My Feet and My Boots
What is the main thing that my feet and my boots have in common? They are both old and worn out. I purchased the pair of green rubber boots in 1995 when my feet were almost 54 years old and I've trod many, many, miles in them since then. I was living on my 42' ketch, Dreamer II in Nanaimo, BC at the time of the purchase and they were bought with the sole purpose of my being the third member on an upcoming sailing adventure through the Northwest Passage with my two friends Winston Bushnell (skipper/owner/builder of Dove III) and George Hone (first mate). Inside the boots can be found an insole and insulation, which is good for -20F and I can vouch for that. I hate to part with these old green rubber boots; they are like good friends and have kept my feet warm and dry for many years. While battling storms across the Bering Sea from Dutch Harbour in the Aleutian Islands to Nome, Alaska and first encountering the treacherous ice near Shishmaref Island located near Big and Little Diomede Islands in the Bering Strait, the boots kept my feet dry and warm. Carefully hiking across many miles of ice floes, through icy water and over the frozen tundra, my old feet relied on these old rubber boots and they never let me down; well, except maybe once and that was when we sailed into the tiny harbour at Pangnirtung, which is located on the south eastern shores of Baffin Island. The Inuit were in the process of digging out the harbour with a crane and when I went ashore, I soon found myself almost knee-deep in mud. Have you ever tried to pull your boots and feet out with your hands while trying to turn around and retrace your footsteps? Needless to say, Winston, George and many of the Inuit that were standing on the shore watching me trying to make it to dry ground got a real laugh when I toppled over and sat on my ass in the deep mud; it was a sticky, messy affair. I guess one of the Inuit thought I was drunk because when I finally managed to reach firm ground he said to me with a wry grin on his face, "Would you like to trade some spirits for fish?" It was hard to trudge away from Dove III, truly our little haven for 5.5 months and see her forlornly propped up on the shore at Pangnirtung, snowflakes whirling around her decks in the wind; tears welled up in my eyes, she was like my old rubber boots, another loyal friend.
Since sailing the Northwest Passage, I wore these old rubber boots during the winters; more for keeping my feet dry than warm, since the temperatures on the west coast of BC seldom drop very much below 0 degrees. The thick soles, although quite worn, are still water proof but the creases in the rubbers finally became holes and I have to be careful where I step now; make sure the puddles and streams are not very deep. In the winter, even when the snow is knee-deep here at the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville, NB on Golden Unicorn Farm and the temperature has dropped even further than -20F, these old, green rubber boots have kept my feet warm and dry. I wear them mostly for walking through chicken shit these days; chickens have absolutely no consideration; they just drop their little loads wherever and everywhere they please. I have to be especially careful about the dog's land-mines while walking through the pasture, just might get some of that smelly stuff oozing through the holes in my boots.
At the moment, while these words hit the monitor, my fingers typing furiously away, my 70 year old feet are wearing these old boots. I'm planning to retire them very soon and buy myself an identical pair if I can find them in a store. Even after I'm sporting my brand new, green rubber boots, I'll still look at these old rubber boots fondly; I'll let someone else throw them into the garbage when I'm gone - cheers, eh!
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