Sole Survivor

I limped through the snow with the words of Rudyard Kipling rolling through my skull.

“Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!”

The poem, which was first published in the 1903 collection The Five Nations, imagines the repetitive thoughts of a British Army infantryman marching in South Africa during the Second Boer War.

The 1915 spoken word recording of the poem by American actor Taylor Holmes has been used for its psychological effect in U.S. military Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape schools.

That recording also makes an appearance in the horror film 28 Years Later and I can tell you from firsthand experience that it was as creepy as hell.

And “Boots” came to mind last week when my family visited the New York Botanic Gardens to see the annual holiday train show.

The event, which is more than 30 years old, features model trains navigating through miniatures of New York City’s most famous building made entirely out of plant parts.

The display includes replicas of the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Brooklyn Bridge, and Grand Central Terminal.

My niece and her husband were visiting from Denver, and the train show was one of several events on the agenda during the holidays.

The gardens are in the Bronx and the fastest way to get there for us Brooklyn types is to take the subway to Grand Central and then hop on the Metro North commuter line for a few stops.

It’s a little more expensive but it is much faster and hell of a lot more comfortable than slogging uptown on the bleeding subways.

We had just arrived at Grand Central when I suddenly stepped on something. I looked down at my right foot and realized that the entire sole had come off my boot—which had suddenly become a slipper.

Now I’ve had these boots for a ridiculously long time—more than 20 years. Unless I’m very much mistaken, I bought them while I was living in Connecticut when I was a member of the Appalachian Mountain Club.

Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin' lunatic!

And I know that sounds weird, but I hardly used them since I’d moved back to New York. I take them out of the closet each winter when it snows and then I put them away until next blizzard.

They seemed so sturdy that I thought they would never wear out. Yep…

Our train was about to leave so there was no way to pick up duct tape or Crazy Glue and do a quickie repair job.

The train station is right across the street from the gardens and there are no bargain stores nearby—it’s a retail phantom zone, which is hard to believe in a city like New York.

Any other time, any other location in this town and I could’ve walked into any number of stores and found what I needed to get through the day.

My sister suggest we get some glue at the garden shop, which was a good idea, but unfortunately the stuff was not up to snuff.

This was starting to suck in all possible ways. There was snow on the ground and I knew that I’d be taking in water at an alarming rate.

It looked like it was going to be a pretty hideous day---and it would be my fault--until my niece’s husband brilliantly took the lace of my boot and tied it around the dislodged sole.

This held up for most of the day, I’m happy to report, and we were able to enjoy the train display.

The sole fell off again late in the afternoon, but by then it was getting dark and we headed back to Brooklyn.

We had dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant in Bay Ridge, which included a surprise visit—to us, anyway—by a mariachi band.

My niece noted that the left sole on my book wasn’t looking too healthy either, but by then I was too tired to react. Until I got home, took off the boot, and that sole came ripping free.

I tossed the old boots into the trash the next morning and I think this is a good theme for the New Year—throw out all the old, useless crap—both physical and emotional—and start anew.

Welcome to 2026.