Every Picture Tells a Story 2/7/14

They say that to truly know a man, you have to walk a mile in his shoes.

I don't know quite how many miles I've walked in the Texas Steer work boots I inherited from my dad when he passed away in 1995, and I don't believe those miles gave me any more insight into the man than I already had.

Except, perhaps, for this: The man had good taste in shoes.

It was a matter of self-defense, really. Years of working on his feet--at the railroad as a switchman and at various factory jobs thereafter--had left them in rotten shape, and late-onset diabetes and kidney/heart issues certainly didn't help. Therefore, he bought quality shoes build for comfort and protection, including the Texas Steers that he wore on the job to keep his toes from being busted and in winter to keep them from freezing.

Those same Texas Steers got me through many a winter and more than one blizzard. It had to get seriously cold (well below zero) for me to even feel the January chill, and all I had to do was work them a bit with saddle soap and Wetpruf every autumn to keep them in shape for the cold, salt-stained days to come.

In the end, though, that saddle soap and Wetpruf were probably all that still held the boots together.

The soles had long since lost anything resembling a tread--they gave me no traction in the snow and ice whatsoever--and the leather uppers had begun to crack along the creases. It was only a matter of time before they split open and let the cold and moisture in, no matter how much Wetpruf I slopped on them.

So last week, I officially retired the Texas Steers.

I didn't throw them away. Of course not. They belonged to Dad. They're not going anywhere. I'm not likely to wear them anytime soon, though, now that I've bought a pair of tough, warm hikers with long, deep treads that have kept me from sliding or slipping at all in the week since I bought them at the store-closing sale at the Sears on State Street.

The new hikers may not have the history that the Texas Steers do, but they're more likely to keep me from falling on my ass--always a possibility, no matter what the weather.