I was right. When I rolled up the locker door I went straight to the correct box and extracted a bottle of Knob Creek and another of Maker's Mark. I also grabbed a fifth of Jack Daniel's and a bottle of Gosling's Black Seal Rum. All were unopened.
The way I drink, four bottles should last me the rest of my life.
On the floor next to the booze box was a large plastic tote. Curious, I set the bottles down and popped off the lid.
Inside, packed away for decades, was a good chunk of my Scouting stuff. There was every handbook, from Wolf to Eagle, and every single wallet card, including all of my rank and merit-badge records. (I even found my Totin' Chip.) Neckerchiefs and slides, patches and hats...I don't remember the last time I'd laid eyes on my short-billed Cub Scout beanie.
Nestled in a box at the bottom of the tote was a pair of Sears lace-up boots, what we used to call "clod-hoppers." My parents bought them for me in early 1972 so that I'd have proper footwear for a trip to Philmont Scout Ranch that summer.Those boots, now sporting what must be their fourth or fifth pair of soles, served me well beyond Boy Scouts. I wore them throughout my college years. They carried me to Europe and back, and they were the only boots I had with me 33 summers ago in Montana.
They've seen miles upon miles of trails, countless campfires and untold hours of yard work. They were my first motorcycle boots.
Running short on time yesterday, I re-packed the tote and tossed it into the truck. I knew what I'd be doing as soon as we got home.
The old boots still fit. The leather is soft, the stitching is intact and the Vibram soles are nearly new.
I wore them around the house for a few hours before taking them off and setting them on my work table in the basement. Soon, I think, their well-loved hide will get the full Montana Pitch-Blend treatment.
