Friday, October 19, 2007


It's been raining, just about nonstop for the last couple of weeks. Needless to say, that creates mud. If you are reading this from the Southern US, please come and take some of this! You guys are in a drought and we are in a monsoon. Creeks are overflowing, roads washing away and the MUD-how do you make that a four letter word because it's used like one in our house.

You can hear the horses walking through it, that sucking noise as they pull their hooves out of it. Clydesdale feet are not made for mud, their feathers aren't the flowing white that you see on the Budweiser horses. The hair is dry and broken off, colors ranging from off white, to light tan to that ugly chocolate mud brown. Just not a pretty sight.

The dogs, well that's another story all together. How do they manage to walk out the door, do their business then bring the front yard back inside with them? Never mind, that's about as obvious as the 9 year old tomboy going to school today in her pajammas. Gotta be a reason, just haven't heard it yet.

We can talk about the different types of mud. The kind that you make those glorious pies with as a child. Meredith's are decorated with clovers, oats, weed seeds and the random worm or bug. Then we have that pretty mud created when you water the newly planted garden for the first time. Deep black and nuturing for your new plants. But the kind around this week is cold, plain grocery sack brown with an odor of death. You know that decaying plant material smell. Temps have been in the low 40's to upper 60's. Perfect decomposing weather. I'm just sick of it. Come to think of it, everyone in the house is sick of it. Wiping several dozen muddy paws, boots on and off each time you run out the door. The carpet needs cleaned where the paws missed the rug. To top it off, everyone is stir crazy.

What is it about mud? Is it the color, the smell, the texture? I don't have a clue but was does cause me to be curious is our change in reaction to it as we grow old. Or is that we get older, mature or just grow up? As a child it's something to relish. Mom picked up the kids from the sitter one day, many moons ago for me. Out the door they went, she still talking to the sitter. Less then 30 seconds and both were jumping and sitting in the puddle outside the door. They of course had smiles on their faces-pure joy. I can just see it, then turn and see my mother's expression-utter dismay and trying to figure out how to get them home without getting the inside of the car trashed. So as we grow older, we in turn learn to hate mud.

After my recent incident chasing a way ward cow back into it's rightfull pasture, I'm all for not growing up in respect to mud. Seems there is a spot in the creek that when you think you are stepping into a shallow spot, actually eats your leg alive. Yeapers, up past my knee, filling the wellies up too. And all I could do was laugh. Well, everyone in attendance did-including the tomboy who knew the exact spot it happened at (she was up at the house watching the gate).

I'm all for not growing up, but for this week, MUD is a fourletter word in our house.

Later gator---

No comments: