My Mama’s Apron
By Bill Shepard
Mama never owned an expensive house with a fancy kitchen and modern conveniences. She never wore fancy clothes and expensive jewelry, but when it came to aprons, Mama’s didn’t take second place to anybody’s.
Mama’s aprons were not made from expensive gingham with lots of lace and fancy frills, but with scraps of cloth left over from making her family’s clothing. They were not made to look at, but to be put to use, and Mama used hers in more ways than anyone could imagine. Seldom was Mama seen when she was not wearing one of the aprons she had stitched together on the old treadle Singer that was a vital part of the Shepard household furnishings.
When I looked at Mama’s apron, I would see the shirt I, or a brother, was wearing – or the dress or skirt one of my sisters had on. Mama’s apron, in a way, reminded me of the warm quilt that was on my bed. The quilt, the shirt, and all the other things were made from the scraps of cloth left over from Mama’s sewing.
On Sundays, Mama would wear a pretty apron wrapped around her Sunday dress. Sundays were when company would sometimes drop in, and Mama would look so pretty with her apron of many colors tied neatly over her Sunday dress. Both had been carefully stitched together by Mama’s own hands. She wore them with pride, and rightly so.
Besides protecting her dress and helping to keep her body warm on cold days, Mama’s aprons had other uses. In the early summer and on into fall, I would often see Mama standing between the garden rows of climbing butterbean vines. She would be picking the beans that were ready to be harvested, and placing them inside her large apron pocket. Sometimes Mama sewed two pockets on the front of her apron, but most of the time she only had one large pocket that almost covered the front part of the apron. Mama liked to work in the garden early, after Dad had left for work at the big mill.
While Mama filled her apron pocket with beans, I would chase up and down the rows, dashing in and out among the bean vines. I was in pursuit of the June-bugs that chewed on the lush green leaves of the vines. When I would catch one I would tie a string around its legs and allow it to fly to imaginary places. Sometimes I would pretend to be a little Indian boy and the tall vines clinging to the trellis was my wigwam. In the second grade at school, I had played the part of Little Hiawatha in a school play, and I liked reliving those moments.
Mama’s apron served other purposes, too. Often before going outside, Mama would visit the chicken yard and gather the eggs from their nests. I could never understand how Mama could place half-dozen eggs in her apron pocket and carry them inside without cracking one of them. That was just one of the many things that Mama did that I could not figure out.
Mama’s apron seemed to be a “catch-all.” Sometimes when we were in the garden, she would fill her apron pocket with squash, tomatoes, cucumbers, even ears of fresh corn. I remember once when Mama and I were walking in a field near to the house, we came upon a nest of baby chicks where one of the hens had stolen her nest and hatched her young. Mama gathered the tiny chicks into her apron pocket and gently carried them to the house and cared for them. She kept them in a box behind the stove a few days, and then returned them to the mother hen to scratch for them.
During the long and hot summer days, when Mama could find a leisure moment, she would relax in the big rocker on the front porch and fan with the bottom part of her big apron. Sometime she would use it to wipe the sweat from her face, and then use the apron to wave at a neighbor passing by.
At other times, Mama would spread the apron across her knees and allow my sister to lay her head on her lap, while Mama would comb her long and thick curls. I would watch and wonder who was enjoying the process more, Mama or sister. Both would look so content, and my sister would sometimes fall asleep while Mama combed her hair. When that would happen, Mama would lay the comb aside and continue to gently rock while sister slept.
There was not many things that Mama’s apron was not used for. Besides those already mentioned, Mama used her apron to fan away flies and mosquitoes, dust the furniture, handle hot pot, and the handles of hot frying pans. She might even wipe the dripping noses of little children!
Few things around the Shepard’s house could claim more uses that Mama’s aprons, and nothing added more to her beauty. Mama was as pretty as an angel when she wore the aprons that she stitched with her own hands, and it will be a long time before anyone will invent something that has more uses than Mama’s aprons.
Mr. Shepard is a native of Darlington, S.C., and a current resident of Piedmont, S.C. He is the author of “Mill Town Boy” and “Bruised”. He has been sharing his tales of growing up in Darlington for decades, and we are delighted to share them each week.
His mailing address for cards and letters is: Bill Shepard 324 Sunny Lane, Piedmont, S.C., 29673