, or embroidered. What mattered was that our genteel lady worked it with her own smooth hands.
And no, you couldn’t fit much in them but some calling cards, a miniature pencil and a “vinaigrette” of smelling salts. Maybe a coin or two, but a sheltered lady would need little or no money.
What wasn’t in that bag was one thing none of us modern ladies could imagine a purse without: makeup. Victorian ladies wore no visible cosmetics, and they certainly wouldn’t risk going out with the possibility that their secret enhancements would fall out of their tiny bag.
It wasn’t until the 1910s and 1920s that women openly carried their rouge and powder, often in beautifully decorated vanity cases.
As for the size of the bag, most fashionable women carried smallish ones. Queen Victoria herself drew an amazing amount of comment when she visited Paris with a good-sized bag decorated with an embroidered poodle. (Of course, her great-great-granddaughter is famous for her impressive, and practical bags!)
Big bags were for servants who did the household shopping, and they carried large sensible baskets.
Women didn’t always carry their bags, either. Throughout the 19th century, the “chatelaine” bag, a purse that attached to a woman’s belt, was also very popular. It wasn’t a new idea; medieval women had worn their castle keys on a belt (hence the name chatelaine!) and Colonial women wore cloth bags known as pockets at their waists. The chatelaine bag, though, is probably closer to our cross-body bag.
There were also all kinds of special bags for special needs. A woman would have her needlework bag for quilting bees, a dance bag to carry her little silk slippers to the party, and an opera bag for her lorgnette and program. These, too, were lovely and elaborately decorated.
And, fellas?
Men carried purses very similar to the ladies’ well into the 19th century. There are surviving men’s purses with beading and tassels and all sorts of decoration. So the next time you boys would like to make a smart comment about our bags, remember, you’ve done it too!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday comment? Drop it in the comments.
October 30, 2024
GOOD LUCK KITTY
As anybody who’s ever belonged to one can tell you, black cats are nothing but good luck.
But don’t take my word. I’m a little biased, since I’ve loved and lost both a solid black and a tuxie over the years. Start with the Ancient Egyptians. Cats in general were worshiped as a manifestation of the goddess Bastet, but no kitty was more sacred than a black one. They were celebrated in art and kept as revered pets in temples and homes alike. At one point, killing a black cat was punishable by death. (Which my feline friends would probably still support!)
The Egyptian love for black kitties spread across the ancient world and became part of maritime lore. For centuries, British and Irish sailors didn’t want to head out to sea without one. Any cat, of course, would do to keep down the mouse population, but a black kitty brought good luck too. And sailors, at the mercy of the wind, the tides, and any number of other unpredictable things, would never turn to superstition for a little peace of mind, would they?
Speaking of the Irish, they’re the ones who brought black cats to the Halloween party, with an ancient tradition of leaving milk out for The Cat Sith at the harvest festival Samhain to bless your home. The Cat Sith was described as a great big black kitty with a white spot on its chest. Reminds me of my first black cat, who was a blessing for sure.
Then things got weird – and bad.
First, the medieval Black Death plague led people to associate the cats who ate the rats with evil, instead of the rats who actually carried the plague. And then, in the Renaissance, a lot of folks flat-out lost their minds in the witchcraft scares. Black cats, who’d already taken a beating from the plague, were now associated with witches. No need to go into all the wrongheaded nonsense that led to witch scares here. It's enough to know that black cats’ reputation was collateral damage.
Five hundred years later, they’re still working their way back. Even now, reliable reports suggest black cats are harder to adopt, spend longer in shelters, and have a higher euthanasia rate.
Despite all this, one particular class of black cat has always been considered special: the tuxedo cat. Tuxies are definitely unique: a genetic quirk endows them with anything from a few white spots to full boots and tummy. They’re celebrated in literature and art and pop culture, from Felix to The Cat in the Hat. The full-dress look often leads people to think they’re the smartest of cats. Sometimes the luckiest, too: the Japanese “manaki-neko” good luck figurine – the one with the waving paw – is often shown as a tuxie.
I can’t speak to all tuxies, but I’m going to end this piece with a personal tribute to one. Merritt was my son’s Cat Mom, my beloved writing buddy, and most importantly, my husband’s source of unending love and support during his cancer battle. She brought love and joy and warmth to our lives at a very tough time, and we miss her every day.
So if you have a problem with black cats, you have a problem with me.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
But don’t take my word. I’m a little biased, since I’ve loved and lost both a solid black and a tuxie over the years. Start with the Ancient Egyptians. Cats in general were worshiped as a manifestation of the goddess Bastet, but no kitty was more sacred than a black one. They were celebrated in art and kept as revered pets in temples and homes alike. At one point, killing a black cat was punishable by death. (Which my feline friends would probably still support!)
