If the hat fits, I wear it OR Identity lays on my head
Amanda wearing various hats: a toque in winter; my city hat for a January 2017 protest march; my pink pussyhat for a climate day action; and my cottage Tilley hat for outdoor chores. Cottage living is not country living but on our way to the cottage we pass through the country and, over the years, I have definitely adopted some country ways. I wave at every car I pass on the gravel road heading towards the cottage. I call HELLO loudly as I walk down a cottage driveway to alert the owners to my presence. I made friends with the most forthcoming of the various men who have managed the ‘transfer station’, aka, the dump, in our cottage development. And I have learned to wear a hat. It’s a particular hat, bought especially as my cottage hat. It’s a Tilley hat , broad brimmed, white canvas, indestructible. It doesn’t do much for my looks, but it does wonders for my sense of self as a cottage person. No matter what the outdoor chore or activity is, I reach first for my hat. Once donned, I am