I purchased this pair of Doc Marten boots in 1994. The docs got shoved to the basement for work duty once other boots became more fashionable, only admitted out when I donned them in concert with wool socks, rolled up paint splattered torn and ripped blue jeans with a flannel shirt.
When they were picked up from the cold concrete floor, they already knew what lay ahead. The moment they were slipped on over socks, they expressed a sigh of relief that they had not been completely abandoned forever, and a lurking drudgery for what came next. We were headed outdoors for a heavy-duty yard project and they were only offered another day of life in exchange for planting shrubbery, cleaning out the chicken coop, digging post holes for the new garden fence, being covered over when a shovel of dirt has been unearthed, and stuck in the fire to reposition debris. Rest would not find them until they had been frustratingly unlaced, kicked aside dirty and a strew, when I was just too exhausted to clean them off and put them away. They too, are exhausted!
Yesterday, they got cleaned. Today Huberd’s Shoe Grease soaked in their every pore. They got new leather laces and homemade shrunken wool inserts to keep my toes warm and wick away moisture. What tomorrow brings, no one knows.

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