Ah. I remember going barefoot.
In Texas, there are sharp plants everywhere and everywhere there's not sharp plants, there's sand that's just a few degrees away from turning to glass...
Anyone else on here familiar with Sidney Lanier's poem Song of the Chattahoochee?
The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine/ overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign/ said: Pass not, so cold, these manifold/ deep shades in the hills of Habersham/ these glades in the valleys of Hall.
If you don't know it, look it up.
That's what I think of when I think of being barefoot. I grew up in an extremely rural area. I could run around the woods and the streams with minimal worry about stepping on something hard and metallic. There was a large creek behind our house, chest deep in places, and I remember how cool and nice the creek bottom felt on my feet.