Gathering Mulberries in Muck Boots: Dressing for the Weather, Holding Onto the Story

This morning felt like a shift.

After four days of heat that made the air feel heavy and unmoving, we woke to something else entirely—mist rolling in from the edges of the woods, a soft chill settling into the corners of the yard. The wind picked up just enough to rattle the leaves on the old black walnut tree, and by mid-morning, I found myself reaching for layers I hadn’t touched in weeks.

Not a dress this time.

Instead: an old vintage utility jacket, softened by years of wear, its canvas edges frayed just enough to feel honest. I pulled on my scuffed-up muck boots, knowing the path would be slick from last night’s rain. My daughter tugged on her coat with the same kind of determination I see when she decides it’s time for a walk—no matter the mud, no matter the chill.

We headed toward the abandoned manor house at the end of our lane, baskets forgotten on the kitchen table. Our hands would do just fine.

The mulberries were ripening fast—deep purple clusters staining our fingertips with every handful. Further down the roadside, the black caps hung heavy on their canes, just starting to sweeten in the cool air.

There’s something about days like this—when the weather changes its mind and you find yourself grateful for layers that weren’t chosen for beauty, but for utility. And yet, somehow, they still feel like part of the story.

Dressing for the In-Between Days

I’ve always loved romantic silhouettes. Cotton lawn dresses, faded florals, soft ruffles that catch the light. But there are days when wearing a full skirt just isn’t practical—when berry juice and muddy boots and low-hanging branches ask for something sturdier.

That’s where pieces like this old jacket come in.

The old utility jacket I reach for when the weather turns

It’s the kind of layer that pairs just as easily with a faded prairie dress as it does with jeans and a cotton tee. Some days, I’ll throw it over a high-necked 70s gown for photoshoots—letting the contrast between soft and rugged do the styling work for me. Other days, it’s just what I need to pull on when the weather turns and the air smells like wet earth.

I don’t carry utility jackets in the shop (at least not yet), but I’m always thinking about how these pieces—boots, coats, old canvas—play alongside the dresses I do list. The balance between storybook softness and everyday wearability has always been part of how I imagine these clothes living once they leave my studio.

A Small Note from the Garden Path

By the time we made it home, our hands were sticky with berry juice and our boots were caked with mud. My daughter dumped her handfuls into a colander by the sink, beaming like she’d brought home treasure.

This morning’s gathering: black caps and mulberries, ripened in the mist.

And maybe she had.

Maybe we both had.

Because sometimes, the story isn’t about the dress.

It’s about the walk.

The weather.

The jacket that keeps the wind off your back while you gather what’s in season.

Muck boots, berry stains, and the kind of path that feels like a story waiting to happen.

Here’s to dressing for the weather, the season, and the story—whatever it looks like that day.

📍 If you’re new here:

Lee & Lillian’s is my small vintage shop—filled with storybook dresses and quiet wardrobe pieces for in-between moments. If you’re curious, you’re always welcome to browse the shop here 🌸