It's After Labor Day. Are You Wearing White?

I’m anything but a fashionista. My closet is lined with seasons past, off the rack. But like any good Southern girl, I was brought up with a healthy respect for the number one fashion rule: wear no white after Labor Day.

My earliest dress-up memories involve little white gloves with pearl buttons and white patent shoes, Sunday best attire that must have been a nightmare for my mother to keep clean at our rural Florida home. She added a white pill box hat to her ensemble. In those days, Labor Day meant no more white shorts, shirts, shoes, dresses, slacks, jackets, and anything else that might qualify as a fashion faux pas until the dawn of Easter Sunday. Meanwhile, we opted for other colors, except black, typically reserved for funerals.

These days, I am proud to be liberated from such nonsense.

I live in northeast Oklahoma, where today, one day after Labor Day, heat indices are expected to hit 110 and record temperatures are predicted through October. Because of an extensive drought, we remain under a burn ban. I don’t leave the house without a jug of water, and avoid going outdoors, except under duress.

To be denied lightweight white clothing would be cruel and unusual punishment in these times. So that little custom about packing away white clothing after Labor Day can take a hike.

In fact, it already has, according to one friend who says the rules changed in the 1980s. I’m embarrassed to say that, in traditional non-fashionista style, I continued to spend  Labor Day evenings tucking summer wear into plastic clothes bins well into the ‘00s.  Only a few years ago did I abandon this habit. Liberation came to my fall wardrobe in the form of white capris on Thanksgiving Day. It was 90 degrees in November. Just how long can we keep up traditions that don’t fit the way we live?

I owe this awakening to a college student whom I never met but whose white shorts inspired the “aha” moment that made me question the fashion guidelines learned from my mother and aunts.  It was an unseasonably warm autumn day. Fortuitous was I to grab the last parking spot in the lot nearest my office after a late lunch. “Doesn’t she know the rule?” I wondered as the co-ed in white shorts hurried past my car. I reached for my seasonally correct black wool-blend jacket and trudged onward through the day.

It was then I noticed that there were violators all around me. Someone in my office was wearing a white t-shirt; another had on white slacks! And I remembered seeing the president’s secretary in a white linen jacket earlier in the day. I hung up my own jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and pondered the women’s liberation movement that was supposed to have freed us to be ourselves. Did that include making our own fashion rules?

As a college student during Gerald Ford's administration, when many of us wore non-conformity as a badge of honor, wearing white after Labor Day didn't warrant discussion. It simply wasn't done. I’ve no doubt my dorm mates would have heckled anyone in the halls who slipped up and wore white bell-bottoms to class in September.

But like a lot of other rules and traditions, no-white doesn’t fit in a post-911, global-warming world. On my day of awakening, as I noticed friends and co-workers who are fashionistas breezing through that hot, humid fall afternoon dressed according to the weather and not some outdated rule, I felt like the Equal Rights Amendment of 1973 had finally passed. 
 

As it turns out, the no-white rule traces back to a time when the wealthy fled crowded, industrial cities when the school year ended for vacation homes where cool, white clothing was preferred. From a practical standpoint, it reflected the hot sun and better suited their leisurely summer activities. So the rich owned separate summer wardrobes distinguished by the color white, from the tips of their fedora hats to the toes of their patent leather shoes.. Socially, it signified affluence, in contrast to those who remained to toil in their year-round grays and browns. Labor Day – a Populist holiday, created in tribute to the workers who made these annual pilgrimages possible – signaled the official end of summer. And so those who stepped off the ferry or detrained from the Orange Blossom Special conveyed status to those left behind, bedecked as they were in white before their transition back to the real world and colder weather, darker colors and heavier fabrics.

Fast forward past the Great Depression and World War II to a country of baby boomers whose birthright included summer vacations in automobiles that took them to all manner of magical places. As Americans caught the travel bug, family summer wardrobes took on a casual, comfortable look previously reserved for the privileged. People on vacation required lighter, cooler clothing that's easy to wash and wear. What better than white?  And so the masses, too, marked Labor Day with a wardrobe change as school started and work schedules returned to normal. We were following a practical tradition.

Enter fashion designers whose mission it was to define the rules by which the well-dressed should abide. Seasonal wardrobes became more distinctive (in places other than Florida, where in theory we could, and often did, wear the same clothes year-round) to support the burgeoning ready-to-wear industry. To display any degree of fashion sense, it was imperative to pack away white on Labor Day and introduce darker, more autumnal colors on  racks and backs. Even in tropical Florida.

An informal poll of friends and family reveals most of us are independent thinkers when it comes to the clothes we wear. Give us simplicity, comfort over style, practicality over fashion, and forget about rules whose time has passed. If you aren’t making your own rules, you’re falling behind the times. That makes us fashionistas, one and all.

So here’s to wearing white, or any other color, after Labor Day.  And that’s how it should be.

