boots and friends

A year ago, I was on the hunt for hiking boots and I finally bought the pair I wanted on sale. This past week, I discovered a rip in the sidewall that was big and low enough to allow snow to reach my sock. While it ought to be fun to search for replacements, I was not eager.

Last time I scoured online reviews for boots that wouldn’t be too heavy, hot, or ugly.  Back as Boy Scouts, the “best” boots had the opposite characteristic. We put a premium on blocky, brown and brawny footwear. The goal was to clomp along trails in leather boots shiny from layers of waterproofing wax. The tradeoff for blister avoidance was wearing multiple layers of socks, ideally with the outer wool pair rolled over like a collar over the tops of the boots. 

When I was able to find relatively lightweight, Gore-texed Merrells at a discount, I felt I had scored. This cold morning, they serve as slippers. I check the condition of the shoelaces that I may scavenge before trashing the rest.

Off I go again to read boot reviews. The pair I settled on is not locally available so I printed out the picture for future reference. This was perhaps my favorite endorsement by the owner/publisher of Snowshoe magazine:

 "While many pairs of shoes and boots will fade in and out of my gear arsenal, I think my Firebrands will stick around for the long-haul.  Come December 2012 when the world is expected to end … I’ll be wearing my Firebrands to help me dodge falling rocks and leap over ground fractures."

None of this should suggest that I am going around shoeless. In truth, I rediscovered an old pair of Nike boots in our garage. They are super-snug which I like because they won’t slop around if I wear only one pair of socks. One loop for the shoestrings has failed. Otherwise, they are more than serviceable. They are lightweight and have stood the test of time. And that is why looking for a replacement is so laden with anxiety. If I lose my hat while hiking or the elastic in my underwear gives out, the trip isn’t ruined. I probably could finish out a backpacking trip if these Merrells had failed in the mountains rather than in a campus parking lot. But that’s risky. If a tire fails, there’s a spare in the back or I could call AAA or I could find a garage to patch the hole. In the backcountry, boot problems are not a joking matter. A big worry is that if my gear failed, I’d be even more of a burden to my fitter companions. Although comfort is a relative term, boots that give out while in the wilderness create major problems. Perhaps it’s that fear that accompanies my boot shopping.

Yesterday, I attended a presentation given by a state official about the teacher certification process. Most of the audience consisted of soon-to-be graduates because this was a mandatory meeting. They fidgeted about every ambiguous answer. When we heard that the legislature may someday shift its Masters degree requirement after five years of teaching to become a subject area degree, the lamentations rose. All I could think was that our students believe that entering our program was their biggest hurdle and that the pressures and demands would eventually fade to nothing. It seems they hold onto their pampered illusions about privilege. Or to be less political, they have yet to realize that life will always throw new challenges before them. What a relief to receive an email from a former student to distract me from the whining.

Joe was writing for advice. He earned is chemistry and physics teaching certificates two years ago and landed a job shortly after he graduated. I can report that he was an energetic, smart, creative and dedicated individual and his school is highly rated. That doesn’t mean Joe had an easy time of it:

I think the hardest thing about that particular position was trying to balance myself inside and outside of the classroom.  I've always been an avid outdoors person and I've always wanted to try and incorporate that in the chemistry/physics classroom, but for one reason or another I wasn't able to achieve this goal there.

Joe resigned his position and is looking to start afresh. He mentioned plans to do outdoor conservation work and then look for teaching options “out West” to contrast with his northeastern experiences. I wrote and told him I had connections and offered to help him explore options.

Beyond the contrasts between the sniveling pre-service group and this embattled young teacher, I saw connections between Joe-teacher and those older boots. At the store, those Merrells felt great when on tiptoes I tested them on the artificial boulder poking out of the carpeting. A year later, with only moderate demands, they are no longer suitable for their intended use. Meanwhile, the steadfast Nikes (embarrassed by the paint spatters from my sloppy technique) have proven their reliability. As much as I enjoy being an instructor, advisor and mentor to future teachers, that barely compares with those relationships with former students who are now teachers. Plus, there is the bonus when they sometimes rise above the shame of their struggles to reconnect with me.

As messages bounce around about who will be at what conferences, I am reminded that the best things in my life are not the new adventures or the new acquaintances — even as I relish those. The comfort, delight and satisfaction of an established network of reliable friends is what truly makes life worthwhile. Replacing boots is a challenge but far easier than establishing genuine friendships. My iTunes playlist contains 20 songs with “friend” in the title and only 6 contain “boot” and the boot songs are not all that good.