Gone are the days when we used to bust snow drifts in The Clipper station wagon out west of town near Doyle Jones’ house.

Also gone is the night we got stuck.

Those memories hit this afternoon when I found a box of cutesy pie hiking boots I’d bought during an earlier COVID night of TV shopping, but was looking for something else.

On that night all those years ago I had on tall, black, fashion, zipperboots, as I recall, and once we got inside the trailer all I wanted to do was get them off. They were choking my feet.

One came off easily.

The other didn’t.

By the next morning and The Clipper wagon was safely out of the ditch and we were on our way home. I hobbled in the house, and we collapsed.

Bustin’ drifts soon became a way of life for us. It wasn’t just entertainment. It was work, and play.

That’s when my husband got a Bronco that would actually drive through the snow.

Those were great times.

Exciting times.

Being in the cold.

The trees, snow, homes, lights and even darkness when you could see a tiny light off in a field somewhere.

We took photos of cattle, pastures, fences, or anything that did or didn’t move.

What a charmed life that was, and I think I knew it at the time, but now that I look at these red, furry boots made for the snowy afternoon, I’ll save them for another day, and wear my furry house shoes to grocery store, I can talk myself into going.

We used to laugh at all those people at Walmart wearing their pajamas and house shoes. Now it’s us. I’ll zip up my jacket to cover up my pink kitty cat Christmas pajama top, and should probably change out of the pink bottoms.

Or not!