Oh, the rain. It poured, sprinkled, dripped and dropped all week long, just as April Showers tend to do. Soggy and cold, the plants droop down, doing their best to patiently wait for the warm sun to return and bring the much awaited May Flowers. Buds, poised and fat, ready to burst. We wait too, droopy and soggy, knowing that it surely won't be long until everything springs forth after all this rain.
In the meantime, there is mud. We grew up in the woods, where dirt tattooed your knees, sappy needles stuck between your toes and sand trickled out of your pockets. Rain boots were for stomping in puddles on rainy days, quickly replaced with shoes or bare feet when the skies cleared. Mud was there, but not everywhere....
Raising our children on the farm, I have found new appreciation for mud and the entire season of spring it commands. Mud season is no doubt the child's heyday, the weeks-long Christmas morning, the giant room full of kittens, puppies, and super balls. Endless hours are spent sloshing in muddy puddles, scooping and patting mud cakes and pies, slinging mud balls, and generally oozing around in the muddy mire. Babysitters are out of work, as children play all day, every day in a single muddy puddle.
PC (pre-children) mud used to be an all-out nuisance...everything was dirty, mud boots were worn like an annoying second skin, and OH THE LAUNDRY! Now, I get it. Mud is a welcome transition into the warm and sunny spring we all yearn for. It is the liberation from the indoors into the outdoors. It is the freedom to sink your hands into the gooey earth and squeeze it all around, mashing it into your very own creation. It is the giant science experiment of spring. Squish, squash, slosh.