ADVENTURES IN PANAMA

After consecutive days of chilly weather accompanied by a deluge, sunshine has finally decided to flood in.  These sun-filled hours have prompted an airing of spring and summer favorites -- in particular, my Panama hat.

Panama hat: Stetson
Quick snapshots here, waiting for house guests to arrive

Maybe I've seen too many Agatha Christie episodes on TV, but this straw hat conjures up images of balmy climes and gentlemen in light-colored linen suits.  But fortunately, I'm no gentleman.  That relaxes the linen suit requirement.  My Panama tops everything off!

I was surprised to discover that the Panama hat doesn't hail from Panama at all.  At least, not directly.  The hat is actually woven by artisans in Ecuador who take up to 4 months to tightly weave one high-quality Panama.  The accidental name was adopted in the 19th century, from the hat's delivery to the Isthmus of Panama.  From this port, the eponymous hat would complete its journey to Asia, Europe, and the rest of the Americas, eventually finding itself atop fashionable heads in distant lands.

Panama hat: Stetson
Another stolen moment, waiting to go out with house guests
We've had a succession of visitors since we moved in!

Perhaps I feel a certain kinship to the Panama hat.  They were brought to America by the California '49ers, gold-panning adventurers back in 1849 who had picked up the hats from Panama.  I don't ask for the same hardships these Prospectors faced, but I do love the spirit of the Wild West out here.

Sadly, the finest Montecristi superfino hat weavers in Ecuador are a dying breed.  They apparently number less than a dozen now, losing out to mass production from China.  The original hats are succumbing to the downsides of globalization.  Even the American hat company, Stetson -- of ten-gallon hat fame -- produces more Panamas now than felt hats.  I find something strange in that.  Imagine my relief when I looked into my hat and found it stamped, "Made in Ecuador."  I can still hope for a connection with those deft straw weavers, nestled in a dense forest of banana leaves.

Panama hat: Stetson

I wish I could say I had sailed to the Isthmus of Panama for my hat, but my adventures took me no further than the local hat shop.  (The upside of globalization?)  Looking back though, my husband and I took home our first Panamas years ago from a dusty, little village in Mexico, crafted by locals who assured us of a weave rivaling the Ecuadorians'. Yes, they demonstrated the roll-up-the-hat-and-watch-it-spring-back-to-shape routine, something I've been too timid to put to the test!  Those much-used hats have been retired now.

Do you have a favorite hat? Or a summertime staple?