Wednesday, July 18, 2012

boots frock mullein




























Every now and then a blogger publishes a photograph of his or her boots. It is a subject I always enjoy. Boots can reveal a lot about a person. So rather than talk about myself I will confined myself to say that I have had these rather smart boots for about 25 years. Fairly recently I upgraded them for use in the garden, where they have developed a character of their own. You could say in a manner of speaking that we're mates, these boots and I.

In the supermarket a tall man hurries with  long strides on his way to the check out. He is wearing an anorak and,  reaching just beneath his knees, a frock with a flower pattern.

The garden next door to my vegetable garden has been deserted and left to grow wild for the last  two years.  There are tall nettles with straggling green beards,   the rusty flowers of docks, sow thistles and bindweed scrambling everywhere with its  white bell-shaped flowers. Blackberry and fuschia mingle. And the metal poles from which  gardener used to string his beans has collapsed to form a lopside pyramid. Standing high above the wilderness two stately mullein project their yellow inflorescences into the sky. The garden variety is known by the family name, verbascum. Pax verbascum, I can't help saying to myself.







3 comments:

CC said...

Your boots remind me of an Andrew Wyeth painting. http://debbieclarke.blogspot.com/2010/09/wyeths-boots-trodden-weed.html

Lorenzo da Ponte said...

I posted about my climbing boots back in the days of Works Well. They dated back to 1953, a period now so distant that they were equipped with nails: hobs spread generally over the soles, tricounis at the front end. Since the climbing world was even then turning against nailed boots (they wore out the holds on rock climbs) I had the nails replaced with moulded rubber soles - generically called Vibram - and in this way persisted with my pretty unsuccessful career as a rock climber until I came down to London in 1959 and found other diversions.

Since even my modest rock-climbing was potentially dangerous, and on two occasions I could have died had accidents gone the other way, I'd have to choose a slightly stronger word than mates for my boots. I rather favour "confidants" since my boots were present on a number of occasions when I was terrified out of my wits and must have picked up these fear vibrations within their owner.

Plutarch said...

CC I like the thought of Andrew Wyeth painting my boots, which I agree probably suit his style.

L d P I remember your post which I enjoyed as I did that of a woman whose name I don't recall. In one post she published separate photographs of all the footwear in her house - a sort of family album.