The Power of A Hat

All Hat and No Saddle - written by Davy and Sharon Rasmussen 
Song Lyrics

Mom has always had a fetish for hats and sported them quite well with any outfit she put on.  I guess it only made sense to plop one on her little bundle of joy too.   I can't find it now, but I remember somewhere a picture of me as an infant with some cute, little blue hat on.   

For some reason hats have always played a significant roll in our culture.  They often define a generation.  The first hat I remember was one I wore as an outfielder playing for a little league team called Nunley's, in Freeport New York.  That blue and gold hat brought such a distinguished honor in elementary school to the 20 boys that wore it.  The more dirt on it and the more rounded the rim, the prouder we were.   It didn't matter that I rarely got off  the bench, missed every fly ball that came to me and my bat only connected with one piece of leather in all my "career".   The hat gave me an identity.  When I wore it, I was part of something.   With it on, I was bigger than myself,  and in my mind everyone that saw me wearing it, thought that I was a slugger.

Eventually that hat got put on the shelf and was replaced by a vintage boy scout hat,  that I "borrowed" from my Pop and his collection of hats.   I wasn't in scouts yet, but swiped his, put it in my knapsack and wore it at school without him knowing.  In my 9 year old mind, I was already a teenager, full of adventure, with a love for the outdoors and of course emanated that I was trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.   I eventually got busted and had to turn in my hat, but I did replace it a few years later with a real scout hat, a few other little league base ball hats,  school hats and eventually... a cowboy hat.

Me and my first horse "Bucky"

Somewhere in my dreams as a child, the images of horses and a life of riding them and working with them got planted.  A couple of my close cousins had family that had a horse farm in Connecticut and I remember a few great summer trips as a kid, when we visited and I got to ride for the first time.   I think it was the smell of their mane and that moment when I put my nose next to their nose and we both inhaled and exhaled at the same time, that set a direction on my compass.  In their peak in my life,  they filled the hillsides around our home.  We gave trail rides and offered natural horsemanship clinics to our B&B guests.  I rode almost every day.   I wish I could remember the faces of all the beautiful foals that Sharon and I helped raise.  

I'll share more about my time with my equestrian family later, but as with all of life, seasons change, and that dusty cowboy hat one day found a shelf too.  I think it got replaced with a hat that I got for free from the Farmers Co-Op and I guess I wore it to help me end my horse era and make me feel a little more like "one of the boys"  in our rural community.  I finally came to the conclusion that it wasn't the hat for me and it too found a shelf.   I was in a "hat-less" state for quite some time until this past April when Sharon and I went to New Orleans for a few days.  We rented a house in the Treme' area, which is close to the french quarter. When we travel we usually try to go off the path,  meet locals, blend in and learn about the area, it's people and their customs.  On our second day, I discovered a vintage Pub style hat,  that the owner of the house we were staying in, had left near the front door.  While I was waiting for Sharon to finish getting ready for this new day's adventure, I put it on and snapped a few pictures on the iphone to make her smile later.  Unknown to me, a transformation was beginning.   By the time she was ready.... the new David was high-steppin',  N'awlins style, filled with Jazz and sounds of Louis Armstrong  and ready to soak in the tastes and sounds of the Big Easy.  

In Congo Square

I wore the hat every day on our trip,  but did leave it cleaned and back in it's place for the owner when he returned.   On our last stroll around Jackson Square before our flight home, my lovely bride whisked me into a hat shop where I bought one.  I wear it now every time I feel the spirit of Nola and the pull of the Mississippi river stir inside.