I like shoes. But pretty ones. Or at least shoes that kinda match my clothes. I’m not especially girly, but I’m not really a down-and-dirty type, either. I mean, I chose to go to law school. I love to write. I am far more apt to use my brain than my hands to get something done. So I didn’t think I was a “work boots” kind of girl.
Turns out I was wrong.
The first time my husband brought me out to walk the land we had just bought, and on which we would eventually build our home, it was the dead of winter. Ahhh, January in Wisconsin. The front field was covered in a few feet of snow, but we were bound and determined to walk our new property. So we set off across the snowy landscape, marveling at all the space we suddenly had.
It was lovely and scenic and special. And then my foot sank into the snow just a little deeper than it had up to that point, and suddenly I found myself with an ice-covered foot. If this has never happened to you, well, good for you. It’s not much fun, and there is also nothing much you can do about it until you can go inside and sit down to remove your shoes entirely. I was several hundred yards away from that possibility.
Now, I wasn’t a total idiot. I had been wearing snow boots. But they were these cute little furry things from The North Face. And they had seemed perfectly acceptable. Until they didn’t.
Enter my work boots. Once my feet had recovered, I pulled out my iPhone and started researching more appropriate footwear. I wanted work boots that would be functional year-round and not totally hideous. I finally settled on my beloved Bogs.
My Bogs work boots got me through the house-building months, when mud seemed to cover everything around us. Our cars, our children, our entire lives were coated in mud. For a period of time, I didn’t bother to wear any shoes other than my work boots, because any other footwear I dared to put on would be ruined, sacrificed to the mud gods magically and instantaneously. So I showed up everywhere I went with at least a few smudges of mud on my person and Bogs on my feet. Volunteering in my son’s kindergarten class? Work boots. Target run? Work boots. I may have even worn my Bogs on a date night or two. Sadly, I’m not kidding.
Thank goodness, those days are behind us.
But I still pull my old work boots out more often than I would have expected. They have helped me plant trees, collect sap for homemade maple syrup (yum!), start a garden, plant even more trees, and perform various other tasks I never envisioned myself tackling.
Beyond that, my work boots help me slog through whatever mud that life happens to put in my path. They can’t prevent blisters from forming on my palms (I never remember work gloves when I need them!), but they do protect my feet. And, more importantly, they allow me to obtain the satisfaction that comes from engaging in physical labor to create long-lasting improvements in our little corner of the world.
Turns out I can get down and dirty. I just want a mani-pedi when I’m done. 🙂
Jessie, you are a wonderful writer!
Thank you!