These boots have carried me a long way from home and have been a godsend here in Colorado. My Merrells and Thurlo hiking socks have taken me up ladders and ledges, up cliffs and down canyons. Through Cliff Palace, Balcony House, Oak Tree House and many others. I was very thankful for them today when a woman about 8 or 9 years older than me tried to maneuver our backcountry hike to Oak Tree House in her Keds, carrying a large handbag instead of a back pack. I watched her fall right on her can and totter along the entire trail. I tried not to walk right behind her in case she fell off a ladder and took me down with her. She did the ultimate back country no, no and asked the ranger if she could sit on one of the fragile 700 year walls. The response: “if you think you are going to have a medical emergency it would be alright.” I interpret that to mean,” I would rather you sat on a wall than pass out and fall off a cliff costing the government $20,000,00 to save your sorry butt.”
As I consider the value of good pair of hiking boots today, I think back to another pair of boots that impacted my life. I should preface this by mentioning how I always used to dread getting gifts from my Dad, and with good cause I might add. Basically, he was complete crap when it came to buying gifts. If he made something for you, that was alright because he was a fantastic craftsmean and the furniture he made was truly a work of art. You were probably OK if he bought you a book, since he usually bought nature books; so chances were at least 50/50, and worst case scenario, you could take it back to the book store. Other than that, Oh Lord!
One time he bought a teenaged cousin of mine a size 6 sweatshirt, because that was how big he was the last time my Dad saw him. Another time I came home from work and found a cement Indian painted in garish colors sitting on my front porch, a birthday gift from my Dad. But the all time doozy of a gift was one Chiristmas when he bought my mother the most beautiful coral colored wool cocktail dress. It was a real stunner, but also, I believe a size 6. My mother had never been a size 6 in her life, she was pretty much a solid 12 or 14 despite the fact that she was only about 5 feet tall.
Well, she was highly insulted that the dress was about 3 sizes too small and made my Dad take it back to the store. I don’t think she spoke to him for a whole week. So you can imagine my brother’s and my trepidation, when the next Christmas she opened a box containing boys high top work boots from Sears. These were hiking boots my Dad quickly explained, so that she would be more comfortable when we went hiking and camping. I could not have been more surprized when my Mom smiled, put them right on and declared that she loved them. She wore them for many years after that momentous Chritsmas Day when my Dad actually purchased a great gift. Here’s to you Mom. Happy Trails.