First, let me say that I was completely exhausted from last weekend. I wasn’t even sure I was going to go to the farm this weekend. I wanted to stay home, take a hot shower, NOT drive an hour TWICE. But, I decided to go. I am glad I did.
I have this pair of boots. When I bought them a LONG time ago, they were a little closer to “in-style” than they are now. They were just a brown pair of boots to go with “brown based” outfits. I have never been much into fashion – as my kids know – but I do like to look nice when I (rarely) go out on the town. They were nice boots. Polished, neat, and I liked that about them. For the last many years, they have resided at my sister’s farm. I had them there so that no matter when I was able to get there, I would have good boots to wear. They had become a little worn. They weren’t going to top off any outfit any longer. So, they became farm boots.
Over the last several years, my sister has worn them to and from the barn when hers were not available. She wore them when they rushed her friend’s horse more than an hour away to the Vet hospital in Athens, Ohio where he would receive a lifesaving surgery. I have worn then on countless trips to her barn to help with the horses, to ride, and to work. Between the two of us, we have very well broken in this pair of working farm boots.
The day we arrived en masse to our wonderful hidden gem of a farm, I found my trusted work boots and a bucket full of various sized muck boots to borrow until I could outfit the Elswick clan with acceptable footwear.
So today, as I looked down at myself while walking into McDonald’s for a quick lunch, I smiled. My boots squeeked that leather squeek that isn’t annoying, but it is there. They are scuffed to the point that the original color is non-existent. My dusty jeans hid the cuffed over leather tops that make them decidedly out of style. I’d like a new pair of boots, honestly, but how satisfying it is to have a pair of authentic work boots. There is no faking that wear and tear. There is no shame in wearing them while I am moving hay. There is a certain pride to owning something that has worked so well for so long. 
How differently I measure authenticity. How differently I view a good pair of boots – and work gloves for that matter. How differently I feel about real work. How different the world looks through the filter of farm life . . .
brandnewfarmers 