Maria has had boots as long as I’ve known her; she is much too smart to wade out into the smelly and muddy pasture with ordinary shoes.

I am too dumb to have gotten a pair, although Maria claims I got one some years ago and didn’t like it, so I never wore it.

I didn’t realize that I could get boots and step into them with stockinged feet; I didn’t need to change shoes or fight with them.

I looked at the bright red boots and it seemed they looked lonely to me. They need a companion for all the long stretches between storms.

The Amish helped me understand that I needed light, tall boots as much as they did. Maria keeps her shoes on the back porch, and when she goes out, she steps into them.

I tried it, and I can do the same thing. So today, I brought my boots out onto the back porch and stood them next to one another. They looked spectacular together; I hope I can persuade Maria to write or paint our names on our boots.

They look as if they belong together. Zinnia, in the window, approves.

Maria gets her boots for five or six dollars at thrift shops; I got mine from an established bootmaker on the Internet. It cost about $50. It’s an Amish kind of boot, and I like its dignified look.

Maria loves her Hot Babe boots. I think they make a great pair, just like we do. I can’t wait for the first rain or snowstorm when we go out into the pasture together with our very different boots. I just saved at least three pairs of shoes.

No more wet and freezing feet.

And the Miller family has another nickname for me: “The Boot master.”

It seemed to me that the boots had a connection to one another. They belong right here, side-by-side on the back porch.