April Rain Means May Mud

So, just in case you were curious, those toes at the top of the page are mine. 100% flesh and blood Marshymallow toes. Okay, that sounds really gross, but you get the point. The toes at the top of the page are on a beach one autumn evening. They are near Sally chasing the tiny sand crabs into the water, and in turn being chased by the surf. Those toes are wiggling over the soft green moss proud of the way the metallic-purple polish is set off. Balancing precariously on the rocks, they know that if they falter the camera risks injury. Those toes are inherited from my father. They stick out like radar. They are big and fat an ugly. And they don't even match - if i ever got shoes that fit properly my left foot would wear size 10 and my right a size 8 1/2. And those toes love to walk in the mud. I remember when my mother used to read the Laura Ingalls Wilder books - i always envied the children because they were allowed to run around barefoot half the year. I love shoes - i love to look pretty, and feet (at least, mine) are never going to be at all aesthetically pleasing. But for comfort, i'll kick off the shoes any day. In North Dakota my brothers and i would have mud circuses. With my brothers those toes ran unshod over the gravel parking lot and through the fields, capturing poor little toads (or frogs?) and putting them in buckets 1/4 full of mud. We were convinced that they were having as much fun as we were, and hopped around out of sheer gratitude, for sharing the mud with them. The shoe-kicking habit stayed with us in Sicily, even though there was rather a shortage of mud. My toes tread on the cold marble floors, up and down the asphalt street, around the balcony - it didn't really matter. As i have grown older i've been forced to retain my shoes in more and more situations. Yet, i've become a master of unobtrusively removing and then replacing my shoes under or at picnic benches, desks, pews, dinner tables, et cetera. I believe it's quite an art. I never buy a pair of shoes without taking into consideration its kick-off-ability. So you can imagine how ecstatic i was upon finding that, excepting the food preparation locations, the college i attend has no policy regarding footwear. It was nearly two months (well, i did wear shoes to church, or at least bring them) before my toes touched another shoe. Freedom!!! I went to class, to work, to choir practice, to my grandmother's, to the library - all with naked feet. Have you ever watched an infant or a small child explore something? They want to know all about it - how it looks, tastes, smells, and feels. Often they place objects in their mouth so they can experience the object with their sensitive gums. I walk everywhere, but I reveled in the different textures and temperatures of the various surfaces - the grass (sometimes dry and prickly, other times deliciously spongy and squelchy, or smooth and verdant), the cement (rather like walking on varying grades of sandpaper), the asphalt (HOT in the sun, but otherwise its a free foot massage), the thick road paint (very smooth, and it always felt deliciously cool after the black asphalt), and the mud. Perhaps you will scoff, but i didn't expect many people to notice. However... Odd looks, comments from fellow students. I noticed a couple approving glances from fellow free feeters. On my way to the (public) library one day, a red truck stopped in front of me. A man called out - "Why aren't you wearing shoes?" "It's such a gorgeous day, and i didn't want to." He smiled, and pulled out. I have found out that it was a main subject of conversation over coffee break in the Archives. I painted my nails bright blue in response. There is even a vocal minority among my fellow choristers protesting my choice. Rumours of passing a plate around for a Marshymallow toe covering came to my ears. But i stood firm on my exposed extremities. Winter came, and with it heavy boots and socks. Blackened remnants of the towering white mountains still remain. Yet, spring is definitely in the air. I have gone puddling twice now this year, and there look to be many more opportunities to track mud inside of the dormitory before i leave forever. It's drizzling outside. Over it i hear the construction being constructed and various people prating and prattling. It's grey and dreary outside, but i don't mind because it will mean more delicious mud. UPDATE: Scientific Proof! Bare feet are better!