Snow is falling—my mittens are calling. Wearing mittens never gets old. Ya know why? They are warm with knitted soft fibers and someone’s love. Mittens also allow your fingers to share body heat, creating a warm microenvironment with the hanging thumb welcomed into the huddle when needed. A must when plowing snow with an open station tractor or skidsteer.
This ole farmer is a confessed mitten throwback. When all the kids in the neighborhood were wearing the latest in plastic gloves donned with psychedelic color tones, I was equipped with custom-made “handware” and an extra-long cuff crafted by my mommy. She would ask what color you wanted (in general) and then match it up with shades of whatever spoke to her that day at the local sewing shop. No two pairs were ever alike. Sometimes you would get black striped, rainbow tipped and the occasional zigzag pattern. Occasionally, my brother and I would fight over a pair when she really hit the color palate sweet spot.
I don’t remember anyone brave enough to mess with two rugged farm boys wearing mom’s mittens. Winter football in the front yard reminds me how valuable they were. Hiking the cold pigskin into a teenage boy’s hardened gloves was a recipe for fumbles and the ever famous, “dogpile”, while the mitts clung to the ball like summertime. As mitten-wielding teenagers, sliding, skating or working in the cold was rarely a concern; albeit hunger pains brought us to the house more often.
My most famous legacy mittens, still in use today after 2 decades, were made from the hands of Delaware County livestock farmer, Catharina Kessler. As a descendant of Swedish royalty, these mitts were handcrafted from her own wool and made in the traditional Lovikka style of northern Sweden’s indigenous people. On the radius of the cuff, in order, were the colors yellow, blue and green. She said, “In the spirit of my homeland these represent the sun, the water and the grass.” It was a fitting representation of our connectiveness and friendship.
Farming is hard on mittens. Luckily, mittens and their resilience come from the hands who craft them, and the livestock materials used, grown from the land. Most of my wool mittens show the scars of heavy use but my hands are still warm wrapped around the steering wheel. It’s a tale of quality and love that is timeless that you just don’t find with anything from Walmart. Because they are so special, I keep’em no matter what, even with holes created by farming’s wear and tear. Luckily, I have a secret weapon to make them last—Mom’s mittens.
Upon examining Catharina’s “holy” mittens from the tractor seat, I stopped and thought of my mom’s lifetime of work with yarn as a spiritual healing for the holes. Being frugal and all, I just put my mom’s mittens underneath as a sheath and moved on. Never did two pairs of anything go together so well and with so much heart. My fingers reveled in the marriage between the cultures and styles of Sweden and New York.
These type of hand coverings ain’t cheap, but boy do they last and can be mended many times to almost new enough for farm work. Whether you appreciate warm hands, a good value, supporting local crafters or like a touching story, it’s hard to depreciate a good yarn.
Published in Country Folks and Country Culture, a Lee Family of Newspapers
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