Mud Season

Mud season came early this year. No, I’m not referring to the political metaphor of ‘mudslinging’ that comes with an election year. I’m referring to the good old-fashioned dirt and water created by warming temperatures and melting snow. If you have kids, grandkids, dogs, or outdoor animals, you know all about mud season. Mud season is a blessing and a curse, but it represents renewal and change. Spring is coming and we are ready to leave winter in the dust. With some January temperatures in the upper 40’s this year, mud season is now in full force. 

I used to despise mud season. It meant fighting a constant and never-ending battle to keep the dirt where it belonged, outside. The kids would go out to play and come back with snow pants and boots caked in mud. After much tedious instruction on how to knock the mud off of their boots and wipe it from their clothes, I often found giant clumps stuck to the sidewalk and concrete steps leading to my porch and front door. Temperatures would freeze overnight and leave a minefield of rock-hard mud balls scattered across the walkway the next morning. If you left the house early and forgot to turn on the outside light, or neglected to look down and watch your step, you were sure to trip on one of these frozen balls of death, spilling your coffee and stumbling to catch your balance.

My family has a tradition of taking a trip to the North Shore each winter, where we rent a cabin and hang out for a few days. Usually, we’re battling subzero temps and potential blizzards like conditions. I remember one year, standing on a long pier in Two Harbors. The temperature on my dashboard read 3 degrees Fahrenheit. We got out and walked to the shore of Lake Superior, blowing winds across the open water blasted us with all their might. Needless to say, we were back in the vehicle within a minute or two, heater cranked to the max.

This winter provided a completely different experience. We drove up to Beaver Bay during the first weekend in February. Temps were mild. The only time my kids wore coats was during a hike at Tettegouche State Park. The cabin rental was great, it was somewhat isolated and backed up to 40 acres of wilderness tucked along the Superior Hiking Trail. Our dog took full advantage of the freedom to run in the woods. Along with that freedom came the mud, mud that found its way into the cabin and into the truck. Oh well, nothing that a little soap and water, along with some elbow grease, couldn’t take care of. 

I mentioned earlier that I used to despise mud season and the extra effort it takes to keep it where it belongs. I’ve since learned to let go of the frustration that comes with it and embrace what it represents. A few years back, one of my kids had forgotten to take off their boots in the entryway of our home, unknowingly creating a maze of black footprints that zigzagged across the kitchen floor and carpet. I wasn’t mad or angry. I just stood there and stared at one more thing that needed to get done. We cleaned it up as best we could and I gently reminded the kids to take off their boots and leave them at the door, especially during “mud season.” In that moment, I had a unique experience, one of those “ah-ha” moments where a light bulb goes off. A little voice popped into my head, you know the one, the quiet, still voice that speaks to us all, guiding us through life’s ups and downs. The voice said, “embrace the mud. Nothing is ever perfect because life on earth was never meant to be perfect.” I remember a calm washing over me, and a peacefulness of knowing that the kids were outside playing in the fresh air, getting exercise, and doing what kids were meant to do. Learning to embrace the messiness of life is ongoing, but in doing so, it teaches us a valuable lesson.