Thoughts on Mud

In the Springtime Maine gets a rather unfortunate texture – sort of an all over molasses effect that is caused by a combination of melting snow and defrosting ground. The end result of the melt-down: deep mud ruts in our driveway and, when I pull out (especially on a warm afternoon,) I am never quite sure if I will make it through the sludge. This feeling of uncertainty is joined with an unusual (and exhilarating) sensation that I am driving on some sort of bouncy castle. Sometimes when I pull out I try to drive over the tallest mound of mud – an attempt which typically fails dismally, makes matters worse, and probably infuriates my father who will (eventually, I am sure) have to dig one of our cars out from a mud pile. But, for a few seconds, I get a wonderful flying feeling and it is totally worth the messy after-effects [at least, it has been so far].

As I have been writing (and you have been reading, perhaps) I have been wondering what the moral of the muddy driveway should be, I mean, there has to be some sort of moral, right? Maybe the mud could be the fears by which we get bogged-down. Or maybe it could be an analogy about how sometimes things have to get worse before they get better (and thus the cold winter warms into summer with sloshing and heaving). Or I could discuss the regularity of the seasons and how one things follows the last in its due course and order. I could observe how new life (grass) can spring from unlikely places (tire-dug muddy ditches). But, actually, I’m not going to do any of these things.

Today, oh reader, the mud is just mud – sticky, oozy, grimy mud with tire-tracks through it. I’m not going to ask you to imagine the mud as any special sort of symbol or concept. Today the mud is only mud and that’s ok.  It’s supposed to be mud. In fact, I rather like it that way.

So. Go get yourself a pair of boots, preferably waterproof and tall, find yourself a convenient puddle or bog and go and squelch around in it. You may just find that the squooshy noises you make when your boots get stuck in the mire is just as much food for your soul as any fancy analogy I could invent here.