There is always some uncertainty, once the leaves are off the trees, as to when, exactly, winter begins. Snow flies and cold wind blows but it’s not so bad crossing the dooryard or heading out for chores until, one day, a cuss word comes out and, gosh darn it, you just know it’s winter.
Even spring comes in fits and starts and the long-johns stay on until that fickle season regains our trust and we finally take them off (or cut them off when, as often happens with my good friend Eugene, our body hair grows through the weave over the course of the cold months). We don’t put them away for the season just yet, though; experience has taught us that they may be needed again before Memorial Day.
With Mud Season, however, there is no doubt and, in this neck of the woods, Mud Season started today.
Some people don’t believe in Mud Season, having never seen it for themselves. They wonder out loud how bad it could be and believe they could handle it, if they had to, but they don’t, and they can smile their smug smiles unchallenged.
Some believe it is real but, like trading blows with a kangaroo, aren’t sure they’d be up for it themselves and decide watching from a safe distance is probably the best option.
Some people see it for the first time and can’t believe it’s possible. Surely something can be done, if only we thought outside the box, but there is no box think outside of. The bottom has been dropping out for as long as anyone can remember, no matter what anyone has done, and Mud Season is a fact of life in rural Vermont.
If a spot gets particularly bad, a mention to the road crew will at least get some attention, but storming into the Town Office and declaring it is impossible to get around will gain you no good will, especially when your very presence disproves your point.
This morning at 10:00, when I headed out on an errand, our road was just fine. A few wet spots, maybe, but overall still frozen with a good sprinkling of sand. By noon it was a different story and the plot thickened as the day progressed.
Mud Season is real and complaining will get you nowhere. It won’t even make you feel better. A good slog through Mud Season will send some people packing while others might hang on for another season or two, whining all the way. Everyone else will smarten up and adjust their lives, gaining a little something in the process as they learn to accept yet another thing they cannot change.
The first day of Mud Season, 2016, in slide-show form:
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- Mud
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- Mud
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- Mud
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- More Mud
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- Whoops
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- More Mud, Again
The View from Fish in a Barrel Pond 
Having had a taste of a “mini” mud season in the early part of the winter, and not liking the way the mud trys to–no, make that DOES take control of my car, I’m quite happy experiencing the real mud season vicariously thank you. Happy mud-sliding Quill!
On days like this, working the steering wheel becomes futile. Best to change direction by shifting your weight around, lunging against the appropriate doors.
I once had an hour of “Mud Season” driving on a 26-mile long dirt / gravel road in Wyoming; turned to mud because of heavy rain. Yeah, it was about 26 mph or slower, took 6 of us in a mini-van that long, like driving on slushy snow, but different…and a whole lot dirtier. 😀