By Kathryn Sullivan, Ipswich, MA posted April 2nd, 2009
“You know that blonde from Texas”, was the description he used. Piper replied, “do you mean Kath?” He did not know my name, but I had become the blonde from Texas…It was a laugh out loud moment when my friend Piper realized it was me, Kath, that he spoke of. Born and bred in New England, as a sailor, always on the water, the vision of me being “the girl from Texas” really struck her funny bone.
Cowboy boots have always been part of me. At 3 walking down the catwalk of my parents sailboat; I had to have my cowboy boots with me. In high school trudging through the New England winter, my cowboy boots were still with me….even in college in Maine, my cowboy boots came along with me. I had different kinds and different colors, but no shoes felt as good and embraced my spirit as much. When all my friends embraced clogs as the comfort/fashion shoe…I stuck with my cowboy boots; but until recently I never really knew how utilitarian my boots could be!!
A great day this summer out on a northern New England beach…a long day of swimming, sunning and kicking the soccer ball around with my sons and a host of friends was coming to a close, but we just didn’t want the day to end. So, we stayed a bit too long and the tide was out a bit too far for us to return the boat by engine to our mooring. We reside a small way in from the ocean and are lucky enough to have a river which pulls into our neighborhood. As we approached the cree where our mooring is located, we had to make the decision to hop off the boat and pull it the rest of the way as the tide was out too far….everyone put on their shoes and allie-ooped over the side. I however, had my cowboy boots…the comments started flying…her and her crazy boots!!!! Well, as we walked across the creek toward home, the marsh mud was like quick sand and folks started loosing their shoes. Feet in sneakers were pulled down a foot into the mud only to return to the surface without the sneaker. Flip-flops, forget it. They were long gone! I, however, with my cowboy boots was the only one to make it back to shore with both shoes, never having been pulled over into the smelly, slimy mud. As the remaining eight crew members worked their way toward shore, many without shoes at this point, they began to call out to me to toss my cowboy boots to them so they could make it through the clam infested mud without cutting their feet. Being a cowboy boot spirited person, I was only too happy to hurl my boots to them one at a time while they made it to shore with safe feet. Finally, with the whole crew safe on shore, smelling like the undeniable stink of low tide in the marsh, we had a good laugh at the fact that my cowboy boots, the same boots that they think I’m crazy for wearing in New England on a boat were the savior of the day!!
I rinsed them off that night when we returned home and although they’ve never smelled quite the same, they still are a big part of me!! Not a Texan, but a New Englander!!!
