The Coat

On orange blossoms, smelling like a farm animal and Saint Wendell Berry.

I still have bars of orange blossom soap I keep in the top cabinet. They’re in the blue bag with French script on the front. Sometimes, I open the bag and breathe in who I once was. There are days when I drive my sensible Subaru to Sephora while wearing my barnyard winter coat. There’s a small Jo Malone perfume section there. I’m only there to spray her orange blossom perfume on my coat. I went to this same Sephora to buy gold eyeliner for homecoming in high school. These are the things that are possible when you’re living in your hometown.

I never intended to end up back here. I’ve wanted some mythical story about this land being in my bones or whatever. Something passed down from generations. Something Saint Wendell Berry would be proud of. Yet, we are grafted in. Truth is, and don’t tell Wendell, but I thought I would be living in Europe! Does every white woman in their 20s think this? I intended to fall in love with a sheep farmer on a cheap train ride to Scotland.

Instead, I work two blocks from my high school. My American husband saw his first sheep at the county fair. I feed chickens in deep snow. My coat smells like a farm animal, because I’m surrounded by them. I used to smell great. Like Europe. Like orange blossoms.

All of this Europe talk reminds me of when we went to England for our honeymoon. I got what is now my barnyard coat for my December birthday that year, just days before our January wedding. I ran into the Jo Malone store in London. I sprayed the tester orange blossom perfume on myself, like habit. The woman behind the counter told me to ask her next time if I wanted to test the perfume.

I dreamed of us moving to England someday. Of living in an old house and looking out my window and seeing hills and animals. I dreamed a lot of being far away from here. Who can blame me? I was freshly married and smelling like orange blossoms and I was in London in my new coat! I wanted to see everything until the world stood still.

Today, I wear the coat in the early morning. It’s winter, but the birds are back. I hear them calling to one another just before light. The dog hears my heavy steps on the old staircase, and barks for his breakfast. He stops me before I go outside and says, “Hey, next time you want to test the perfume, please ask me.” And we laugh and laugh.

I walk down the drive to thaw everyone’s water. I pray no living thing froze in the night. Particularly the chickens. Chickens are always dying! One of the girls has laid an egg despite it being 3 degrees. It’s still warm. Ladybird leans against me, relishing these moments without the ever jealous Longfellow. I take my mittens off so I can run my chapped hands through her silky fur. I ask if she has ever been to Europe. Has she ever smelled orange blossoms? I pet her until my hands go numb from cold. She has seen everything.