As Hubby was locking the door before we left on an evening stroll, I looked down at my old walking shoes and thought, What would they say if they could talk? Hummm.
They’d probably say, “You’re crushing us! Get off!” Silly shoes.
I first met these shoes in Woodburn, Oregon on a clearance shelf in the Columbia Outlet Store. Hubby was looking for a new pair of walking shoes for our trip to London and Ireland. He found a pair of Montrail shoes on the clearance rack and loved them. He told me to see if there were any on the women’s rack. I rolled my eyes. No good shoes in my size are ever found on the clearance rack, but I went to look anyway. To my surprise, I found this comfortable pair of shoes in my size and color. We were meant to be together for a reasonable price.
These shoes carried me miles and miles through London. First to Trafalgar Square, then to the Tower of London. Later we went to the British Museum, a dream come true for me. We went all across London and on the Tube, while minding the gap and following the Way Out signs (those who’ve been to London understand). We saw Stonehenge together and walked among the very old tombs inside the Salisbury Cathedral.
We went all across Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland: the Giants Causeway, Cliffs of Mohr, the Dingle Peninsula. And best of all, these shoes carried me up the circular, stone staircase of Blarney Castle so I could kiss the Blarney Stone. The shoes brought me safely home again.
Last summer, these shoes took me on the rough trails in the Black Hills. They were there when we found the Poet’s Table, a hidden spot where writers go to be inspired. We started up the trail to Little Devil’s Tower, but didn’t quite make it to the top.
I gave those shoes a month off, then put them on again when I went to DisneyWorld with my daughter. We walked a lot of miles through there and Universal Park. The shoes and I enjoyed walking through the world of Harry Potter and down the street of the Magic Kingdom for the Christmas show.
Now the shoes occasionally carry me up and down the greenbelt along the Boise River, dodging the goose poop on the sidewalk. They are still very comfortable and I hope to get a few more miles out of them before they have to be retired. When that day comes, I’ll be checking the clearance rack again.
Wholesome Stories about small-town people searching for what they lost