Neither snow, nor rain, nor gloom of fog shall chill this Valley woman with all her coats

On a brisk December morning, I opened the entry closet door to reach for a jacket before heading to the post office. Hmmm: Navy? Brown? Red? White? Black? Gold? Plaid? I know, I know, I’m the Imelda Marcos of jackets and puffy vests.

And then there are my coats: a white wool with big black buttons, a black wool, a green three-quarter-length parka with fur-rimmed hood, a brown curly-lamb’s wool, a green-and-red-plaid wool cape, a navy raincoat, a cream-colored trench coat, and two 59-year-old gems: an oyster-colored Borgana synthetic fur and a cream-colored three-quarter-length leather coat, the fluffy fox collar removed when wearing animal fur fell out of fashion.

This collection is not a mystery for someone growing up in the 1950s who wore her sister’s hand-me-down coats, expensive purchases for our parents. I wore these coats until the sleeves no longer reached my wrists and the shoulders pulled across my back. I wore hand-me-down coats until I started college and got a job downtown at Rodders’ Mademoiselle in Fresno.

Today, the coats in my closet tell stories of my life. I could attribute my collection to the fact I have lived for a long time, but in truth, I hold onto my old coats even as I acquire new ones because each tells a story of a time in life.

The oyster colored Borgana, a fancy fur coat popular in the 1960s, was a Christmas gift from my husband-to-be. My three-quarter-length crème-colored leather coat reminds me of my Uncle Hampartzoom because I purchased the coat with money he left me upon his death. My plaid, wool cape was a gift from my always stylish daughter, and the white wool coat with big black buttons is an Audrey Hepburn fashion statement I purchased for myself.

Some coats I bought during my travels. My brown, curly wool coat is a reminder of the November educators’ conference I attended in Pittsburgh, excited to be in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of my husband. Another November conference, this time in Milwaukee, led me to a shop in my hotel for a heavy, quilted, hooded, olive-green coat to help me brave the snow and cold as my colleagues and I walked to the nearest restaurant for dinner. The long black wool coat I packed was not nearly warm enough.

We all know that some of our Valley winters are colder than others, so I am well prepared. I am ready for wind, rain, or the bitter cold that accompanies our Valley fog. And yes, I am ready for snow and sleet because it has snowed in Fresno. The National Weather service shows that it has snowed 48 times in the past 107 years since records were kept.

Most memorable for me was the January 1962 snowfall during my senior year at Fresno High School. The week we returned from winter break saw a two-day snowstorm and lots of scary slipping and sliding from inexperienced teen drivers. I also remember snowball fights on the hill in front of the school (with Principal Art Miller joining in). And, yes, I did have a wool coat (either from my sister or my aunt) that was appropriately warm for Fresno’s cold, damp winters — but not nearly warm enough for the freeze of a snowy day.

Today I am well prepared for the Valley’s bitter winters as my coat closet attests. Don’t get me wrong. I have not saved every coat I ever owned. Over the years I have donated many coats as well as jackets. However, the ones that carry stories of my life are difficult for me to part with, even if I haven’t worn them in a while.

Suffice it to say I am ready, Valley, for your wind, rain, fog, and even snow. Bring it on!