The Egyptian love for black kitties spread across the ancient world and became part of maritime lore. For centuries, British and Irish sailors didn’t want to head out to sea without one. Any cat, of course, would do to keep down the mouse population, but a black kitty brought good luck too. And sailors, at the mercy of the wind, the tides, and any number of other unpredictable things, would never turn to superstition for a little peace of mind, would they?
Speaking of the Irish, they’re the ones who brought black cats to the Halloween party, with an ancient tradition of leaving milk out for The Cat Sith at the harvest festival Samhain to bless your home. The Cat Sith was described as a great big black kitty with a white spot on its chest. Reminds me of my first black cat, who was a blessing for sure.
Then things got weird – and bad.
First, the medieval Black Death plague led people to associate the cats who ate the rats with evil, instead of the rats who actually carried the plague. And then, in the Renaissance, a lot of folks flat-out lost their minds in the witchcraft scares. Black cats, who’d already taken a beating from the plague, were now associated with witches. No need to go into all the wrongheaded nonsense that led to witch scares here. It's enough to know that black cats’ reputation was collateral damage.
Five hundred years later, they’re still working their way back. Even now, reliable reports suggest black cats are harder to adopt, spend longer in shelters, and have a higher euthanasia rate.
Despite all this, one particular class of black cat has always been considered special: the tuxedo cat. Tuxies are definitely unique: a genetic quirk endows them with anything from a few white spots to full boots and tummy. They’re celebrated in literature and art and pop culture, from Felix to The Cat in the Hat. The full-dress look often leads people to think they’re the smartest of cats. Sometimes the luckiest, too: the Japanese “manaki-neko” good luck figurine – the one with the waving paw – is often shown as a tuxie.
I can’t speak to all tuxies, but I’m going to end this piece with a personal tribute to one. Merritt was my son’s Cat Mom, my beloved writing buddy, and most importantly, my husband’s source of unending love and support during his cancer battle. She brought love and joy and warmth to our lives at a very tough time, and we miss her every day.
So if you have a problem with black cats, you have a problem with me.
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
October 23, 2024
A GREAT PUMPKIN
Whether it’s pumpkin pie, a beautiful pic of frost on the pumpkin, or a jack o’lantern to scare your socks off, nothing says fall like a big orange (or occasionally white) gourd.
Pumpkins are a Western Hemisphere crop. Archaeologists have found fragments of early pumpkins in Mexico dating to 5000-7500 years B.C.E. Many North American Indigenous societies grew – and revered – them as one of the Three Sisters, along with maize and beans. Cultivating the three plants together wasn’t just good nutrition, it was good environmental management, because they support each other.
So, pumpkins were here when the colonists arrived. And, as with many things involving those early days, there are a few different stories for how they got their name. One suggests the Colonials adapted an existing Early Modern English term for a melon: pompion. Which works, but: the Indigenous Wampanoag people had a term that sounded a lot like pumpkin and meant “grows forth round.”
However the name originated, pumpkins very quickly became an important part of the Colonial diet, since they grew well in the North American climate and are absolutely loaded with nutrition. Many other items in the standard 17th century diet weren’t exactly filled with fiber or carotene and vitamins, so they were quite valuable.
And then, of course, there’s pumpkin pie.
In the colonial era, pie could be a main dish or breakfast item as well as a dessert, and early cookery books feature all kinds of recipes for sweet and savory pumpkin pies, sometimes layered with apples, sometimes custardy like our modern ones – and sometimes baked right in the pumpkin shell instead of a crust. And the sugar and sweet spices were a really big treat: both were expensive and difficult to get at the time, so they made the holiday dish more special.
By the mid-19th century, Thanksgiving was a well-established holiday in New England. Abolitionists were fond of the tradition and the pie – and it featured prominently in several narratives. So pumpkin pie became a natural part of Thanksgiving once it became a national holiday after the Civil War.
In a very real way, we’d do better to say something is as American as pumpkin pie, rather than apple, considering the origins and the history
Jack O’Lanterns are another great example of newly arrived Europeans adapting their traditions to local produce. In Ireland, people carved faces into turnips for the festival of Samhain, to discourage wandering sprits – like one “Stingy Jack,” or “Jack O’Lantern” -- from stopping at their home. In North America, they adapted the tradition to pumpkins.
Fall fun with pumpkins doesn’t stop at pies…or the shores of North America. There are pumpkins, and celebrations of them, anywhere they’ll grow. There are even “pumpkin weeks” in Finland!
