This post was written by Courtney Snyder.
On Lincoln's birthday, this past February, we took our daughter to his birthplace. It was a rainy day and the first opportunity to use my new umbrella. While we were there, this photo caught my eye. It was taken on another rainy day, 100 years earlier. “Look how striking all those black umbrellas are,” I told my husband. They looked just like mine.
Until that day, I’d always carried the cheapest umbrella I could find. If I didn’t lose it, a gust of wind would quickly mangle it. The number of umbrellas I’ve outlived and the amount I've spent on them, I'd rather not know.
My disposable umbrella life changed, however, after a friend told me she'd found a classic umbrella. I've always considered them so lovely and I wanted one. I was uncomfortable spending the $30.00, but decided I would take better care of this one and have it longer.
When I first met my new umbrella, I was so very happy. It was and is elegant and sturdy. It refuses to collapse in order to fit in my backpack or pocket. I love to raise it up in the air and let it boldly and gracefully pop open. I love the sound it makes as I tap its end on the ground to shake off the raindrops. It has some weight and it should - it creates a generous space and shelter from the rain. Have I mentioned how much I now love walking in the rain? And I never accidentally leave it behind. It’s too substantial.
As I've waded through the past rainy week, I’ve wondered why I have such adoration and respect for my umbrella. Yes, it’s beautiful to me and functional. But I think there’s more. Perhaps it represents something durable in our throw away society; a society dependent on planned obsolescence. Perhaps it's a symbol of a world I hope for - one in which our items and structures are attractive, useful and meant to last. Or perhaps it 's simply about a way of being; a way that is less like a modern obsolete umbrella and more like the steadfast and solid umbrellas (and those holding them) in this photo.