A Small Town Girl's Guide » My Amazing Boots

Kimmswick Apple Butter Festival

MilliGFunk — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 13:59:38 +0000

Apple Butter, photo by smalltowngirl

Saturday and Sunday, October 24th and 25th were the annual Kimmswick, Missouri Apple Butter Festival. As a self-proclaimed expert in all things small town Missouri, I put on my rockin’ cowboy boots, grabbed my camera, and made my way to Kimmswick, Missouri.

I parked at Windsor High School and walked the 1.5 miles or so from the high school to the festival. It was a beautiful fall day, and the walk was a welcomed reprieve from the hours each week I spend sitting at my desk and in my car.

Kimmswick, photo by smalltowngirl

I’ve made some pretty corny (get it, hehe) jokes in my blog this fall about corn on the cob, kettle corn, candy corn, and small town fall festivals. Much to my delight, one of the first booths I came across at the Apple Butter Festival was an Old Tyme Kettle Corn booth. I took this next photo with you, my a-maize-ingly dedicated readers, in mind.

Sugared Kettle Corn, photo by smalltowngirl

In case you’ve missed my corny fall festival posts, check out my corn on the cob in the news, and my kettle corn contemplation at Sprottfest.

The Apple Butter Festival was huge by small town standards, and I got a slew of good pictures. Come back later this week for more Apple Butter posts!

Making St. Louis Home

MilliGFunk — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 05:46:30 +0000

Today I went to a festival, where I wandered, wearing my red white and black cowboy boots.

I wandered, taking pictures, allowing my mind to wander, too.

I ate festival foods, and I felt the warm sun bring freckles to the surface of my cheeks. I met with old friends, and I paid way too much for the biggest, fanciest candy apple I’ve ever seen.

I bought gourmet cheese from an organic goat farm in Ste. Genevieve County, Missouri, and I took notes as the farmer talked about what recipes I should try using the cheeses in. I’ll spend my day tomorrow cooking. I also went to a coffee shop, where I read the RFT and blogged and drank coffee.

I wandered across town to my favorite record store, where I listened for hours to CDs by bands I’d never heard of while strangers trickled into and out of the store. Somewhere inside the sounds of the music I recovered something of mine that I didn’t quite realize I’d lost in the first place.

I may blog as smalltowngirl, but this small town girl’s heart belongs in a bigger city. Even though I miss Brooklyn more than I thought possible, I know that it’s time that I found ways to make St. Louis my home.

I Like Your Boots

MilliGFunk — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 06:22:00 +0000

Danielle and I parted ways in Times Square as she headed back to Brooklyn, and I tried to figure out to make it down to @socialmedium’s birthday bash in that sliver of Manhattan between the East Village and the Lower East Side where I’m never exactly what neighborhood I’m really in.

I needed to take either the 7 or the S from Times Square to Grand Central, but the 7 wasn’t running, and the S was going to be a twenty minute wait. I opted against @socialmedium’s party in favor of invitation #2, a group of Brooklyn friends who were out in a place not far from my apartment.

I left the S platform and made my way back to the jam-packed, Brooklyn-bound N,Q,R,W platform, where I was one of the only people flying solo tonight.

A girl with a Billy Idol-style platinum blonde spike stopped talking mid-sentence, and looked adoringly, albeit hazy-eyed, at my boots. The boy standing beside her, whose back had been turned as I approached followed her gaze so that I could see a thick layer of foundation, subtle eyeliner, and a light blush.

“I like your boots,” the girl said. “Those are fucking sweet.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I love them.”

***

The Q was running local instead of express, so my four stops to Brooklyn turned into more stops than I could count, and I was ready to crawl into bed by the time I got off at Dekalb Avenue for the walk home.

I got off the train, helped some girls from Manhattan find their way to Union Street, and headed down the platform to my exit. I passed a man leaning against a pole, waiting for the R.

“I like your boots,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said to him before I walked up the steps and out of the station.

***

I emerged from underground into the lights of the Applebees at the corner of Fulton and Dekalb. A sanitation truck came down the street at the first intersection, so I paused, not sure if he’d yield to me. He stopped to let me cross, and as I did, he flashed his lights once.

I ignored him.

“I like your boots,” I heard him say from the cab of the truck.

I gave a quick glance over my shoulder as I headed up the street towards my apartment.

***

I got home, and I sat down to take off my boots. That’s when I noticed that the leather at broadest part of the boot was coming apart from the sole. I took of the right boot and looked closer. Sure enough, a seperation about an eighth of an inch long had developed on the right boot.

I set the right boot on the floor, slipping off the left. I looked at the same place on it, and once again the leather was no longer attached to the sole.

Before New York, I probably would have taken these holes as a sign that the boots needed to be retired, but in New York, we have cobblers. Lots of them. And one of them happens to be just down the block from me.

Chalk one up to New York for cobblers.

I like my boots.