Hoisting my snowshoes over my shoulder and grasping the top of a fence post that poked up through the snowbank, I scaled the only barrier between myself and early morning bliss. The sun barely peeked over the southeastern horizon. The air was so cold it burned the nose, throat and lungs. The woods beyond were silent, not yet awake in the dawn’s chill.

For only a few short moments, I would be at the mercy of the snow. The pull of gravity combined with the deceptively airy layer of crystals pulled my boots deep down only until I strapped on my snowshoes and was elevated above.

Swoosh, crunch, swoosh, crunch, swoosh, crunch. The rhythmic melody of snowshoeing sweeps me along, past the snow-covered garden, past the pergola, past the garden benches. Under the arching branches of maple trees and under the rigid limbs of oaks. Through the opening in the tree line, through gaps in aged stone walls, through the harsh world of the forest in winter.

A delicate lacework of tiny footprints crosses the pristine snow with purpose. Mice, squirrels, rabbits, deer. Looking back, my snowshoe tracks look like a savage highway heedlessly barging through the finest web of old country roads.

All at once, the wake of my snowshoes seems a thing of blasphemy and beauty. Blasphemous because it seems so unnatural to disturb the morning quiet of the forest, to interrupt nature before it awakes. Beautiful for the same reason – witnessing the awakening is a gift of sorts, a reminder that getting absorbed in nature is one of the best ways to deepen respect for it.

Sinking a scant three inches into two feet of snow gives one a pleasant sense of invincibility that eases the discomfort of blustery weather, burning muscles or thoughts that weigh heavy on the mind.

The truth is, footwear has the power to defy the forces of nature, to make us impenetrable to elements that strive to test our human limits -to about 18 inches above ground level, anyway!

I love my snowshoes for the same reason I love my Bean boots and my garden clogs.

They insulate me from the world around my feet. In my view, one of life’s simple pleasures is comfortable feet in an otherwise uncomfortable world. Come the gardening season, a good pair of boots can quickly shift one’s outlook from blissful to miserable.

With my all-time favorite boots, I’ve slogged through miles of mud and snow. They are deliciously worn – in the 14 years I’ve had them, they’ve been retreaded by Bean’s twice. Keeping them functional is a way to honor and cherish their durability and comfort. The new treads grip and cross any terrain. Their comfy woolen liners defy the cruelest weather. The 18 inches of leather that rise above the impenetrable rubber soles protect against the prickliest bristles of low bushes and the saturating cold of icy snow.

As for my “garden clogs,” I’ll admit, they really weren’t originally garden clogs at all. They were a bright yellow pair of LaCrosse mud boots that developed a hole at the heel after about two years of use.

My neighbor, who is admirably thrifty in every way, recommended cutting them down into clogs rather than throwing them away. I’ve trod through the garden for several years with these “clogs,” and can testify to their function. However, the temptation to purchase “real” clogs has been gnawing at me for some time.

The curvy and complete look of clogs advertised in garden magazines and on the Web has seduced me. I’m about to give in.

I surfed the Internet and found what looks like the perfect garden footwear. The Muck Boot Co. offers some truly delectable-looking footwear, clogs and boots, completely waterproof and with “slipper-soft comfort.”

They offer a cloglike product called “The Daily Garden Shoe” and another product, a boot called “The Hoser Classic” that look delightful. If you’d like to take a gander, check out their site at www.muckbootcompany.com or call 1-877-Get Muck.

I have to say that at least 50 percent of what attracts me to this boot is the company’s name. They seem to have an unabashed affection for the less appreciated soil forms. I like that.

And although I’ve noticed that their advertising and Web site seem to be devoid of any pricing information, I’ll be rationalizing my need for them by telling myself that my feet care about how I package them.

They mount a coup over the rest of my body when they are unhappy. They revolt, refusing to carry me on when there’s work to be done. They sponge in the elements when I don’t respect their delicate needs.

That’s that. My toes are tingling with anticipation. Once again, my feet have overpowered my brain.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, RR1, Box 2120, Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@prexar.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.