Deep in the winter mud season it is hard to see through to the other side, where spring rules. Could we but string two intimate days with the sun, no rain, and a warming wind, then I’m sure my mood would lift. But each day, this day, I slog. I slog out to the barn to feed the sheep. I slog to the chicken coop. I slosh and slog to feed the pigs, raising with each step a black-brown slurry that splatters my newly laundered Carhartts. Looking down with disgust, I turn to find something convenient to kick, and sink ankle deep into the mire.
I stomp back to the farmhouse to change my clothes. Once inside, I do a compulsive check of the weather website. I shout upstairs to Cindy, “It’s going to be cloudy and rainy today.” “Yeah, I’m looking out the window,” she replies to the idiot who seeks written confirmation of the obvious.
Having failed to receive appropriate commiseration, I review my impressively detailed to-do list. It doesn’t take much searching to find an excuse to do nothing. Listed on the page are a multitude of tasks related to mud season … none of which can be completed because it is mud season. We need to have a dump truck of fill dirt delivered to redirect rain runoff from pooling in the inner corral, but the owner of the truck wants a guarantee he won’t get stuck in the mud. Which means that maybe in July, when the sludge of winter is a dim memory, as I trudge through my rounds cursing the heat and drought of summer, he will show up.
Then, there is the large pile of gravel to be distributed where the sheep traverse gates and buildings, areas where the mud is deepest. Yet the tractor in this season slips and slides with alarming imprecision as I navigate the entryways. The front tires sink deep into the mud when I attempt to pick up the heavy load of gravel. Another task that must wait for summer (when I’m sure I will have all the time in the world).
Which reminds me of an essay I wrote in third grade:
“I just finished my last math test and now am taking my last writing test. Things don’t look very good right now. But soon it will all be over, and I can run and jump and fish and play.”
I like that kid, I think. He certainly had his priorities straight.
I head back outside to work in the hoop house. At the back of the barnyard, through various muck-laden gateways, the hoop house in winter is a delight, both warmish and dry. What water there is comes from a drip tape that irrigates the rows in a controlled fashion. Unless, that is, one of the tapes breaks. That’s when you open the door to find that your well-organized watering overnight, for the past eight hours, has created a muddy, mucky mess that mirrors the world outside. Sadly and not surprisingly, on this day, this is what the open door reveals.
Soon it will all be over, then I can run and jump….
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Reading this weekend: The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club (D. Sayers). And rereading, The Unlikely Vineyard: the education of a farmer and her quest for terroir (D. Heekin).
Good one!
Thank you, unknown lady.
Good Frigid Winter Morning Brian,
Up here, so close to the Arctic Circle, it takes a special effort to see the end coming. I take comfort in an old saw my Dad would repeat often (probably to reassure himself) that, “As of Washington’s birthday, the back of the Winter is broken.” Now, by this he didn’t mean it was over, far from it. What he meant was that the sun was gaining leverage every day in power and duration, so that even on cold days it tries to warm up the Earth.
My son and I made an executive decision to keep our shop heated throughout this winter season and it has helped tremendously having a warm place to retreat to from winter chores, if only temporarily. A small but significant comfort when the weather is trying to kill you. LOL
A warm space to retreat in winter is essential. On our end, we really haven’t had much of a cold winter, so I can’t complain. Just cold and dreary enough to weigh down the spirit.
Hang in there, Don. Summer is coming!
I inquired once whether your would ever move off the farm. You replied plainly and unambiguously “no.” I doubt, even in the depths of mud season, you have reconsidered your answer or commitment to pastoralism despite acknowledging it’s not all daisies. Of course, neither is city life.
I really haven’t. One never knows what enfeeblement awaits in old age. But, it is long since paid for and I’m allergic to debt.
This one certainly resonates with me! Each day is a repeat of the prior, wake up, inside chores, slog to horse barn, feed horses, get on the 4 wheeler, sling more mud on my coveralls, feed cows, let chickens out. Evening, repeat. It’s raining! Perfect excuse to stay inside and not work on the endless list. It seems I am looking forward to Spring more than ever!
And, cattle can make such a mess! I always hate for customers to visit the farm at this time of year. My apologies start spilling out the moment they set shoe leather to mud.
I presume your mud is frozen solid this morning, as is mine with 3 inches of snow overnight on top of frozen rain.
Rusty
No, cousin. We have been hovering for the past week in the purgatory of 30’s and rain.
I commiserate with you. I’ve been wallowing in my own pity party of winter blues. The only thing keeping me from having a full blown meltdown : ) is I am not ready for the marathon of work that the summer brings.
I was hoping to spend hours at my sewing machine, quilt frame, and fireside reading books this winter. Instead it has been building, priming, painting, sheet rocking, taping, mudding, priming, painting, blah, blah, blah. So much to do when you build a place from scratch. After 4 1/2 years I am ready to move on from the building. So basically cold, snowy, sometimes muddy weather is a bonus? Ack.
Well, after 21 years we have built most of our infrastructure. Now we find that we get to start over, reinstalling posts that have rotted. A endless cycle I would prefer not to repeat.