Growing up in Eastern Kentucky in the 1970s and 80s, we DID wear shoes (contrary to stereotypes). In fact, I had a favorite pair of yellow Zips running shoes (with red Zs), lace-up Keds (white, but not for long), fringed moccasins that zipped up the back (from Gatlinburg), uncomfortable but cute Jellies slip-ons (translucent turquoise to match a plaid skirt and top set), and cherished red thong sandals that blistered the insides of my big toes so badly I tore through a whole box of Band-aids in no time. I had a closet full of memorable shoes!

Still, every year, on the first day of May, Granny Faye encouraged me and all my cousins to walk outside barefoot for good luck. Oh it was grueling, hobbling across the pea gravel scattered over the driveway. Papaw teased and called us “Tenderfoot.” We grimaced, then giggled, and made our way stoically from the front door, across the gravel drive, and out to Galley Street where the cool blacktop (that Papaw poured and spread himself) soothed our winter feet. Spring had arrived, and the tender skin of our soles met it…ready or not.

These days, I still take a quick trip outside barefooted on May 1st…sometimes to the mailbox, occasionally onto the deck and down the stairs to stand for a moment on the soft, shorn grass of our backyard. This year, I carried the trash from the kitchen bin out to the cans behind the house. The pads of my feet plodded over flagstones, across a soft mulch bed, through the grass, and onto the bricked pavers where I hefted the trash into the can and then made my way swiftly back into the house. I dried the dew off my feet with a towel. It felt good to skim across the earth…skin to skin; but I had chosen a path with only the smoothest of surfaces.

Last week, I had a very different experience. While I was babysitting my granddaughter (at my son’s home), representatives from T-Mobile arrived to install faster wi-fi. My son told me what time to expect them, and I greeted them at the door and let them in and out as needed. The installation took hours. When I thought they’d finally finished all the work that needed to be done on the inside of the house, I scooped my granddaughter into my arms and rocked her gently. With all the excitement, she had resisted her afternoon nap; and we were both exhausted. Of course, ten minutes after she’d fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder, I heard the T-Mobile tech knocking on the kitchen door. I tried to make it to the door without waking her, but her eyes snapped open. With her in my arms, the two of us hurried, shoeless, to the back door. By that time, the technician had made his way around the house to the front door.

Braving the blistering pavement, I marched down the steps, my granddaughter perched on my hip. The moment my right foot hit my son’s driveway, sprinkled with pea gravel like my grandparents’ driveway so many years ago, I knew I was in trouble. Tiny rocks needled my feet, causing me to lurch awkwardly forward and sideways. No matter how my feet turned, a new arsenal of jagged stones attacked. I tried to hold steady and walk in a straight line as I made my way toward the front porch, but it was no use. Tears pricked my eyes. I attempted to balance on one leg and shake the sharp rocks from the bottom of the opposite foot; but the weight of a sleepy baby hampered my success. I pressed on, barely.

The dozen or so steps required to get within earshot and eyeshot of the T-Mobile technician may as well have been a gauntlet of hot coals or a bed of nails. “Oh, ow, oh, ow,” I said, under my breath. Had it not been for my granddaughter’s little ears in close proximity to my voice and also the presence of the T-Mobile tech, I would have uttered much more than “Oh, ow, oh, ow.”

The return trip to the backdoor was even worse because now I had new rocks embedding the old rocks that were already digging into my flesh. The T-Mobile tech made it to the door ahead of me and watched my mincing progress. With a grimace and a yelp, I motioned for him to go on in.

Yes, Papaw, I thought, I am a Tenderfoot. After a slow motion journey, I finally reached the smooth concrete of the back stairs where I tentatively scraped the layer of gravel from each foot and limped inside to the luxurious nap of the living room rug. My barefoot foray on May 1st, 2026, may have provided a measure of good luck…but it did not prepare my feet for a shoe-free summer.