Patches

~ This article first appeared in The Leader-Vindicator newspaper. ~

Some number of decades ago a man in Coudersport, PA, captured attention because he was good at playing the guitar.  He was so good that he eventually surpassed the local music scene and then the regional network.  A real rock band signed him up to tour with them. 

At a party thrown in his honor the night before he departed Podunk Pennsylvania for Prime Time, the man destroyed his brain on the drug Acid.  Instead of putting Coudersport on the map, he became a local landmark as permanently situated in town as the statues in the park.  To be fair, he was a good landmark because there was a distinct look about the man: His pants were always covered in patches.  Someone with a pretty high IQ took a leap of creative faith and nicknamed him “Patches”.  It stuck.

I was told this story because I was spotted wearing pants with patches.  My repaired knees triggered the memory of a Coudersport native familiar with the tragic saga of Patches the man.  That’s right: I share a fashion statement with the protagonist of a wild rock-n-roll drama.  I will sign autographs, but they are not free.

My mended blue jeans are a byproduct of some serious introspection.  I’ve been examining the root causes of my lifestyle and one of the more hilarious inconsistencies I discovered is that odd human tendency to spend a lot on things we don’t intend to use and to cheap out on the stuff used often.  For fluidity of the story we’ll stick with the clothing theme for a moment. 

Over the years I’ve dressed up for social gatherings and then spent my time there operating at about 30% capacity because I don’t want to do something that will ruin the nice clothes.  It’s uncomfortable to wear something that requires conscious protection and so in the baggage are carried different outfits that can be donned to fit every little activity of the night.  There are dinner clothes, and then after dinner clothes, and then recreational clothes, followed by night clothes and then a breakfast outfit followed by casual daytime clothes.  All the outfits are designed to fit a specific situation, thus protecting the rest from tragic destruction.  I have observed a great majority of people in public thinking not about their surroundings, but instead about protecting their nice clothes.

It isn’t just attire.

As a celebration to commemorate the final payment on her (enormous) mountain of student loans, my wife remodeled our kitchen.  She did not hold back.  We have a very nice kitchen.  It’s the kind of nice kitchen that is so good it’s reflexive to keep messy things like food and people out of it.  Based on research and observation of newfound peers within the nice-kitchen echelon of society it is not considered the least bit unusual to build another proximate utilitarian kitchen in case some weak family member decides they cannot be sustained on appearances and would rather eat.  I’ve examined finished garages that were constructed to deflect life away from the home.

Such examples of guarded extravagance could go on for pages, standing as evidence that the purpose of quality has been corrupted to the point of uselessness. Speaking personally, although not exclusively, if I spend more on something I don’t want to use it, and that’s about the dumbest plan of action imaginable.

I don’t have a problem with nice things.  In fact, I prefer high quality over cheap disposables.  But I need to help quality return to its sensible roots: High quality is synonymous with a strong sense of purpose and rugged longevity.  I am thinning my possessions with a clear mantra in mind: Less, but better.

I’m extremely interested in the swelling movement to source clothing in the same way we source food: from specific farms.  I actually have a pair of blue jeans that was grown in Georgia.  I’m saving for a work shirt from Alabama and a warm layer from Montana.  These things cost more and yet I do not mind wearing them in messy situations. Instead of a continuous treadmill of buy-use-dispose I am buying, using, mending, and using some more (tip: grandmothers are excellent menders).  The better the fabric, the more times it can be mended.  Hence, the patches that acted as inspiration for today’s article.

Furthermore, I’m proud to say that we use our nice kitchen for everything.  Regular feeders at the trough of Fancy Rural Home Magazine would require hospitalization if they saw us butchering chickens atop the granite.  Throughout the summer there are always dirt-and-slug covered vegetables stacked up somewhere waiting for a rinse.  Eggs straight from the coop peek from behind the field-run beets.  And there are dirty dishes, too, because we can cook faster than we can clean.  Odd that such uses are considered improper and almost primitive.

I’m going to wear the same good clothes for every occasion, whether something is having a calf or someone is getting married, because I’m going to buy clothes that can handle any occasion.  And we’ll be patient, save money, then select quality with specific intent to use and mend and reuse the things we have, too, because that seems more respectful to the purpose of a thing in the first place.  I’ll be weird, like Patches in Coudersport.  But, hey, the distressed look is “in” anyway, and at least my rumpled attire will be authentic.