Once Upon a Time in the West
August is a strange, yet alluring month. A melty in-between-time, like an ice cream cone left out in the sun. With summer behind us, and the promise of cozy fall beckoning in the distance, we dream of golden leaves and big sweaters, but we remain barefoot in oversized blouses. There is an overall urge to take a road trip, go camping, to venture into the great outdoors and connect with nature. This longing is for retrospection, the year half over. We look to friendly gatherings, connection, and laughter, perfectly ripened tomatoes, dips in a river to offset the midday heat and slightly cooler evenings.
This is precisely what inspired the collection. Our design team came together to carefully discuss this transient time, and understand each other's desires for our individual closets. The consensus was cotton - cool, oversized, romantic and wearable. We nod to our lives out here in the West, but also our upbringings with nostalgic prints and vacation-inspired plaids. We made pajamas and bloomers that can tuck into a sleeping bag but also be worn out on the town, or sitting by a bonfire.
So pack your bags for a final weekend away, and make sure to try our new big bag, a ruffled shoulder or cross-body quilted sack that includes a nostalgic, sweet cosmetic bag to keep your toothbrush and face cream - a perfect convenience for all trips to campsite bathrooms, ground crunching under your boots, stars so clear above. These are the core memories we make for a lifetime. RVs and tents all around, we will always have these memories we create, the clothes we wore, the scent of marshmallow, smoky hair and the sound of sweet secrets told during these unforgettable evenings.
Someday I shall go West,
Having won all time to love it in, at last,
Too still to boast.
But when I smell the sage,
When the long, marching landscape line
Melts into wreathing mountains,
And the dust cones dance,
Something in me that is of them will stir.
Happy if I come home
When the musk scented, moon-white gilia blows,
When all the hills are blue, remembering
The sea from which they rose.
Happy again,
When blunt faced bees carouse
In the red flagons of the incense shrub,
Or apricots have lacquered boughs,
And trails are dim with rain!
Lay me where some contented oak can prove
How much of me is nurture for a tree;
Sage thoughts of mine
Be acorn clusters for the deer to browse.
My loving whimsies -- Will you chide again
When they come up as lantern flowers?
I shall be small and happy as the grass,
Proud if my tip
Stays the white, webby moons the spider weaves,
Where once you trod
Or down my bleaching stalks shall slip
The light, imprisoning dew.
I shall be bluets in the April sod!
Or if the wheel should turn too fast,
Run up and rest
As a sequoia for a thousand years!
- Mary Austin, Going West
