An Adventure with a Cobbler
It all began one fateful night. The Seattle weather was out to play. We ran through the streets trying to dodge every drop. We were soaked. Then went the heel. A devastation we could not have imagined. This could not be the end of these boots. They were a vintage find. They were high end. And most importantly, this happened to Chantel.
This could not be the end.
Not for these boots. Not on our watch.
And so, the Quest to find a Cobbler began.
I’ve always believed that a true cobbler must be something more than mortal. A troll, perhaps. Or a hobbit. Something old and mystical who lives deep in the shadows of the city, speaking in riddles and smelling faintly of glue and moss.
In my mind, a cobbler was a creature of fantasy. Wrinkled and hunched, with white hairs sprouting out of random chunks on their cheeks. He’d live under a musty bridge or in a hut built from twigs and grass.
So naturally, I searched under the I-5. Wandered the foggy streets of Capitol Hill. Took a boat across the Puget Sound to Bainbridge Island, half-expecting a boot-shaped chimney puffing magical smoke to signal me in.
But all I found was rain. And a somewhat hostile goose. I did get up close and personal whispering to it asking if he was the cobbler.
While I was on a full-blown Dungeons & Dragons side quest, Chantel was casually solving the problem like a rational adult.
She found a cobbler.
In University Village.
Not in a hollow tree. Not protected by riddles three. But next to a Lululemon and Apple.
Now, to be fair, the man was old. So, I do deserve points for that. His hands were leathery and precise, like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes with only a hammer and a dream. And though he didn’t speak in rhymes or require a blood offering, there was mythical vibe about his shop.
His shop was tiny. Cozy. Warm. It could be mistaken for a hut if you squinted hard enough and ignored the florecent lighting.
And somehow, against all odds, he fixed the boot. Chantel brought it in, battered and scarred, and he breathed life into it. A miracle. A resurrection.
There’s just something about the concept of a cobbler that feels deeply, deeply fantasy. It’s giving blacksmith in a village where people speak in old English or supporting character in a video game that sells you health potions through a virtual apple.
Anyways. Cobblers are real and they work. And they deserves more hype.