Mud weary

 

Now that I’m done complaining about snow, it’s time to gripe about mud:

Thanks to snowmelt and rain, we are mired in shoe-sucking muck. In every direction.

It looks like we’re farming it — planting and raising mud as an agricultural product.

Certainly, the horses are doing their part, tilling the pasture and stamping out the last dregs of green.

Maisie is advertising our product, with dreadlocks clotting her belly and legs.

Muddy conditions have made an impression on our trash service; they won’t empty the dumpster, because our property is “inaccessible” at present time.

And that’s kind of ironic, because we’ve lost all semblance of a driveway/lawn division. Winter has been a vehicle free-for-all, judging from the wheel ruts browning the yard.

Earlier this week, mounds of unmelted snow put another loss in the “team grass” column.

That day, I was startled when the UPS truck flashed by my office window, trundling past its normal stopping point. By the time I realized the driver wasn’t our regular, he’d gone counter-clockwise over the snowy land between barn and house.

Stunned, I met the guy outside as he surveyed the truck’s loopy trail of mud and slush.

“This is a circular driveway, right?” he asked.

Well it is, now.

 

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Photo note: I don’t do mud, so I pulled this image from the archives. Back in 2009 we had a thriving pothole population, but the driveway wasn’t up for debate.