Mud Months

It's that time of year when I spend every day removing as much of our farm acreage from the house as I am able.  Someone asked me once how much land we had in the home place.  "Well," I mused, "we must be down to about 48 now.  I'm pretty sure I have mopped at least two acres out of my utility room."  She thought I was kidding.


February and March bring snow, sleet, and rain to our area of the world.  All of these combine to create knee deep mud.  As the weeks continue and the warmth works its magic on the ground, the mud will only get deeper and gooier.  (That word may not be in Webster's but the cows struggling to lift their legs out of the quagmire that occurs wherever they are fed understand it perfectly.)




The attire of everyone on the farm is muck boots and muddy coveralls.  There is mud in the barns, on the drive, in the yard, up the sidewalk and into the house.   Not to mention in the tractors, on the wagons, in the farm trucks and splashed onto every vertical surface.  I just spotted the green Gator (small 4-wheel drive utility vehicle) and my son and grandson coming from the field.  Gator and guys were all the same color (and it wasn't green!)



Yesterday, I was met at the garage by one of the grandsons.  Spotting snacks in the pile of groceries in the trunk, he graciously volunteered to help carry them in.  Snagging several bags he proceeded me to the house.  Just as he opened the door, I glanced at his feet only to see about 2 inches of mud covering his boots and clinging to his coveralls up to his knees.  Smiling sweetly, he said , "Since you went to the trouble to buy us snacks and drinks, the least I can do is carry them in for you."  A statement that left me both grimacing and grinning, with the knowledge that I was soon to be the recipient of some of the mud clinging to him and pride in his helpfulness.  After depositing the groceries and helping to unpack them, he moved to a rug in the doorway, and said, "I'll just stand here where I won't get mud on everything while I eat my snack!" Laughing, I gave him a hug and tried not to notice the trail of mud already deposited on my floor.




A couple of years ago we had enlarged the utility room in the house.  This room is appropriately referred to in housing circles as the "mud room".  I'm not sure that fancy architects really understands the term....but farmers sure do.  When it came time to pick out the flooring, I remembered a story my mother had told me. 




It seems as a young bride (and a townie) learning to be a farm wife with its various demands, she became completely overwhelmed by the task of keeping the kitchen floor clean.  It seemed that every time she turned around someone was using that entrance, the closest one to the barn yard,  carrying in that delightful mixture of mud and manure that only a well used barn yard can produce.




She had begged, pleaded, cajoled, bargained, threatened and clouded up and stormed but nothing seemed to convince the men to remove their muddy boots before entering the kitchen.  So several times each day she would mop the offending trail of muddy footprints off her kitchen floor.  Despairing of ever having a clean floor she came up with a desperate solution.  Before mopping the next time, she scraped up a bit of the greenish-brown mud and placed it in an envelope.  Taking the envelope after lunch, she drove to town and marched into the hardware store.  Spilling her specimen out on the counter she demanded a gallon of paint and she wanted it just that color!  Once home she painted the entire floor the color of the barn yard mud.  She laughed in telling it, saying "Well, I still had mud on my floors but at least it wasn't so obvious that it drove me nuts!"




Now I looked at the cheerful boy and thanked my smart mother, that I had chosen a flooring that is a marvelous mixture of green, brown, and greenish gray.  Maybe not high style but it sure hides muddy footprints like a charm.