MUD. Yes, that’s right, wet dirt, soggy ground, tire ruts. We have a big long driveway full of holes — holes brimming with muddy water. How are you supposed to know which ones will swallow your car or which will simply jar your teeth? With little Audrey as my passenger, secure in her car seat, I bobble up the driveway hitting every hole. She teeters from side to side and happily sings “Whoa”. Who needs amusement park rides when you can tool up and down the Henning’s driveway in springtime?
There’s still plenty of snow, but it’s old snow. It’s dirty and crusty with patches of field, grass, and mud showing through. And sticks, don’t forget the sticks. Where did they all come from? They fell off trees, snapped from limbs, broken under the weight of snow and ice accumulations all winter long. Strewn around by winter gales, they poke up through the last (I hope) vestiges of snow.
I can’t wait to send the boys out there to pick up the sticks and clean up the yard. Oh wait, there aren’t any more kids here. Tom? You get the wheel barrow, I’ll get the rake. We’ll be needing boots too…the yard is squishy with mud.