For years I had what I would describe as a complicated relationship with chore footwear.
Too tall and they’re annoying to get on and off fourteen times a day and the lining always rips and bunches at the bottom.
Too short and your socks are wet by 8:12 in the morning.
Too heavy and you feel like you’re walking around the farm wearing cinder blocks.
Too flimsy and you discover very quickly that alpacas, mud, and Wisconsin springs have absolutely no respect for fashion.
Then I found these boots.
And somehow they solved all of it.
They’re technically deck boots, which sounds far more nautical than my actual use case of:
- feeding alpacas
- chasing dogs
- deadheading roses
- wandering through wet grass to inspect plants that are obviously still there
- checking on things for no reason other than curiosity
- pretending I’m going outside for five minutes and returning forty-five minutes later
They’re waterproof.
They’re easy to slip on.
They’re lightweight enough that I don’t immediately want to take them off.
Most importantly, they pass my favorite test for favorite things:
Would I replace these immediately if they disappeared tomorrow?
Without hesitation.
Probably before lunch.
One of the unexpected joys of living at Storybook Hill has been realizing how much easier it is to become the person you want to be when you remove tiny points of friction.
Turns out I spend a lot more time outside when going outside doesn’t require a production.
No laces.
No changing clothes.
No negotiations.
Just slip them on and go.
Some of my favorite moments happen because I intended to step outside for thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds turns into watering flowers.
Which turns into checking on the tomatoes.
Which turns into watching hummingbirds argue over territory.
Which turns into sunset.
Good boots have quietly become part of that chain reaction.
They’re not exciting.
They’re not glamorous.
No one has ever stopped me to ask where I got my muddy chore boots, mainly because no one sees me in them.
And yet they’ve probably improved my daily life more than most things I’ve spent considerably more money on.
That’s usually how favorite things work.
Not flashy.
Just useful enough that eventually you can’t imagine life without them.
Things I Love
These earn permanent shelf space because they make the outside world easier to access.
And that’s become one of my favorite categories of favorite things:
Objects that quietly increase the chances that I’ll live the kind of life I say I want to live.
