An Ode to Clogs

Clogs ©Katt Brown, 2024

(Unlike mine),
the body
that holds the sole,
is strong and solid,
in control.

 The wood anchors,
the leather wraps,
gives me roots,
pulls me back.

 And in return
for being worn,
their story echoes
in the walls.

 Rhythmic step,
stark and loud,
predictable,
wise somehow.

 An ancient voice,
a sturdy guide,
an in perspective
take on life.

 They buoy me up
standing tall,
yet unassuming
through it all.

---

I first wore clogs awkwardly; clonking along the Swedish high-street where my grandparents lived. Five years old with Pippi Longstocking pigtails, toes gripping the wood and intensely concentrating. It was exhausting! But over that week, bit by bit, walking became easier, and clogs became part of my life.

I feel like me when I wear clogs. The real me. I think it is because they are so real themselves - you can’t get more real than a hunk of wood. And to stand on that, being stood on and connected to solid wood, grown from a tree, seems to somehow shoo away all the other nonsense. My clogs ground me when I am giddy, help me see straight when I am uncertain, even make me purposeful when I am lacking direction.

So, to me, clogs are more than just a shoe; they are a connection to my heritage, family, and little self, they are a link to the nature that I love, they are a small comfort waiting by the front door. And they are a resource. A resource that I can use any time to help me find myself again, to find a little quiet in a world that can be so loud.

Clog Love. ©Katt Brown, 2024

Pep Talk. ©Katt Brown, 2024