Coni's Boots

An e-mail came to me recently from a dear friend I met in PA just before Christmas last year. We met much earlier on the walk. It seems like a lifetime ago, and yeaterday. Coni couldn't believe that I threw away my walking boots when they turned their toes to the heavens. Coni and I must be related. Although I didn't dig a grave for them like she considered for a pair of cowboy boots that her dog altered in a private operation, I moved my hand over the leather still feeling life wanting life until I heard.
While the new boots on my feet still smelled like fresh leather and cardboard yet to see a mile, I pulled out my knife in the country outdoor store and began cutting free all the weathered leather that had seen me through so many miles from the old Vasques hikers. I handed the young female at the counter the skeleton remains of my old friends as I tramped out the door with feet that could no longer bend. She stared looking gut shot until I could no longer see her reflection in the glass door closing behind me. I burned that bridge down. There was no changeing my mind--although I did two miles later as new boots began to eat my right foot and ask for salt.
Days later I began the magic of drawing new life out of boots gone by. I stabbed my large blade into a log, holding a hand size patch of leather with two hands, I pulled the dark brown patch into the fine edge, always pulling and turning with two hands until the top of the log was covered with rich leather lace. The leather cord was then woven to make a handle for my titanium tea pot, and lacing to hold my hawk more securly in the leather sheath that I made from found leather early in the walk. The left boot became a handsome pouch from leather soaked in water to ease my needle through. I can tie it anywhere to secure an old coin I carry, or a little treasure. Old boot laces wait out their days as bench warmers tied to my pack frame, hoping that they get called back into the game as laces again, or rope extensions for my bear-bag tied up in a tree.
So far, I'm considering using these new boots that still trash my feet with perfect cuts as high-powered rifle targets when I settle down, or cactus planters rotting slowly in the sun. I'll keep it on the thought wagon and keep you posted.