It was precisely one week before we began our cross-country adventure. We were about to leave the warm and rainy west coast to drive across Canada in the middle of winter. In one week we would be willingly driving through snow, blizzards, and ice.
I was a west coast city girl. I had high heels, sneakers, and tall black boots with heels. I didn’t own snow boots.
One week before we left, I bolted awake in the middle of night. “My feet!” I gasped. “I will be cold! We will careen off the side of the highway on the Coquihalla Highway in a blizzard. The impact will knock Cameron unconscious. Blood will drip down his ivory temple. It’ll be up to me to find help.
“I’ll be wearing jeans and high heel shoes. The snow will be three feet deep. I’ll lose my strappy heels in the snow. I’ll be trying to find help, walking barefoot in the snow with only night-shade nylons to keep me warm. Eventually, I will collapse from the cold. I will fall asleep in a snowbank and perish overnight. Cameron will never wake up from being knocked unconscious. He too will die. All because of my high heels.”
The next morning, I lay in bed staring at Cameron until he woke up. He opened his eyes.
“Were you just lying there staring at me while I was sleeping?” He asked in a suspicious morning voice.
“Yes,” I answered, “but we need snow boots. We forgot to buy snow boots. If we don’t buy snow boots we’ll die a terrible death because of my high heels.”
“What?” He said.
“It doesn’t matter. Listen, we need to buy snow boots. Let’s go shopping.”
We spent the day at a mall. It was difficult to find snow boots in Victoria, BC. (There’s not much snow there.) We wandered around aimlessly. We found a pair of $150 boots that would have worked, but we both scoffed at the price tag. Eventually we returned home–without snow boots.
That night, I went to bed worrying. “Boots, I need boots.” I muttered as I drifted off to a nightmare about being bootless.
The next morning, I browsed online at local buy, sell and trade websites. I found the following advertisement: “Used boys snow boots. Size 6. $5. Please call.”
I called the number in the advertisement.
“Hi there,” I said, “I’m calling about the boys boots you have for sale?”
“Yes, I’ve still got them,” she said. “They were my son’s.”
“Great, when can I come and look at them?” I asked.
She paused. “Are they for your son?” She asked.
“Um, no, they’re for me.”
“Oh.” She paused. “They’re not very nice, you know. They’re boys boots.”
“I know, it’s okay. I just need them in case of emergencies.”
She really didn’t want me to buy her son’s boots. She was very suspicious of the whole affair. Finally, she caved in and said that I could come take a look at them right away.
I drove across town to the lady’s home.
By the time I arrived at the tall, well-manicured home it was dark. I rang the doorbell.
A tall, well-manicured lady answered the door. She looked me up and down, presumably wondering what kind of twenty-something woman wanted to buy her young son’s boots.
In silence, she handed me the boots. Balancing on one leg and then the other, I slipped her son’s boots on. They fit perfectly. I quickly fished out two toonies and a loonie from my purse and shunted the money towards her. With narrow eyes she accepted the money. As I was leaving, I noticed her twelve-year old son peering down from an upstairs landing, silently watching and wondering why such a woman would want his $5 boots.
As it turns out, these very $5 “emergency” boots became my daily footwear on our month-long trip.
In fact, those unfashionable, velcroed $5 boots have seen me through two winters and are about to guide me into my third winter.
This morning, Cameron was cleaning out our shed, and he asked me whether he should throw out my unfashionable snow boots. I thought about his question and I thought about the boots.
I don’t wear these $5 boots out in public, but I sure am glad that I have them around. I’ve decided to keep them. I’ll use them to bring in firewood, wander through our back woods on a snowy walk, cut down this year’s Christmas tree, among the many other unforeseen adventures that this winter will bring.
If that well-manicured boot selling woman could see me now, I think she’d nod, smile, and happily hand over her son’s boots. I think she’d say, “Good luck and enjoy.”
