Leaving mud in the past
There has been a lot of rain this winter. Lots of rain, even more mud, and very little snow. Seems like a drastic change from when I was a kid. At least in my recollection, there were a lot more accumulative snows that allowed for days filled with sled riding and snowmen and snow forts being built.
The thought crossed my mind today to take a plastic disc up into the field and see if I could get it going in the mud. I seriously considered that the exhilaration of the ride would be the same, even if the medium I traveled through wouldn’t be. But then I remembered the last time I really played in the mud and just sat back and had a laugh instead.
When I was a pre-teen or maybe a young teenager, we had a heavy fall rain. In those days, it seemed that summers were dry. I remember carrying water by the five-gallon bucket for watering our garden, and because we shared a well with my grandparents, we often dipped buckets from a cow trough to flush our toilet as well.
But one fall day, after the garden was harvested, it rained hard. All four of us kids were outside playing in the rain, and one of us was chased into the garden area in the natural course of play. The garden was all mud, of course, after the rototiller went through it numerous times during the summer.
Whoever was chased into the garden was upset because of the mud on their feet, caking and weighing them down. They picked up a clump of mud and hurled it towards the chaser, missing them and hitting another sibling.
Before anyone could say, “bad idea,” we were in an absolute free-for-all.
We threw mud at one another, tackled one another, slipping and sliding around in the mud. Forgetting to be angry, we just played and laughed until our sides hurt. Seeing how far we were able to get by going to the top of the garden and running towards the muddy spot and then leaping into the mess, we slid around until we were absolutely exhausted, and well after the rain had stopped.
Then, of course, we trudged to the back door to see if our mom would make us a snack.
She was not nearly as amused as we had been by our endeavor. She was, looking back in hindsight, probably displeased by the fact that our long ponytails were stiffening into modern art pieces, our faces were drying and cracking like bad pottery, and just maybe there was a little freaking out about how to get us cleaned off with the limited access to water that she had.
Carrying buckets of water while weighed down by the extra pounds of mud was no fun, nor was sponge bathing in each of our five-gallon buckets. That was the prewash, and that water was cold. Then the three of us girls shared a quick shower to get our hair washed. My brother was also granted a few minutes with hot water and soap.
Thinking back on that today brought a smile to my face.
That is one of my favorite memories with my siblings. And while I would have enjoyed mud-sledding with my kids, I decided against suggesting it. It could never be as fun for me now as it was then.
Or maybe, I came to the conclusion that I would be the one responsible for the cleanup after the fun this time.
Either way, I think it was best to leave the mud in the past.