Barefoot By Choice
In the 1950’s, barefoot kids in rural southwest Texas were as common as cactus. Mothers sometimes forced us to, but most kids ran around without shoes. It was mostly a matter of comfort. We wore old blue jeans that Mom cut off above the knee where holes had worn into the legs. Cutoffs would slowly ravel with every washing, getting shorter and shorter. But no shoes.
In the summertime, the ground was dry and hot. Even though the soles of our feet would become like leather, we still had to be aware of where we stepped. There were many dangerous obstacles.
First and always, snakes. Stepping on one barefoot brings on immediate natural reactions over which you have no control. I swear I have defied gravity more than once.
There might be cool shade under a big mesquite tree but step carefully… they shed small dry branches that have BIG sharp thorns which can be an inch or so long. Even tennis shoes are no defense for those.
I liked walking and running in bare feet. A freshly plowed field was the best. If going down a road, the gravel at the bottom of the concave vehicle lanes was as soft as sand. Rocks on the edges were a little bigger and sharper, though.
When walking across open space, the dirt was usually a patchwork of stubby weeds and “stickers”, little round grass burrs with sharp points that attached to anything they touched… your clothes, you… and annoyingly in clusters, so you had to deal with several, poking your fingers as you pulled them off.
And “goatheads”.
These are a mean breed of sticker on steroids that grows in the area. The low plant spreads out and produces thorns… and cute little flowers.
The thorns are soft when attached and green… but fall off, dry out, become hard, and turn into little weapons against barefoot boys and girls. They look vaguely like a goat head. They were everywhere.
We also had a LOT of prickly pear in our area. Unless you brushed up against one, these were not so much a problem except some parts will break off and scatter… and the cactus thorns remain dangerous even in a dead, dry piece of cactus.
Barefoot kids became adept at running quickly across treacherous ground, hopscotching from one open spot to another, looking ahead for the next safe place to put a foot. It was a simple matter of survival.
The end of summer and start of school meant wearing shoes. It took weeks for your feet to get used to that again. I’d often kick them off under the desk.
