Rebecca L. Hurst

About Me

I first got my feet muddy in the heavy Wealden clay that is typical of the particular patch of East Sussex where I was born and raised. My childhood was spent in Wellingtons; my sister and I ran wild in the fields and woods surrounding our village. As a teenager, I swapped Wellingtons for a pair of second-hand Doc Martens. Black leather, with heavy crenellated soles, they carried me to Catalonia, Spain, where I met Sean and we walked amid olive groves and along the rim of the Mediterranean. I wore these boots on my wedding day and took them with me to Texas, where they protected my feet from stickers and chiggers and fire ants. Eventually, Doc Martens were exchanged for sandals, which bore me through motherhood and my first year as an art student. Moving to Massachusetts to complete my degree at Smith College, I adopted a pair of hiking boots. Walking by the Mill River in between Russian and History classes, I fell in love with New England’s deep winter snow and flame-coloured autumn maples. A pair of robust sandals brought me back to Old England, where I now live with the wearers of a pair of pink Converse and mud-encrusted, UK-size-9 hiking boots, and a small bare-footed rodent.

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Rebecca L. Hurst's Blogs

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