Bigger than a duck.

In December I ordered a pair of hiking boots. They were out of stock so I received a pair made for me in late January, just before I went into the hospital.

These days it is easy to find hiking boots that are built like running shoes with ankle support. They can be relatively inexpensive and certainly do the job for casual hiking. They have lots of plastic parts and don’t change at all until, at the end of their useful life, they simply fall apart. They either fit right the first time you put them on, or they never fit at all.

I discovered that it is also possible to have hiking boots made to order. Some of the best have a backlog of more than a year and cost thousands of dollars. I expect they are wonderful to walk in. I hope they are indestructible. I'll probably never know.

What I wanted was neither the hydrocarbon-intense running shoe with ankle support, nor the turn-out-your-pockets custom built. I wanted boots like the ones I eyed in the store and envied on my older friends’ feet when I was 15 years old. Sturdy leather boots with serious waterproofing, with a lug sole stitched to the upper so it can be replaced. The kind that are too stiff and give you blisters when they first come out of the box, but after a few weeks mold to your feet and from then on fit perfectly. The kind that will take you through any terrain in all kinds of weather, so you don’t even check the weather first. You just pull on your boots, confident they’re the right choice whatever it’s like outside. The kind you resole three or four or five times because the uppers last forever and once they’re broken in they feel better than anything else you’ve ever worn.

Surprisingly I couldn’t find what I wanted in the stores, even places like REI that I thought would cater to that kind of interest. Thanks to the internet, I did find them online and ordered a pair (Irish Setter Countrysider Style 1885, from Red Wing Shoes). I’ve been using them every day since I got out of the hospital. With well over 100 miles on them, they are starting to feel good.

Almost every evening I go out for a walk. Around nine o’clock I put down whatever I’ve been working on, turn off the television if it’s been on, and start into my nightly routine. I pull on the boots, choose the appropriate coat for the weather, start up an audio book on my iPod, grab my walking sticks, and head out for a walk. The walking sticks keep my upper body involved and keep me walking at a fast pace. They also help when my balance is off; I’ve lost some of the feeling in my feet, my left foot in particular, and sometimes I miss a step. These days a brisk 30 minutes is about right for a good walk without strain.

I like to look at the houses. Most are lit from the inside at that time of night, so I can see all the different colors people use in their living rooms, and who has interesting art work hanging. Because I’m walking I know where there’s a house surrounded by tulips. Where the construction sites are. Which houses are for sale and which have sold (houses around here are in fact selling). Which yards are kept up and which are already going to seed, if that’s possible in May.

The air smells a little different every night, especially in the Spring when there’s always something new blooming.

There are almost no adults on the streets at 9 or 10 o’clock. The adults seem to be home, or in a car, or rushing from car to house. I do see teenagers, mostly in packs. Mostly having fun, but sometimes mischief. I can usually tell by how they look at me. The open eyes, “hello,” “nice evening,” “I like your walking sticks” kind of look is kids having fun. The “what are you looking at?” And “why don’t you just go away?” kind of look is kids engaged in some kind of mischief and feeling guilty. Like the time they were setting a fire just outside the municipal tennis courts.

After the walk I get ready for bed and then play the piano for 30 or 40 minutes, finishing with a random and different every day medley of hymns.

All together, the walk, the smells and sights and sounds of the night, the audio book, the piano, all serves as a celebration and reminder of life. I’m alive. I hear and see and smell, walk and think and praise. It’s a good day, one that ends with walking and making music.

Oh, the title to this entry: “Bigger than a duck”? It’s my favorite line so far from “Neverwhere” by Neil Gaiman, the book I’m listening to right now:

“To say that Richard Mayhew was not very good at heights would be perfectly accurate, but would fail to give the full picture. It would be like describing the planet Jupiter as bigger than a duck.”