“At the entrance, my bare feet on the dirt floor, Here, gusts of heat; at my back, white clouds. I stare and stare. It seems I was called for this: To glorify things just because they are.”

~  Czeslaw Milosz

It’s been a while since any glass has been broken in the kitchen.

You sweep and mop, months drift by — not a speck glitters in some suspect corner — so you forget about it. Life goes on — until the July afternoon you go barefoot. Ouch!

Murphy’s Law promises the odds are against you. Any piece of errant glass will find a barefoot like a magnet, moth to flame. It’s sitting there, waiting, a troll under the bridge, the monster under the bed.

For a moment, I thought I’d stepped on a splinter or wasp, high-stepping over to the counter to pick the incriminating weapon out of my foot. Oh-oh — glass!

Visions of my dad, how he never ever went barefoot, or wore sandals, being a good New Englander sort. My Southern mother delighted in barefeet, though.

Besides, barefoot in summer just FEELS good: plush summer grass, a smooth wood floor, tactile soft rugs, a dog’s fur.

Until the day comes when there’s a glass shard in your heel and you can’t get the darn thing out, contorting yourself into a pretzel, reading glasses sliding down nose, perspiration beading on forehead.

No dice. Not even with a needle, tweezers, fingernails — it had gone into the subcutaneous layer. Ouch.

After a round of fruitless prodding, Old Stubborn gave up and bandaged the offending wound up, after fixing up a poultice of Epsom salt to help draw the offender out. Visions of a $800 doctor visit started looming in the noggin. That just made it throb more, as I hobbled to fix River and Pikachu’s supper: the show must go on, it’s said.

By the next day, I wasn’t sure if the poultice was helping much — the shard must be the size of New York from the feel of it. Maybe Texas.

Sloshing hot water, splash of soap and a cup of Epsom salts into a basin, it was time for a long soak with surgical tools/alcohol, ready for battle. All I can tell you, Dear Reader, is, after an hour, I won.

And there are sandals on feet.      

• Saluda Tailgate Market is open on Fridays from 4:30-6:30 p.m. at the city parking lot off Main Street.

• Saluda Welcome Table is every Tuesday. Dinner is served from 5:30-6:45 p.m. in the fellowship hall of Saluda United Methodist Church.

• Saluda Community Land Trust benefits from your donations or time as a volunteer for their many community projects. “Walks in the Woods” are on the first and third Sundays each month; the next walk is Sunday, Aug. 5, to Saluda Mountain Passage of the Palmetto Trail. Meet at Saluda Library’s parking lot at 2 p.m. to carpool. You can reach SCLT at 828-749-1560 or visit saludasclt.org. Contact Chuck Hearon for hike information at 828-817-0364 or chearon@skyrunner.net. We remember SCLT’s president, Will Nelson, who gave tirelessly, bringing his love of nature and legal skills.

• Saluda Center potluck and bingo night is 6 p.m. on Monday.

• Saluda Get-Well goes Brad Tuttle, Patricia Case, Melia Bradley and Kevin Hyde.

• Happy July Birthday to Doris Marion, Debi Thomas, Rheta Foster, Nancy Weinhagen, Lisa Obermiller, Kathy Thompson, Bill Jameson, Emily Rose Ford, Jeremy Ford, Mike Cass, Nathen Honeycutt, Melissa Justus, Hunter Justus, Alyssa Justus, Lin Savage, Doug Taylor, Amanda Anderson, Gail Slaughter, Diane Ballard and Amber Grant.

Thank you for reading this column; as ever, the goal is to make you feel like you’re enjoying small town life in a friendly mountain town called Saluda. Feel free to contact me at bbardos@gmail.com, 828-749-1153 or visit bonniebardosart.com.