On Mud

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Winter doesn’t melt to green here, it melts to mud and lots of it. The creeks are high. Every low spot in every yard we pass is a temporary pond. It isn’t as pretty as the springs of my childhood. (Those were smorgasbords of colour and life, flowers falling over themselves to burst forth.) Here it is a smattering of hardy souls determined to see the light. The rest is newly thawed mud. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Nuances of brown with hints of grey and light green are home now.

Easter Sunday was cool, 13 C/55 F but apparently warm enough. After a day of feasting and celebration, we walked outside to find shirtless boys, and girls in shorts and tank tops. The sprinkler was set up on the edge of the pasture. It was 1/5 for sprinkling people and 4/5 for making more mud. Mud generously rubbed on chests, legs, and cheeks, sculpted, stirred, tossed and kicked.

The snow is gone except for the odd pockets hiding in the shade. Tulips and daffodils have sent word via healthy green stems that they are coming. Even the dogs are craving mud. Mud equals spring.

There is a lot of spring tracked through the house these days. I generally fail to bless its indoor apparitions. Outside I thrill to my first sight of clover in the grass and yearn for more, soon, more, please. I forget to bless the mud. To be patient with its secrets. Mud, brown and grey and black and dull. Mud with gravel, living things, dead things, and heaven knows what smeared through and growing in it. (Around here we have a pretty good idea some of the ingredients in the mud but best not to discuss since I’ve already said the children play in it).

No one gives gifts of mud. At least I’ve never gotten one. But in the mud of which I quickly tire, all the life I long for is preparing to green and grow and come forth. Plain old, nothing special mud. An eyesore, a removal chore, and the stuff of life. The birthplace of colors, beauty, food, and us, where only kids and dogs have the good sense to revel.

Guess I’ll put my window views to good use and ponder a bit more on mud today.

7 Comments to On Mud

  1. On Mud says:

    […] morning I read a post by a fellow writer who shared her family’s muddy play. Happiness filled my office. Thoughts of  their fun with wet and slippery earth remind me of a […]

  2. Dee says:

    When we moved to New Hampshire we heard about “mud season” from mothers who said their kids loved making things in it. When spring came we watched adults push cars out of dirt parking lots and driveways, using different terms.
    Love the picture!

  3. Rachel Bushnell says:

    My memories of mud is making mud pies and baking them in the sun and fine silty mud in the gutters, but never of MUD thick and pasty and clinging all over. wonderful to have a mom who allows the total experience.

  4. Leslie Lynch says:

    Only children and the potters among us remember the joy and pleasure of mud! :-)

  5. Dale Sipple says:

    Love it and always loved mud pies!