Of course, there’s also the Great Pumpkin. Linus’s giant friend grows out of many of the Halloween superstitions, but also the simple reality that pumpkins can be absolutely ENORMOUS. The biggest to tip the scales at the famous Circleville, Ohio contest was more than 22-hundred pounds…the largest EVER, a 27-hundred pounder in Minnesota.
That sure IS the Great Pumpkin!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
Pumpkins are a Western Hemisphere crop. Archaeologists have found fragments of early pumpkins in Mexico dating to 5000-7500 years B.C.E. Many North American Indigenous societies grew – and revered – them as one of the Three Sisters, along with maize and beans. Cultivating the three plants together wasn’t just good nutrition, it was good environmental management, because they support each other.
So, pumpkins were here when the colonists arrived. And, as with many things involving those early days, there are a few different stories for how they got their name. One suggests the Colonials adapted an existing Early Modern English term for a melon: pompion. Which works, but: the Indigenous Wampanoag people had a term that sounded a lot like pumpkin and meant “grows forth round.”
However the name originated, pumpkins very quickly became an important part of the Colonial diet, since they grew well in the North American climate and are absolutely loaded with nutrition. Many other items in the standard 17th century diet weren’t exactly filled with fiber or carotene and vitamins, so they were quite valuable.
And then, of course, there’s pumpkin pie.
In the colonial era, pie could be a main dish or breakfast item as well as a dessert, and early cookery books feature all kinds of recipes for sweet and savory pumpkin pies, sometimes layered with apples, sometimes custardy like our modern ones – and sometimes baked right in the pumpkin shell instead of a crust. And the sugar and sweet spices were a really big treat: both were expensive and difficult to get at the time, so they made the holiday dish more special.
By the mid-19th century, Thanksgiving was a well-established holiday in New England. Abolitionists were fond of the tradition and the pie – and it featured prominently in several narratives. So pumpkin pie became a natural part of Thanksgiving once it became a national holiday after the Civil War.
In a very real way, we’d do better to say something is as American as pumpkin pie, rather than apple, considering the origins and the history
Jack O’Lanterns are another great example of newly arrived Europeans adapting their traditions to local produce. In Ireland, people carved faces into turnips for the festival of Samhain, to discourage wandering sprits – like one “Stingy Jack,” or “Jack O’Lantern” -- from stopping at their home. In North America, they adapted the tradition to pumpkins.
Fall fun with pumpkins doesn’t stop at pies…or the shores of North America. There are pumpkins, and celebrations of them, anywhere they’ll grow. There are even “pumpkin weeks” in Finland!
Of course, there’s also the Great Pumpkin. Linus’s giant friend grows out of many of the Halloween superstitions, but also the simple reality that pumpkins can be absolutely ENORMOUS. The biggest to tip the scales at the famous Circleville, Ohio contest was more than 22-hundred pounds…the largest EVER, a 27-hundred pounder in Minnesota.
That sure IS the Great Pumpkin!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
October 16, 2024
IT'S WHAT'S FOR DINNER
Marco Polo probably enjoyed a good plate of pasta, but he didn’t bring it back from
China. Marco, and plenty of other Italians, were already well acquainted with noodles. Archaeologists say the Etruscans were eating a version of pasta in about the fourth century B.C.E.
When Marco arrived in China, though, it’s likely the locals shared their noodles with him; Chinese art shows people eating them as far back as three thousand years ago. Nobody, though, was eating it with red sauce at that point. Tomatoes were a New World food, so spaghetti didn’t meet its mate until they arrived in Italy.
There were plenty of other ways to eat noodles, anyhow.
We know macaroni with cream sauce and cheese was a popular dish, because the colonists brought it with them to North America. The recipes that survive, though, probably require a tweak, because they suggest boiling the pasta for at least half an hour, which would be mush by modern standards.
Macaroni, overcooked or not, was a fancy dish at the time. So fancy a nickname for dandies was “Macaroni” – as in the fellow in “Yankee Doodle Dandy” who stuck a feather in his cap. Fancy, enough, too, for Thomas Jefferson to take an interest. He brought the first macaroni machine to the country in 1789.
By the mid-19th century, the people who really know their way around pasta had arrived in the U.S. Italian immigrants brought their own noodles and sauce. While the first industrial pasta factory was started in Brooklyn by a Frenchman in 1848 (they dried it on the roof!) – over the next century or so, it was Italian pasta dishes that became a key part of the American diet.
And they had red sauce!
