For a while the exciting refrain was "It's still snowing." Lately, the daily update has changed to "It's still rainy." It's basically looked like this
for daaays now--a world of greeny-brown with a lid of gloomy clouds. I try to stay out of the business of complaining, but a little sun would be nice for variety's sake--especially during these shorter days of the year. We've had enough rain to last for a while, surely.
It's rained so much, in fact, that Locust Creek across the road from the house became more like an elongated pond yesterday; the low lying fields contain shallow lakes; and then there's the mud. The muddiness has progressed to the point that even four-wheel drive is incapacitated by the slick hillside between man and herd, and the high water prevents creek-crossing overland travel by four-wheeler. Father-in-law has had to visit the cows with the tractor. On the way home today, I saw dark tracks in neighboring fields, gashed by the tractor tires that are necessary to get the job done but hard on the land in its delicate condition.
All this rain also creates more mud, to which I've already decided that I must accustom myself. Snapping a picture of these over the weekend
reinforced my commitment to a mud entrance in our future home. Rows of banished footwear beside the door are another of those country things to make perfectly normal. They need a home away from home, so to speak. I will plan for it.
In other breaking farmification news, my son got to ride the four wheeler for the first time. Stepdad showed him how to shift gears and turned him loose. He asked where he was supposed to go. Stepdad said "Anywhere you want, as long as it's in this field." So he tore off and had a blast, looping through his personal race track over and over again. He only knocked the grain bucket off once.
I was trying to hide from this latest risk (He's also learning to drive cars, but that's another therapy session.) by helping mother-in-law with the dishes, when I saw him fly by at the top of the field. I started yelling through the window to Stepdad about slowing him down but just decided to forget it and go back to hiding, pretending that ATV rollovers were absolutely not a possibility, no matter what three out of four medical helicopter pilots say. He lived, and is duly one step closer to being part country boy. He really wants boots now.
There are other points of interest from the past few days involving pie, more pie, driving practice, and strange out buildings, not to mention surgery, but they will have to wait. It's close to bed time for the Future Farmgirls of America, my brain is drained from playing junior accountant all day, and my husband's evening has descended to such crap status that he's resorted to watching TV on purpose. I can't take any more excitement.