Muck Boots

Ladies, let's talk boots.

I bet you're enthused, sitting there with your cup of coffee, thinking I'm going to chat fashion with you. You're thinking about those Frye boots or a nice pair of Lucheese that you've been wanting.

I'm here to tell you about a whole new realm in fashion.

Hollywood here thinks she would like to chat about boots. Do you see the reflection of white in her sun goggles? The fact that the goggles were busted out is proof that that white won't last too much longer.

Kids from the prairies are part mud.  You probably didn't grow up here if you haven't had your gum boot fall off , trudging through that ooze, and  kept on going in your sock feet because your feet  were so cold in springtime weather.

We still have feet of snow on the ground, but it won't be long 'till we are swimming in sludge. A big ol' nasty, mire of nothing but pure dirty, that makes a grown man grin as he digs trenches in the lane. That huge ball of fire in the sky is packing heat on some of these afternoons and my little girl has discovered the joy of puddles. Trucks are filthy, the farmers in the coffee shop are grinning, and gophers are running around on top of the snow. We are busting out the Muck boots.

I mentioned Muck boots in a previous post and I received an email from a lady thinking it was funny that us Albertan's call our gum boots Muck boots. Girls, we don't just call em Muck boots-they are an actual brand of insulated rubber boots here that are meant to keep your feet warm and dry all year long. They are a thing of beauty.  Pair them with a dirty ol' Carhartt coat and you're Redneck stylin'. I love these bad boys so much that I'm writing a whole post on these blessed chore boots.

Back in the day there weren't such luxuries as these treasures. Ranchers would wade out in the sludge to check calves and come in with stained socks much to their wive's dismay. I'm sure no one really minded that much; you're just thrilled Spring arrived here.

One of my favorite famed 'muddy' stories in the family took place right where my folks live now. It was my Great Grandpa's place many moons ago, the legendary hero we all called Pappa. Years ago, when Charolais bulls were relatively new to Canada, these big beasts got out and were heading to get in with the heifers. My dad was out with Pappa in the barnyard soup when Pappa started hollering to beat the band at my Uncle, at the top of the pasture, to cut the bulls off. With all the bellowing Pappa's teeth flew out of his mouth and landed right in the slop and manure. Losing his teeth paused the hollering, but Pappa just gave those teeth a quick wipe, popped them back in his mouth and commenced whooping. Only in Alberta- we don't let the mud and manure get in the way!