By mid-August, Mother would have dug out the boxes of stored school dresses, raincoats, boots and the wool mittens, scarves and sweaters stored in her three cedar chests. One, a plain but lovely “hope chest” her father had made for her when she turned sixteen, sat under a window in the spacious bedroom-turned-bathroom where it contained spare woolen blankets in addition to small items of winter clothing. The other two – one an elaborately carved walnut work of art and the other a sleek modern number that matched the new bedroom suite of limned mahogany, were tucked away in the large master bedroom where they were safe from romping children and thoughtless visitors. In another month or so, she would retrieve the heavy winter coats and pleated wool skirts that were stored at the dry-cleaners, safe from moths and other summer dangers.

It seemed to always be the hottest day of summer when it was time for us to try on various garments (heavy, itchy and suffocatingly warm) for her to assess which could be worn another season with, maybe, just letting the hem down or moving the buttons over a little. Well-made clothing was passed down to younger children when declared outgrown. Sometimes the items required drastic altering because we were not similar in build or taste in what we wore. Dorothy was tall and slender and fashion-conscious. Next in line, I was short and plump and my only concerns were comfort and my favorite color. After me came Betty, thin and dainty with an aversion to plaids and ruffles. It was not practical for Mother to insist we wear things we didn’t approve of, for we would simply shove them to the back of the closet and neglect to wear them.

Once the assessments had been made, we could look forward to the annual shopping trip to Oskaloosa where there were both Sears & Roebuck and Montgomery Ward stores as well as several dress shops and, our favorite, an expensive little children’s shop called Tot’s Toggery. Here we could try on satin and velvet dresses, lace-trimmed and beribboned blouses, swirly skirts with built-in petticoats and trendy jackets and boleros with applique and hand-embroidery. Mother very seldom bought any of the garments we claimed we couldn’t live without, but she made careful note of the ones she could reproduce at home with the help of her White Rotary sewing machine and big box of sewing patterns. She was a gifted seamstress, having been taught to sew by an aunt who was a tailor and a clever Dutch girl who showed her many labor-saving shortcuts and how to re-cut old garments into the latest styles. I particularly remember one dress she made for me. It was red-violet (my favorite color) with a row of small, fabric-covered buttons up the back, long sleeves and a circle skirt that flared out satisfactorily when I twirled around – an acceptable simulation of Sonia Heine in her skating costume – at least in my mind.

Of course, there were less glamorous purchases to be made back in Knoxville; new socks and underwear from the J C Penney Store and sturdy brown oxfords from the Brown Shoe Fit Company where the X-ray machine showed there was ample growing room to last through the school year. We would be warned to “break in” the stiff new shoes by wearing them in the house for several days before school started, a precaution against blisters after a summer of sandals and bare feet.

In another week or so we would be required to troop down to the schoolhouse to register for the new school year. There, we would be given a list of basic school supplies we were expected to bring for the first semester. Both the Kresge’s and Ben Franklin five-and-dime stores would have all the items, but usable things left from previous years or by older siblings were acceptable. It was also noted that we were to have clean hands and clean handkerchiefs every morning when we arrived at school. This requirement was enforced by “inspection” immediately after reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, when we were required to line up and show our clean teeth and ears as well as hands and hankies.