If they want my endorsement, the Muck Boot Company can have it.
I know other boots are made to resist cold and wet, and I am not exaggerating when I say I have tried on hundreds of pairs: traditional Wellies, yellow boots with pull-handles to match a big So'wester rain hat, Burberrys, and those adorable rain boots with flower prints or plaid or scotty dogs all over them. Funky urban-survival Bogs with the space-age styling, traditional L.L. Bean duck-boots, snowmobile boots with felt inserts. Crocs even make a pull-on boot, if you yearn for the sensation of walking on a yoga mat.
And then there are Muck boots, the Cadillac of such things. Cushy, comfy, warm, watertight.
We came to our Muck boots by happy accident, when USAirways sent our luggage on walkabout for a few days last fall. Using the tools available: a credit card and a wise Gander Mountain clerk (sorry, young dude, you WERE a bit of a tool...of the Man), we made the best of the mishap, striding out in knee-high shank-reinforced neoprene boots. Mine are mossy-oak camo. Jeff's -- he suffers in silence -- are basic black.
My distant farming history includes approximately 36,972 miles schelpping through mud and what-have-you in rubber riding boots (usually swearing at cows, often pushing a full wheelbarrel of manure, sometimes, though I should not admit it, vigorously nudging aggressive chickens with my feet) while each toe individually froze against its next-door piggy. But no more.
My future agricultural adventures are sporting a pair of Muck boots. And I will be a kinder, better person for it.
I know other boots are made to resist cold and wet, and I am not exaggerating when I say I have tried on hundreds of pairs: traditional Wellies, yellow boots with pull-handles to match a big So'wester rain hat, Burberrys, and those adorable rain boots with flower prints or plaid or scotty dogs all over them. Funky urban-survival Bogs with the space-age styling, traditional L.L. Bean duck-boots, snowmobile boots with felt inserts. Crocs even make a pull-on boot, if you yearn for the sensation of walking on a yoga mat.
And then there are Muck boots, the Cadillac of such things. Cushy, comfy, warm, watertight.
We came to our Muck boots by happy accident, when USAirways sent our luggage on walkabout for a few days last fall. Using the tools available: a credit card and a wise Gander Mountain clerk (sorry, young dude, you WERE a bit of a tool...of the Man), we made the best of the mishap, striding out in knee-high shank-reinforced neoprene boots. Mine are mossy-oak camo. Jeff's -- he suffers in silence -- are basic black.
My distant farming history includes approximately 36,972 miles schelpping through mud and what-have-you in rubber riding boots (usually swearing at cows, often pushing a full wheelbarrel of manure, sometimes, though I should not admit it, vigorously nudging aggressive chickens with my feet) while each toe individually froze against its next-door piggy. But no more.
My future agricultural adventures are sporting a pair of Muck boots. And I will be a kinder, better person for it.
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