In 1965, The Byrds released their version of Ecclesiastes 3, verses 1-8,  “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is A Season).”  According to many, their recording was the most highly successful rendition of these verses. I know that singing this song has gotten me through many a tough spot in my life, both the big transitions and the small ones, and I found myself humming it again the other day as my feet were sinking into the mud as I crossed the driveway to the Little Barn, as I took the garbage to the garage, as Vega and I walked around the pastures at lunch time.  Yes, ice season is giving way to mud season on the farm.

Our first true encounter with mud season came last weekend when we were finally able to prune the raspberry, blackberry, and grape vines for their new growth. The vines had run a bit wild last summer because, well, it just wasn’t their turn. Now it is, and we needed to tend them. The day was absolutely perfect ~ temps in the high 40’s, and we worked under a blue sky and sunshine. A gentle breeze blew and melted the last patches of snow and ice. Melted them right into mud. As I squished around the blackberry bushes, my boots sinking into mud at each step,  I pulled at vines that dripped mud as they came off the ground. When I began on the grape vines, I noticed my pant legs and my new gardening gloves were both mud spattered. But to every season, right?

The best commentary on mud season so far, though, has got to be watching Dave cross a very muddy patch in the lawn. I have no idea why he decided to walk across it, but perhaps he didn’t want to take the time to go around since it’s definitely too large to jump across. Anyway, cross it he did, and as he walked away from us, we watched as he would take a step, then pause to shake his left rear paw free of the mud. He’d take another step and pause to shake his right rear paw free of the mud. Take another step, pause, shake; another, pause, shake. He did this the entire way across, and while we couldn’t see his face, I can only imagine the feline disgust that must have shown plainly in his whiskers! 

I’m actually quite glad to see the mud’s arrival. It means the ice is leaving, at least for the next few seasons, and I won’t fall again just walking to the mailbox. It means the day time temperatures are above 32 degrees, and we can all be outside working again. I also know that it will mean muddy paw prints throughout the house, an unusually large number of clothes that need to be washed, and squishing everywhere we go. It seems a small price to pay for the transition to the time to plant.