To boot or not to boot? It is but one of the questions. Ask ten dedicated plant practitioners, from landscape professionals to home garden enthusiasts, what they prefer to wear on their feet and you’ll get twice as many answers – far more than they count on their own green thumbs. Muck Boots, Bogs, Blundstones, Jollys; like the fine-tuned schedule of seeding, watering, weeding, and transplanting, superior soil-ready soles move in and out of use and fashion in a cycle of seasonal flux.

In the garden and beyond, however, the quintessential muddy-weather footwear is the green Wellington boot, manufactured by Hunter. It is the classic, an heirloom boot, if you will, from which the others have evolved to varying degrees. Yet even Wellingtons, a.k.a. “wellies,” “topboots,” “gumboots,” or “gummies,” are themselves an adaptation of an even more vintage style: the Hessian boot, worn by German military in the eighteenth century.

In the early 1800s, the Duke of Wellington ordered his shoemaker, Hoby of St. James Street, London, to modify the Hessian’s stiff leather and fringe trim. The result was a handsome boot, low-heeled and made of soft, pliable calfskin – suitable both for teatime and the trenches. The style was swiftly adopted by gentlemen of the upper classes, a nod to the boot’s heroic roots. The aristocratic cachet faded in the 1850s, however, when a new generation of Wellingtons appeared in France. Made with the new vulcanized rubber invented by the American Charles Goodyear, the waterproof boots were embraced by farmers and laborers across the European continent.

Ever adaptable in form and function, the Wellington joined the ranks of military-issued footwear during World War I. The North British Rubber Company (a predecessor of Hunter) supplied soldiers with more than one million new pairs, enough to keep the British Army armed, booted, and prepared to do battle in the waterlogged trenches.

Other cultures have adopted the Wellington in more commemorative ways. In South Africa, where the boots are traditionally called “gummies,” they are even the stars of their very own dance. The “gumboot dance,” in which dancers don knee-high rubber boots, often adorned with bells to create a stomping sort of musical accompaniment, is performed in homage to mine workers who used the dance as a way to communicate when talking was strictly forbidden.

A decade ago, under pressure from the slew of pretenders laying claim to the muck boot throne, Hunter introduced a variety of new styles and colors. Apostasy? Perhaps, though the classic can still be found angled in pairs against many an Island mudroom door. They are resting, ready for duty when you are. At least, that is, until they are stashed away in the warmer months in favor of other, more breathable – if less storied – options.