The Shoe Tree Revisited

Two years have passed since I visited my old shoe tree. I call her mine, because I made a strange yet deep connection with her upon our first encounter. She made such a strong impression on me, with her wide-spread branches, with about a hundred or so pairs of shoes flung on her gnarly branches.

I took my good time to look at each pair of shoes, and was astounded at the variety and types. It was surely a more amusing sight than anyone would see in a shoe store or a shoe museum! But what was more astounding was the whispers that came out of each pair of shoes, as if the owner was talking through them. One has to listen attentively and pay exquisite attention to make out the content of their whispers.

I decided to pay my old shoe tree a visit because it was time to emerge out of my cave. My home became a refuge during the long and never-ending COVID pandemic. My lungs were crying for fresh air. And so I drove and drove to the desert to see her.

My old friend seemed to have gained many years within this short period of time. What is two years to a tree? Why has she aged? I asked her quietly, to which she replied, in a hushed and out-of-breath way, “So many shoes flung at me, more so than ever!”

I surveyed her branches, which had not lengthened but thickened. She needed the strength to carry all those burdens on her. God knows where she drew the resources to keep showing up as “hangers” for these shoes. But surely she managed.

I took off my shoes. They were made of red fabric, and very well worn. I can’t tell how many times they traversed across the little community garden where I had spent most of my time growing my own food during the pandemic. They took me around the neighborhood, treading on concrete filled with treacherous pot holes. And they rested while I toiled at my job at home, waiting for me to take them to the park for a breath of fresh air.

I became very attached to them. But it was time to let them have a good rest. They looked tired and worn out. And so did I. I realized I hadn’t take good care of them. I hadn’t told them how much I appreciated them, always being there for me day in and day out. I took them for granted. One night, they whispered to me while I was half asleep, with tears, “I just wish that I wasn’t born this way. I wish I were some fancy pumps so I only need to serve my master once in a blue moon. You would be my perfect master coz you rarely wear pumps. They kill your feet, you said! Well, what a good life it would’ve been, if I were pumps. Alas, here I am, being such comfortable shoes. There’s no way I can escape my lot. Toiling all my life seems to be my destiny.”

I took pity on my faithful red shoes. I thought to myself, “One day, I’m going to let you retire.” And so, this was the day, when I went to visit my dear old tree. I thought she, of all folks, would understand.

Surely she did, without us exchanging a word.

I laid my shoes down by her root, since my shoes had no laces.

With a big swoop, I flung my shoes to the tree, who welcomed them with her warm arms.

I said a little prayer for my shoes, thanking them for all the support and pleasure they had given me.

“Thank you for being so faithful to me. I know I had not treated you as well as you deserved. Here you are. This is a good place to retire. You can chat with all these other shoes on the branches. You can tell them your stories and they can tell you theirs.

I will miss you, and I will think of you fondly. Thank you for being with me through such a challenging time — a time that was unprecedented in our human history, and a time when our priorities and loyalty was tested to the limit. Yet you had remained loyal, despite the hard work you had to do. Rest well, and enjoy your retirement in good company.” With these words, I bid farewell to my old red shoes and my old shoe tree. I walked barefooted toward the car, and drove away feeling peace in my heart.