Flood to Drought: One Extreme to Another

The rain came to our house last night, a minor setback for the drought to end all droughts. While this one isn’t over yet, heavy rain and wind, followed by steady, ground-soaking precipitation the likes of which we’ve not seen in months, restored hope that better weather lies ahead, as my husband optimistically observed.

But an animated map of dry weather conditions across the U.S. shows a swath of deep burnt orange dipping across northeastern Oklahoma, signifying“exceptional drought” according to the map’s legend. [www.cnn.com/interactive/2012/07/us/drought/index.html]. Most of western Oklahoma is as bad or worse, and the governor’s decision to issue a statewide burn ban has finally given the two of us common ground upon which to agree.

The order came not a moment too soon: for weeks, the dry grass in our rural Cherokee County yard appears to have simply dissolved and settled into the cracked earth intended to sustain it. Trees droop and drought-resistant ground cover planted decades ago is brown and locust-eaten. The vegetable garden was pulled up by the roots weeks ago. Ornamentals near the house are kept alive with occasional watering, but fold their leaves to conserve life forces against mid-day heat. August is usually too hot to mow, and the yard typically grows so wild the cat gets lost in the weeds. This year, the lawn tractor is garaged till further notice.

This morning our foliage reaches to the sky in a celebration of temporary relief, but newscasts continue to show images of cracked ponds and decimated corn throughout the Midwest. Farmers are pulling up corn to feed cattle or selling livestock for which they have no feed.  Minutes before the storm passed over our house last night, CBS Evening News aired a segment showing levels at Lake Tenkiller, a few miles from here, seven feet below normal. In a worst case scenario, weather forecasters say real relief may not come until spring.

And if that isn’t enough to earn worst drought status since the Dust Bowl, consider this: according to CNN, the drought in Louisiana has lowered the Mississippi River to a level that allows saline water from the Gulf of Mexico to wash upriver. Officials 90 miles from the mouth of the river are advising citizens to expect salt in their drinking water. Not a health hazard, but certainly a predictor of where this drought is taking us.

With the river level lower than normal, barges are moving more slowly and carrying less cargo, which means it costs more to transport goods. As the saying goes, that’s where they get you: our wallets will feel the pinch as transportation costs rise. Fox News reports one barge carries the equivalent of 70 semi-trucks on the highway, based on shipping industry estimates. Adjustments to how much a barge can carry to accommodate low water levels will ripple across the economy like skipped rocks on a stagnant pond.

So far, water levels on the Mississippi have not affected barges that travel the McClellan-Kerr Arkansas River Navigation System in Oklahoma. According to KOTV News, Mississippi craft have shifted to a 9-foot draft (that’s the vertical distance between the barge’s waterline and its keel). Those passing through the Port of Catoosa maintain an 8.5 foot draft. While this doesn't make the drought seem any less severe, we can take comfort in river traffic continuing as usual, right?

  

Earlier this summer, I picked up a copy of “Rising Tide,” the story of the 1927 Mississippi River flood that revolutionized  America's approach to utilizing her major waterway. The book enjoyed a surge of popularity following the historic Mississippi River flood of 2011. Author-historian John M. Barry traces the changes that led to channels that guide the river’s traffic, and the modifications that allow commerce to continue flowing in dire times like these.

In 2011, as we watched homes and agricultural lands disappear beneath Old Man River, history confirmed that eventually the water would recede and we'd move forward to deal with the damage. Here in northeast Oklahoma, we faced a similar scenario on a smaller scale: floodwaters covered the basin of the scenic Illinois River. Images of Highway 10 slipping underwater, homes covered to their rooftops, water lapping the wooden slats of historic Combs Bridge contrast today with  exposed gravel bars in mid-river that haven’t seen the light of day in decades and places along the highway where the river narrows to the point that it simply disappears. But if we've learned anything, it is that one extreme gives way to another. In due time, we'll be mowing yards and heading for higher ground. 

Turning Over A New Leaf

The outdoor farmer’s market in Tahlequah has officially opened for the season. Last fall, I pledged to turn over a new leaf this year and buy our vegetables and plants, along with soaps and other organic products, from local farmers whenever possible.  The time has come to make good on that promise.  

Herein lies the challenge: for me, venturing into town on Saturday morning has typically been reserved for parades, other special events, or picking up a birthday cake from Morgan’s Bakery. Until now, I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve darkened the sidewalk during farmer’s market. Despite its central location in Norris Park, a charming and unique venue, the lure wasn’t enough. After all, I could get the same items at our locally-owned grocery store during the week, right?  Why bother with a special trip downtown just to buy lettuce and tomatoes? 

Two good reasons: first, farmers invest their time, energy, and money to create products intended for our consumption, and they do it well. My green thumb extends only as far as the perfect combination of climate, quality seeds, and daily maintenance will allow.  Second, when we buy local products, we’re supporting our neighbors and friends. Enough said. 

