Prairie Heels

No, it isn't one of my misspelled words. I know, I'm rather famous for them. But this time I actually mean heels not hills. I'm referring to the type of shoes we wear on the prairie when we've had a light rain. The clay soil, or gumbo as we call it, transforms our tennis shoes into clodhoppers. You've heard of those, but ours are unique as it is the prairie that designs the heavy shoes and she adds heels. Each step we take attaches another layer of clay dirt until our heels are several inches off the ground. Then all of a sudden, your flat footed as the heavy weight of the clod causes the mud clump to fall off.

A clumsy dance step initiates because neither shoe is at the same height at the same time. I call it the Clodhopper Stomp because sometime during the wobbly dance you naturally hit your heel and skid it forward to knock off the three inch clod on the shoe, if the other foot is limping along flat. It is of course, a varied rendition of the country swing with lots of toe tapping in your high heeled shoes and at times the unrehearsed moves sorely tested your coordination.

If there's been a heavy rain, the music changes to slip slidin away , slip slidin away, the nearer your destination the more your slip slidin away as it becomes near impossible to stay erect going down hill. That's when we drive, choosing to take the longer route with the pickup.

Mud, the kind that causes you to slip and slide compels us to switch to our chore boots as our oldest granddaughter calls them. The purchase of the little boots earned Kirk and I good grandparenting points from her mom since her little daughter no longer comes home with her tennis shoes caked in mud and smashed dingle berries. Plus, our granddaughter thinks its cool to wear a pair like Grandpa and Grandmas.

No, don't get excited, I'm not making jam next. Dingle berries are goat poop.
Our destination from the corrals is the house on the far right on the hill. It's three-quarters of a mile away.