Revel needs shoes.
I mean, he does already have shoes, of course. Crocs, blue and green, with pictures of bugs on them, which he loves, and leather moccassin types with soft soles that help him run fast without tripping, even over rocks.
But he’s outgrowing his leather ones, dark blue with the monkey faces on them, and the company that makes them doesn’t offer them in a larger size.
So we could switch to another brand, lovingly crafted by a small company somewhere in the world, or made by machines for mass distribution.
Or I could make them. By hand with leather soles and uppers, harvested from a thrift store leather jacket, or taken from the old doe with the dark eyes at the edge of the field by the forest. Leather soft but strong so his feet can move freely. So he can climb and jump and run and play like a little wild thing, and feel the ground with his nimble little feet.
I could find a pattern or make one up. Add beads and buckles, buttons and laces, or leave them plain.
I need to do it. Need to make my small son a pair of strong and soft leather shoes. Because even I, a person who likes to talk about rewilding, and has learned very many things over all these years, still buys most everything we need, even if its used. Because I’m lazy. Because its habit. Because its there.
Because I’m part of the problem.
So I will do it. I’ll figure out how to make a little pair of shoes.
Because its time to push ourselves farther. To harvest and grow and fix and make and hunt. To sew, and sow, and mend , and saw, and cook. To do more with less. To reject this poison civilization that makes me sicker every day, that poisons the ground under my feet and the very air I breathe.
If I want my son to live in a different kind of world,
then I need to make it for him.
And shoes seem like a simple place to start.
I’m off to look for a pattern. I’ll keep you posted.
Thank you for listening,