Pondering raised hemlines on a pretty morning

Beautiful spring mornings are made for walking, and since I live three blocks from the office, I’ve begun walking to work. Today, though, I’m wearing a dress — a rare occasion — and for a second, I stood at the door thinking maybe I should just drive.

Then it hit me: up until a few decades ago, most women did everything in dresses, no matter how demanding, dirty, or dangerous. Walking to work in a dress is no big deal.

I was lucky enough to know all four of my great grandmothers, who were born in the 1890's. I never personally witnessed any of them wearing pants (although there is an old black and white photo of one of them in pants while on a deep sea fishing expedition).

My mother went to college in the early 1960's and was only allowed to wear pants one time--when the temperature got down to about negative 20 degrees. (I don't know if the male students were instructed to avert their eyes. They might have been.)

The short, comfortable dresses popular for the majority of the 20th century, however, are nothing like those of previous centuries. Mercifully, hemlines have gone way up. The skirts of the 19th century and before kissed the floor, designed to hide everything leg-related from the feet up.

I’ve frequently experienced the struggle of functioning in such skirts. As a Chautauqua presenter for Kentucky Humanities, I’ve traveled all over the state, doing one-woman presentations as Emilie Todd Helm (Mary Todd Lincoln's half-sister) and Jemima Boone. Though from vastly different social classes, both of these women lived their lives hampered by long dresses.

When I show up at a venue dressed as Emilie or Jemima, if I am carrying anything in my arms, stairs are a challenge. My skirts wind around my ankles, get underfoot, and generally create a tripping hazard. It isn't pretty.

How did women wear them gracefully? It's a mystery. You certainly don't see Scarlett O’Hara tripping her way up and down the stairs in "Gone with the Wind."

Of course, she wasn't carrying a bowl or a basket, as a servant would have .

I live in a turn-of-the-century Queen Anne house built long before any code was established dictating the width of a stair's tread or mandating handrails. The main staircase--the one designed for the family's use--is fine. It has wide treads and a nice bannister and handrail.

The servants's stairs that the nanny would have used to get to the kitchen, however, are a death trap. When we first moved in, I tried using that staircase, but the treads are so narrow I have to turn my foot sideways; the angle of the staircase is far steeper than it should be.

I lost my footing and slid down those stairs more than once (wearing 20th century clothing). If I had ever tried carrying a pitcher of hot water or a squirming baby down those backstairs in a long skirt, catastrophe would certainly have followed.

I finally gave up and started using the bottom of that staircase to store dog food.

It should come as no surprise that accidents on servants’ staircases were not a rare occurrence in Victorian times.

Basically, raising women's skirts saved lives.

And by the way, I walked to work in my 20th century dress just fine.

Next week: knee socks (just kidding).

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