Not to worry, I've used these gifted boots three times in the last week. Yesterday I walked the two-mile round trip to Tai Chi in them. They had some mud streaks and dirt, but I was exceedingly grateful for them on the way home when the rain/snow/rain returned with steady intent. On the going and coming, however, I pondered spiffing them up a little for my next venture into public. Can't recall when they were cleaned last.
And today, pressing right up against my conscience in all the Things I get to do today is clean out the chicken coop. The weather and the girls and the need to be protected have worn out the shredded wheat-straw on the coop floor. Time to send this load in a wheelbarrow to a grateful neighbor's garden bed. Boots are designed for this kind of plarking (see side bar for definition of "plark"). They feel good on my feet, and the chance to spread fresh straw and diatomaceous earth on the coop floor is most rewarding.
|Y-e-e-u-u-p. It's time.|
All too soon, I wade through the sloshy back yard and into the house. Time to clean those boots up--really time after setting the hen pen straight. Half way to the utility sink, I do an about face. What? Use drinking water to clean the chicken stuff off my foot wear?
|Water a plenty with more coming down|
by the minute
I grin to myself about having a rain barrel full of water when the little world of my yard is swimming in it. Now is its time to shine.
|Wasting Water is Weird. Not doing that here!|
Moments later the boots are sparkling and almost ready for a public appearance. Must remember this story when mockers and naysayers talk down about my many rain barrels.