But back to the lettuce and tomatoes, and the issue of Saturday morning: garden variety iceberg lettuce pales beside the greens offered by our local vendors, and rightfully so. Kale, spinach, turnip greens, and bok choy hold more nutritional value and taste better. When tomatoes are in season, the same holds true.   

So this week, for the first time, watercress will grace our dinner table, in salads, sandwiches, and maybe even soup. If you’re a seasoned farmer’s market patron, and by implication a healthy eater as well, you’re probably not impressed yet. So visualize, if you will, this salad bowl at our house from a year ago: green outer leaves of iceberg lettuce, tomato wedges, and sliced cucumber. Baby carrots, radishes, or green pepper with sliced boiled eggs meant the culinary muse had entered the kitchen and we were having Cobb salad with Waverly wafers. Break out the ranch dressing and balsamic vinegar, and call it a healthy meal.  

Culinary motivation on my part has never been a point of pride, but I’m certainly not alone. According to a 2009 report by the Pew Research Center, nearly half the American work force is made up of women, and 75% of American mothers work outside the home.  While among their ranks, I experienced firsthand the low priority of meal preparation at the end of a long day. It’s just too easy to serve quick, simple meals comprised of frozen or processed foods; it’s even easier to swing into a fast food drive-through on the way home.

I blame this oblivion on America’s pervasive twin evils, lack of awareness coupled with apathy. When we don’t fully comprehend the impact on our bodies of the food we’re eating, we can’t see the benefit of alternatives. Metaphorically speaking, it’s easy to stick index fingers in both ears, wave the hands, and sing, “Lalalalala….” until all the food is gone. You know what I’m talking about. 

So why turn over a new leaf? 

For me, it came in stages. First, I retired from the local university after forty years in the work force and had more time to plan meals. I would like to claim an upswing in the quality of our home cooked food, but the only significant change in the kitchen during the first year was a fresh coat of paint on the cabinets.   

Then last fall, my husband suffered his second heart attack (discussed in my blog, “Heart Attack Rule of Seven”).  During his recovery, Dan enrolled in a three-month cardiovascular rehabilitation program at Tahlequah City Hospital, where we met a clinical nutritionist, James Newman, who would challenge how we thought about food. 

Until then, I regarded food as a means for staving off hunger, providing nutrition (especially protein), and a means to socialize with friends. At our first meeting, Newman presented persuasive evidence that food is medicine. He posed the million dollar question: were we willing to make radical changes in our diet that might control…maybe even reverse…the coronary heart disease that caused the blockages that led to my husband’s heart attack? The answer was easy; there’s no question about making dietary changes when it involves the health of someone you love. And I knew that whatever food I prepared and put on the table, my husband would eat. 

The next step was trading hamburgers and pizza for portobello mushroom steaks and quinoa. It may sound difficult, but Newman encouraged us to think in terms of a lifestyle change rather than dieting. He referred us to the book by Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn of the Cleveland Clinic, “Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease,” which now sits dog-eared and stained from frequent use on my kitchen counter. I never knew how many plant-based and grain options there are in the world. Newman also suggested we “sample the rainbow” in our local produce department. With only two people to prepare for, we can try different things in small quantities. Our refrigerator shelves are lined with greens in a variety of shades and shapes, potatoes in every color, cauliflower, broccoli, bok choy, chard, squash, and a variety of other fruits and vegetables. Seasonings include fresh herbs from our garden and a variety of vinegars and Braggs Liquid Aminos, a lower-sodium alternative to soy sauce.  By the way, did you know turnip greens come alive with a spritz of rice vinegar? 

Recently, I saw a clip from a national late night show in which Bill Clinton credited the Esselstyn plan with restoring his well-being after a heart attack and surgery last year. Closer to home, Newman has shed more than 300 pounds and will tell you that his cholesterol level is down to an impressive 107.  In fact, Newman’s success is noted in several online journals, where he is recognized as an authority on healthy eating.  

Yes, this has the appearance of a vegan lifestyle, and no, we are not strict adherents; we stick with the plan about 80 percent of the time, giving in to the temptation of fish, a juicy T-bone steak or an ice cream sundae now and then. I don’t anticipate we will ever completely forego animal products, but the important thing is to stay on track.  

One thing we discovered early on: eating a plant-based and grain diet means what we consume is more filling and holds higher nutritional value, thus we eat less. Combined with exercise, we’ve each lost a few pounds (my husband more so than I) and feel better overall. That’s motivation enough to stick with the plan. 

So, strolling through the Saturday morning farmers market has become an adventure, a weekly foray into trying new foods, supporting local farmers, and visiting with friends and neighbors. And you’ll still find me patronizing the produce aisle at our hometown market, scoping out the leafy greens and shopping the rainbow. Meanwhile, think I’ll whip up some watercress soup.