The boots I wore when digging the hole to bury my old man sat on the deck. He gave them to me 15 years ago, a high school graduation gift. They are XTRATUFs, full sized, steel toed in brown rubber—not those trendy shorties they wear down south. He called them Alaskan dress shoes.
“When I wet my last line or shoot my last bear, bury me under a tree in that valley you shot your first brown bear. Just dig a hole and put me in. Bury me in my boots.”
I spray the mud off; the patina, remains.
© J D Clapp