THIS SUMMER, I unearthed my dad’s old cherry-red barn jacket from my parents’ garage closet, a black hole of forgotten coats and sweaters. Judging from its stale smell, it seemed likely my dad had last put it on during Bush’s first term. Yet 18-ish years later, it looked as fresh as ever. Though I left the coat where it was—given that it was still steamy July—I regret my decision now that fall has arrived.
The rich history of barn jackets is steeped in Americana. In 1924, L.L. Bean, the wellspring of so many quintessential…
