Yesterday, I came across a social media post on the history of aprons. It stated: "The principle use of Mom's or Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath because she only had a few. It was also because it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and aprons used less material."

My mom corroborated this, saying that her mother wore an apron all her life. One of the few photos I have of my grandmother shows her wearing an apron while collecting tobacco in her garden. "In the old days, it was so hard to wash clothes and women didn't have many dresses, so anytime they did something, they'd wear an apron," my mom told me. "If someone came to the house, Mom could quickly take off her apron and have a clean dress." My mom explained that her mother used leftover material to make her aprons: "Nothing was thrown out." And she agreed that it was easier for her mom to wash an apron than a dress.

My mom says she never really got into the habit of using an apron. Living on a farm in the '60s, she was more likely to be wearing pants than dresses. She did have aprons, she recalls, but did not use them the way her own mom had, as an everyday accessory. Indeed, as I looked at photos from my youth, I couldn't find a single image of my mom in an apron. By contrast, I found one of me—in my teens—wearing an apron.

Perhaps it was my practice of donning an apron when I made pancakes at McEwen's Pancake House and when I was a cook at the Tannery that got me accustomed to putting on that protective bit of cloth.

Recently, I started wearing an apron regularly, after many years of using one only occasionally. The apron I use is one that my mother-in-law made. I'm not sure how it came to be in my possession, but I cherish it. It's very humble and provides a link to the past.

Whenever I start to bake or cook, I grab that apron, tying it on my right side and tucking a kitchen towel into the tie on my left. I swear that the best part of wearing an apron is having a place to hang a towel, which is always at the ready when I need to wipe my hands. It's become second nature to reach for the towel as I cook, so much so that I feel naked without my apron-towel uniform. I've even started taking my apron with me when I visit my mom or my son.

Putting on an apron feels very intentional. It tells my brain that I'm about to start an activity that's good for my body and mind. I slow down. I start my mise en place. I get into the zone of effortless action. And I think of all the women before me who cared for their families.