Back around 1980 or so, Cliff's sister divorced her then-husband. His brother worked in Alaska, and at some point he gave his brother and my sister-in-law some keepsakes. Cliff's sister ended up with a couple of those and passed them on to me, and that's when I found out it's possible to fall in love with a stocking hat. Before I show you the picture of me wearing the hat today, I'll show you this one that's as old as the hat, so you will know I didn't always look like an old hag. I was no beauty; I've always had dark circles under my eyes and ugly teeth, but I wouldn't mind looking like that now. I wouldn't mind having the dog back, but she's crossed over the rainbow bridge.
Yes, this has been my favorite hat for over forty years, and it's still not falling apart. I used to call it my lucky hat. I've probably gone on enough winter walks in that hat to have walked across the state of Missouri and back; when I was milking, I'd lean my head into the cow's flank, and the hat kept my hair from smelling like a cow, as well as keeping me warm. Cliff has a Carhartt hat now that he prefers.