GRANNY'S APRON - A Short Story

My grandmother had a apron. Well... She actually had dozens of aprons. All kinds. Some of them were for everyday use. Some were reserved for occasions when her task would be especially messy -- like killing a chicken for dinner. Some were kind of fancy and worn for company. And one was reserved to wear to church. Granny was never without an apron -- at least it seemed that way. I would have not been surprised to discover that she actually wore one to bed at night.

I once asked Granny why she wore aprons all the time. "Well, boy," she drawled, "I can't rightly not wear one. I'd be nekked without it."

An apron was like a badge of office in Granny's day -- a highly practical garment that not only offered protection to clothing, but declared that it's wearer was a domestic woman. No self-respecting wife or mother would be caught dead without one, except the very rich who hired servants.

Aprons were popular years ago. Some were even parts of official uniforms for both men and women. Early nurse's uniforms, for instance, came equipped with an apron. Maids in the houses of the rich sometimes wore little frilly aprons which looked about as useful as bobsleds on the Fourth of July. Of course butchers wore aprons, Civil War surgeons, and cobblers. Even the rugged village blacksmith strapped on a leather apron to ward off red-hot metal.

Granny's aprons, however, were versatile because she used hers for more than protection. How many times did I see Granny walk out into the garden to gather vegetables for supper, or to make soup, or for any other reason, wearing her gatherin' apron -- a large billowy affair sewn of rugged cloth that reached almost to her ankles. She could put a half-bushel of snap beans in that apron, or three dozen ears of corn, or a half bushel of apples from the orchard, and carry the whole load to the house.

Her apron had other uses, too. One day a lamb was born but the mother died. Granny went out into the barn, gathered the helpless orphan in her apron, and carried it into the house. She fed that lamb in her big kitchen until it could care for itself. When her mama cat had her kittens outside in the cold, Granny folded the entire brood in her apron and gently carried the new family inside where it was safe and warm.

Granny's everyday apron had shoulder straps, was very long, and was tied behind her back with a thick cloth tie. In hot weather, she would wipe the perspiration from her face with the apron or even fan herself with it. A frightened or injured child could find comfort in its folds and the apron became an extension of Granny's loving arms. She wiped her grimy hands on the apron. Wiped away the blood from my cuts and scratches. She shooed flies away from cooling bread with her apron.

When the family came to dinner Granny wore another kind of apron. This one was made of very thick cloth and was a little shorter. She would wrap the end of the apron around hot handles pick up pots and skillets off the stove without getting burned. When taking bread, cake, or pie out of the oven, she grabbed each side of the pan using the apron as pot holder.

Granny even had a Sunday-best apron. This apron could hardly be called practical as it was crocheted in a fancy pattern and was small. Granny had made it shortly after she married Pap, and wore it to church every Sunday for over 50 years. When she was finally laid to rest she was even buried in her Sunday-best apron. I guess, in the presence of her Creator, she would have felt nekked without it.