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Taking time to live well
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My walking boots by Abigail Mann

My walking boots by Abigail Mann

What I treasure | My walking boots

Lottie Storey July 24, 2018

It’s strange to think that my most treasured possession is a pair of boots that are so actively ignored when I don’t need them. Usually, accidental steps in hidden bogs that cause stagnant water to seep inside is the reason for their being left in the boot of the car. Always with a pledge of a deep clean and oil, but so often exchanged for a brisk bash in the car park to get rid of the biggest clods of mud before the next walk.

These boots are older than I am. Worn in for 15 years by my mum and then passed down to me, the tricky size five-and-a-halfs have been moulded to fit from a constant cycle of damp fields, sea salt and mossy woodland paths. The laces have grown plump and awkward, sometimes stubbornly immovable through rusting eyelets and the promise of drying them out after long walks.

When I was seven or eight, I plodded alongside Mum, who wore them then, on the farm we stayed at every year; a little girl who held onto her mother’s little finger. I’d pull the grass seeds from their husks and scatter them like chicken seed. When I was ten, these boots would run away from the waves and dry with a sea salt line when we didn’t escape the swash in time. When camping, they held my tiny feet as I fetched water but couldn’t be bothered to pull on my own shoes, instead shuffling across the heath to a tap, sloshing the kettle all the way back until half of what was collected remained.

They took us through summers spent in Herefordshire: soles worn from two decades of pushing down on spades and forks to lift onions – and from standing for a photo in front of the same spot of a pine forest, year after year; a family tradition that saw my brother and I grow tall with the saplings. They were mine after new waterproofing deemed Mum’s leather boots second best. Yes, they always let the water in; yes, they barely support my ankles, but they bear the marks of a love of the outdoors that bloomed in the hills of the Brecon Beacons and along the shores of North Norfolk. They’ve taken me up mountains and down valleys when
I couldn’t afford boots of my own.

The ritual of wearing thick hiking socks and sliding into Mum’s walking boots is a kindred moment. I always send her a picture of wherever me and the boots have been; a digital scrapbook that continues the photo albums stored on the family bookshelf. They are the anticipation and adventure that pulls me away from concrete and carpet. Well used. Well loved. Irreplaceable.

We’d like to know what you treasure - whether it’s a sentimental artefact, a person, a place or something else. Tell us in 500 words what means a lot to you - email thesimplethings@icebergpress.co.uk

 

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More What I Treasure posts:

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Sep 18, 2018
What I treasure | My inherited recipe books
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018
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Jul 24, 2018
What I treasure | My walking boots
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018
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Apr 16, 2018
What I treasure | My kayak
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InThink Tagswhat i treasure, issue 73, july
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  Buy ,  download  or  subscribe   See the sample of our latest issue  here   Buy a copy of our latest anthology:  A Year of Celebrations   Buy a copy of  Flourish 2 , our wellbeing bookazine  Listen to  our podcast  - Small Ways to Live Well
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025

Buy, download or subscribe

See the sample of our latest issue here

Buy a copy of our latest anthology: A Year of Celebrations

Buy a copy of Flourish 2, our wellbeing bookazine

Listen to our podcast - Small Ways to Live Well

Feb 27, 2025
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The Simple Things is published by Iceberg Press

The Simple Things

Taking time to live well

We celebrate slowing down, enjoying what you have, making the most of where you live, enjoying the company of of friends and family, and feeding them well. We like to grow some of our own vegetables, visit local markets, rummage for vintage finds, and decorate our home with the plunder. We love being outdoors and enjoy the satisfaction that comes with a job well done.

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