Is there anything more enchanting than an apron? An apron conjures up comfort, grandma or mama in the kitchen, a safe haven at home, of love. One can dry their hands, place eyeglasses, a phone, some garden tools, and a handkerchief in the pockets, protect one’s dress from splattering sauces, and pull a look together if one is as eccentric as I. 

I suffered a tremendous burnout. I did not really realize what was happening, just that I was not myself and could not handle anything. My husband had a break down fourteen years ago, which led him to leave his job and career. We lost our house because every other house was going into foreclosure and we did not make good choices. We rented a house in the nearby small town of Elizabeth, where Doug sat in a corner, grew out his hair and beard, and read for a solid four months. 

My burnout was a bit more subtle to me- yet dramatic to those that knew me. I stopped gardening, closed by business, stopped herbalism, all but stopped writing, stopped talking to most family, friends, clients and nearly changed my phone number of twenty years. Holding onto just a few friends and my immediate family, I have peeked out from the shadows fairly recently to see that I may have lost my mind the past year and a half. When one is as active as I am- and I know a lot of you readers are- it’s important that we give ourselves ample rest and space to breathe in order to keep up the lifestyles we have chosen. Endless to-do lists and unreasonable self expectations will eventually catch up to you. I hope I have learned my lesson. With that being said, I search around my house for an apron.

I sold or gave away a third of our possessions when we moved, including the aprons I am so known for. For Christmas, my husband bought me a few. I purchased material to make a Mennonite one like the ones that I used to love! Now that I am putting myself back together, I will put my apron back on. I have remedies brewing on the hutch. Dough resting to make tortillas. Spring seeds ready to plant.

My granddaughter, Maryjane, used to hide in my skirts and under my apron. She would peek out at customers. It was her safe place. Turns out it was my safe place too. I love nothing more than helping others (24 hours a day turned out to be quite a lot though.), being a homemaker, being an herbalist, being a homesteader, being a wife and mama, and oh how I love being a grammie. 

The feeling that an apron emanates is the very reason I named my upcoming apothecary, Grammie’s Apron. The image of going to a granny or mama with an apron on in an old farmhouse kitchen brings up hopes for a warm meal, a healed up wound, drying of tears, and sage advice. I need to be that for myself. Hopefully, it will spread and I can offer help to others as well again. 

But first, I need to put back on my apron and make a cup of rose tea.