The first tomato sauces start showing up in the ports of Naples and Sicily at the end of the 17th century, which makes sense since the red fruit landed there first. The name “marinara” came later, and it’s unclear why a seafood-free red sauce is named after sailors. My personal favorite origin story: the sailors’ wives invented it because they could make a good dinner on short notice when they spotted the ship coming in.
Pretty much as soon as Americans found out about Italian food, they pounced on it. (And no wonder, if you’re living on macaroni mush!) From the late 19th century, pizza and pasta grew into key parts of the American diet. The spaghetti dishes evolved over time, though.
As Italian families became more prosperous, the Neapolitan sailor’s simple plate of noodles and marinara evolved into “Sunday gravy,” the beloved, long-cooked, meat-rich extravaganza. As Bolognese sauce, it’s still a favorite at your local Italian restaurant.
Pasta, macaroni, and noodles aren’t just feast dishes, of course. In hard economic times, big pots of spaghetti, boxed mac and cheese, and ramen noodles keep plenty of families fed.
A good plate of spaghetti and red, with or without meatballs, is classic comfort food – and a plate full of history, besides. It might just be the one thing we can all agree on!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
China. Marco, and plenty of other Italians, were already well acquainted with noodles. Archaeologists say the Etruscans were eating a version of pasta in about the fourth century B.C.E.
When Marco arrived in China, though, it’s likely the locals shared their noodles with him; Chinese art shows people eating them as far back as three thousand years ago. Nobody, though, was eating it with red sauce at that point. Tomatoes were a New World food, so spaghetti didn’t meet its mate until they arrived in Italy.
There were plenty of other ways to eat noodles, anyhow.
We know macaroni with cream sauce and cheese was a popular dish, because the colonists brought it with them to North America. The recipes that survive, though, probably require a tweak, because they suggest boiling the pasta for at least half an hour, which would be mush by modern standards.
Macaroni, overcooked or not, was a fancy dish at the time. So fancy a nickname for dandies was “Macaroni” – as in the fellow in “Yankee Doodle Dandy” who stuck a feather in his cap. Fancy, enough, too, for Thomas Jefferson to take an interest. He brought the first macaroni machine to the country in 1789.
By the mid-19th century, the people who really know their way around pasta had arrived in the U.S. Italian immigrants brought their own noodles and sauce. While the first industrial pasta factory was started in Brooklyn by a Frenchman in 1848 (they dried it on the roof!) – over the next century or so, it was Italian pasta dishes that became a key part of the American diet.
And they had red sauce!
The first tomato sauces start showing up in the ports of Naples and Sicily at the end of the 17th century, which makes sense since the red fruit landed there first. The name “marinara” came later, and it’s unclear why a seafood-free red sauce is named after sailors. My personal favorite origin story: the sailors’ wives invented it because they could make a good dinner on short notice when they spotted the ship coming in.
Pretty much as soon as Americans found out about Italian food, they pounced on it. (And no wonder, if you’re living on macaroni mush!) From the late 19th century, pizza and pasta grew into key parts of the American diet. The spaghetti dishes evolved over time, though.
As Italian families became more prosperous, the Neapolitan sailor’s simple plate of noodles and marinara evolved into “Sunday gravy,” the beloved, long-cooked, meat-rich extravaganza. As Bolognese sauce, it’s still a favorite at your local Italian restaurant.
Pasta, macaroni, and noodles aren’t just feast dishes, of course. In hard economic times, big pots of spaghetti, boxed mac and cheese, and ramen noodles keep plenty of families fed.
A good plate of spaghetti and red, with or without meatballs, is classic comfort food – and a plate full of history, besides. It might just be the one thing we can all agree on!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments.
October 9, 2024
JEEPERS PEEPERS
The first time I heard the term leaf-peeping I thought it meant something naughty. My excuse: it was my first autumn in Vermont…and, as it happened, my first date there! A colleague said, “Oh, so you and the new guy are going leaf-peeping, huh?” And I thought the worst.
As it turned out, of course, the date and the leaves were not only PG-13, but part of a revered autumn tradition. Not just in the Northeast, either, though we’re most famous for it.
People have been enjoying and celebrating the glorious array of colors as long as there’ve been humans and trees. To the earliest societies, the vivid reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows probably looked like magic. Even in the 19th century, children’s magazines would print the legend that the brownies (elves) flew through the forest changing the colors with a magic wand.
Foliage isn’t just a Western thing. Japan also has a long tradition of “koyo,” or autumn leaf viewing. And it wasn’t enough to look. At the Imperial Court, there were poetry competitions, like the one featured in the medieval “Tale of Genji,” in which one’s ability to capture the beauty of the scene could help one’s career…or spark a dangerous rivalry.
