Things Worth Keeping

I bought these Red Wing boots around 1998. I know this because of where I lived at the time and because around that time our family friend and accountant, Manson, died suddenly. Mother and I went to his funeral in tiny Normangee, Texas, the nearest town to the country place our parents had bought in 1973. I bought the boots at the local Purina feed store. Manson not only did taxes, especially for the people who were involved in agriculture and livestock, he was a farmer and cattleman. He also worked part-time as a funeral director for the local mortuary in Normangee. I guess he wasn't actually directing that day.

My house in Houston—one built by my great grandpa Fuchs around 1900 in a near downtown neighborhood—was where I first broke in these Red Wings. I was learning about gardening then. I sold that home after four years. My new, temporary home was a loft at the old Rice Hotel, circa 1910. In 1836, this same land was the site of the first capitol of the new Republic of Texas. I was out of the garden only a short time. Soon I began developing a native ornamental landscape on the family land outside of Normangee, where I had decided to re-direct the money from my Houston home into converting a good part of our two-story barn into a living space. The boots found purpose again—that is, purpose other than being the bottom dressing for a pair of Wrangler jeans.

I left my professional life behind in early 2001. By this time, I had moved most of my worldly possessions to my barn home in Leon County Texas, including the Red Wing boots, which really got a workout as the garden space in front of the barn took shape. Flying by the seat of my pants—my theme song—I dug, amended soil, planted and mulched, hauled and moved river rock and stones—carving out a landscape laced with paths. I wanted it to look like a place that you could have walked up on unexpectedly—a sanctuary filled with blooms and shade and fragrance. It did and it does, in spite of what it has given up over the last four years of my absence during the seemingly unending hot and dry Texas summers.

Some time in the last year or so, it became apparent to me that my Red Wing boots looked ready to give up the ghost. So I bought a new pair. Alas, the process of breaking in these new boots has been slow, even painful, and I lost interest in wearing these boots. I had removed my old boots to the garage of the place I’ve been living in Albuquerque, realizing only recently that I just couldn’t let go of them. I considered my options. Just give them away in a garage sale. Toss them in the garbage. Try to find someone to do a painting or professional photograph. Do nothing. I decided to take them to the Red Wing store nearby, the one where I had bought the new pair a few months ago, hoping that they could actually bring the boots back to life. “These are frickin’ awesome,” exclaimed the owner of the store when he saw what I had in my hands. He turned them over and over, looking at the numbers inside the tongue, which told him when the boots were made, meanwhile oohing and aahing. I smiled to myself, thinking that he would need to towel off by the time this exchange was finished. Finally, “I think we can do something with these,” he offered. I smile again.

I am attached to these boots, the many miles they’ve walked, the stories, most of which only they remember. Only rarely do I give away shoes. Rarely do I even wear them out. But these Red Wings, like the clothes that I wear over and over, even though I have a closet full of clothes and shoes…I don’t know. This doesn’t bode well for the expensive, still-new pair of lace up boots I bought last fall. It will take conscious work on my part, especially once I have my refurbished boots back from the cobbler. There are new miles to walk and new stories to be experienced. And I smile yet again. And so it is.

Things Worth Keeping—Albuquerque, New Mexico (April 26, 2011)
R. Harold Hollis