I hate mud season. Deplore it. I mean, I have nothing against mud itself, or rain. Growing up in Oregon, we had our fair share of both. Who doesn’t love a good romp through a massive mud puddle, its calm reflective surface just waiting to be thoroughly ravaged by rubber-clad feet? But New England springs take mud to an all new level. My car and its front wheel drive can’t handle it. My ankle height galoshes? Can’t handle it. But the root of my distaste, my least favorite part of mud season, is the blatant reminder of what’s missing.
There are plenty of distractions available to temper the loss of life in the fall: the firework display of chlorophyll decay presenting as vibrant reds, dusky oranges, golden yellows; the anticipation of the upcoming holidays; the looming promise of snow days and snowmen. Then comes winter, sweeping everything under the proverbial rug of fresh white powder and ice, draping the world in a convincing blanket of softness and magic. And the world can always use an extra dose or two of softness and magic, regardless of the season.
But then, in the weeks between the last winter snowfall and the first peeps of spring greenery, comes the aptly named mud season. Nothing in sight but a vast plain of brown ooze and the occasional clump of dead grass here and there. As the snow melts, mini-moraines of dirt and gravel and the assorted street trash that had been hidden in the snow piles are revealed in all their glory. Mud seasons only boon is that daylight savings shows up just in time to make the hours of precious sunlight last past 6pm for the first time in months.
There is nothing around to distract from the apparent lifelessness left behind in winters wake. The trees appear to hibernate even as sunlight and warmth slowly return from their own hibernation. The trails become inaccessible because of the significant erosion from boots treading in muck. It becomes time to worry about parasitic hitchhikers after every outside excursion. The grass is in fact not greener on the other side of the fence, let alone anywhere.
It’s during this time of the year that I find my spirits to be the lowest—after powering through fall and winter with nothing more than a manic will to get to the finish line, only to get caught up in the literal muck in the last few legs of the race.
There are a couple of things that typically help me power through and pass the time as I slog my way towards the finish line of spring greenery. The first: establishing a routine. The action itself doesn’t really matter, making it into a routine is where the benefit lies. Also helpful: planning things. It’s one thing to talk about things you want to do. If you’re like me, that talk won’t go anywhere without making solid plans in advance. Plans to see people, plans to go places that have been on your list, plans to do things you’ve wanted to get done. Keeping things in order with planning and routines helps me focus on something other than the endless slog through the muddy trenches.
But even the most solid of routines and the most detailed of plans are subject to derailment at any given time. Something unexpected can always come out of nowhere and unbalance everything you thought you’d planned so perfectly. It might be something personal, it might be a global pandemic, it might be an earthquake. “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong” according to Murphy’s Law.
During times like these, it is even more important to remind yourself of better days, and to remember that soon better days will come your way once again. And keeping to some sort of routine is more important than ever. Even as the SLA has shuttered its windows in attempts to do our part, we are actively looking for ways to stay connected with the environment and the community.
It can be hard to imagine a time when normalcy will return, but we can only take heart in the fact that it will. Spring greenery will return, the sodden ground will dry, and the threat at hand will pass. Until then, we need to buck up and put on our rubber boots, and get ready for a romp through the mud.
Dani is a half-time member with the SLA. She is an expert friend, conscientious environmentalist, whoopie pie eater. You can read more about Dani here!