Until the early 20th century, though, foliage viewing was mostly either a lucky coincidence or a very upper-class pursuit. New Englanders, Canadians, and everyone else blessed with deciduous trees enjoyed the leaves until they had to clean them up, and a few rich folks and artists made the occasional pilgrimage.
Trains, and especially cars, changed everything.
Suddenly, a day or weekend trip to see the leaves was within reach for a large number of people, and plenty of them took advantage. As early as 1884, a Connecticut newspaper article mentioned people taking an early-morning train from Hartford to the Hudson River, having lunch, and riding home, enjoying the view from the windows. While New England was the center of the foliage world, there were still plenty of beauty spots in the Midwest and even the West drawing plenty of tourists.
As leaf tourism grew, the locals realized the visitors could provide some much-needed cash for the economy, and boosters started organizing events to capitalize. The first major fall festival was a New Hampshire event in 1934, but soon places from West Virgnia to Maine to Pennsylvania were holding celebrations for the tourists and their lovely money.
Even World War II rationing didn’t stop the gravy train. There are reports of people hoarding gas so they could get up to the Berkshires or other beauty spots. Tourism only grew in the postwar years, and foliage trips have become a fixture for many people, and a key source of revenue for many communities.
Calling the visitors leaf-peepers has been a bit controversial, though. In the early 1900s, Vermonters referred to leaf-peekers invading their little towns, and it’s only a short slide to leaf-peeper, though the term didn’t make into print until the 1960s. Even several decades later, when I was working there, leaf-peeper was at least mildly pejorative, often heard in sentences like “I’m late for work because the dang leaf-peepers are clogging up Rockingham Road.”
These days, leaf-peeping just sounds better than the dry “fall foliage tourism,” and it’s not (much) of an insult any more. And honestly, call me whatever you like, I can’t resist a good look at the foliage – though I promise I’ll drive the speed limit!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
As it turned out, of course, the date and the leaves were not only PG-13, but part of a revered autumn tradition. Not just in the Northeast, either, though we’re most famous for it.
People have been enjoying and celebrating the glorious array of colors as long as there’ve been humans and trees. To the earliest societies, the vivid reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows probably looked like magic. Even in the 19th century, children’s magazines would print the legend that the brownies (elves) flew through the forest changing the colors with a magic wand.
Foliage isn’t just a Western thing. Japan also has a long tradition of “koyo,” or autumn leaf viewing. And it wasn’t enough to look. At the Imperial Court, there were poetry competitions, like the one featured in the medieval “Tale of Genji,” in which one’s ability to capture the beauty of the scene could help one’s career…or spark a dangerous rivalry.
Until the early 20th century, though, foliage viewing was mostly either a lucky coincidence or a very upper-class pursuit. New Englanders, Canadians, and everyone else blessed with deciduous trees enjoyed the leaves until they had to clean them up, and a few rich folks and artists made the occasional pilgrimage.
Trains, and especially cars, changed everything.
Suddenly, a day or weekend trip to see the leaves was within reach for a large number of people, and plenty of them took advantage. As early as 1884, a Connecticut newspaper article mentioned people taking an early-morning train from Hartford to the Hudson River, having lunch, and riding home, enjoying the view from the windows. While New England was the center of the foliage world, there were still plenty of beauty spots in the Midwest and even the West drawing plenty of tourists.
As leaf tourism grew, the locals realized the visitors could provide some much-needed cash for the economy, and boosters started organizing events to capitalize. The first major fall festival was a New Hampshire event in 1934, but soon places from West Virgnia to Maine to Pennsylvania were holding celebrations for the tourists and their lovely money.
Even World War II rationing didn’t stop the gravy train. There are reports of people hoarding gas so they could get up to the Berkshires or other beauty spots. Tourism only grew in the postwar years, and foliage trips have become a fixture for many people, and a key source of revenue for many communities.
Calling the visitors leaf-peepers has been a bit controversial, though. In the early 1900s, Vermonters referred to leaf-peekers invading their little towns, and it’s only a short slide to leaf-peeper, though the term didn’t make into print until the 1960s. Even several decades later, when I was working there, leaf-peeper was at least mildly pejorative, often heard in sentences like “I’m late for work because the dang leaf-peepers are clogging up Rockingham Road.”
These days, leaf-peeping just sounds better than the dry “fall foliage tourism,” and it’s not (much) of an insult any more. And honestly, call me whatever you like, I can’t resist a good look at the foliage – though I promise I’ll drive the speed limit!
Got a #ThrowbackThursday idea? Drop it in the comments!
