Mud Life
Adapting to an early mud season
Mud season has started. Or if not, then we're getting an early glimpse of it. A large snowstorm and a night of rain followed by a few sunny days and we have nothing less than a mud pit outside our door. My husband tore up our one lane road, plowing down it at high speed to keep from getting stuck and then destroyed our small parking area by attempting a multiple point turn in 4-wheel low. This resulted in a quagmire of rutted tracks, crossing over each other multiple times to create puddles of mush. I attempted to walk outside to watch him and my boots sunk to my ankles. Each step was like ripping my leg from a giant suction cup as if the earth was sucking me down into it, threatening to pull my boots from my feet.
As you know by now, we live in the high desert. The special circumstances of the high desert are such that it gets minimal precipitation. There is dirt everywhere plus the few plants that can survive in nutrient poor loamy sand. Additionally, because it is at high altitude (about 7,500 feet), hence the "high" part of "high" desert, it sometimes gets really, really cold and snows. Of course, we welcome precipitation of all kinds. The snow melts off the roof, into our gutters and makes its way into our cisterns where we can drink it, wash with it and shower in it. Personally, I love the snow for its stark beauty the way it coats the landscape in pure white. Unlike the snowstorms of my youth in New York where the snow quickly turned to gray mucky slush, here the snow freezes on top and crystalizes into a sparkling evil Narnia for miles around.
But there is a side effect of snow that we never truly experienced in such dramatic flourish as we have this week on the Taos West Mesa. Welcome to your first mud season, they said. Though I am proud of my Subaru's off-road prowess, I did not dare attempt to take her the quarter mile down our little road. My husband had the brilliant idea of driving her down the road in the morning while the ground was still frozen and parking her on the main road, which is gravel. She sat there until I was ready to go to town. I packed up everything I would need, dressed in multiple layers of warmth and trudged down the road, sinking with every step, weighted down with my bags. At the car, I changed into different shoes and drove to town where I told everyone I saw that I barely made it off the mesa because of that f*cking mud.Â
I was feeling very trapped. Not only because of the inability to freely drive away from my house, but the inability to walk away as well. I walk with my dog everyday, usually in the afternoon. I gave up on exercising years ago. I walk because I absolutely love how it makes me feel. Not just the movement of my body, but the freedom of my mind to be out in the big open sky country, sniffing sage brush and tracking scat. I usually walk in the late afternoons at sunset because I'm always restless by then and because the colors of the sunset and alpine glow are so beautiful. Without that daily stroll, I began to feel incredibly tense. And when I feel tense and agitated, guess who gets to feel the brunt of it? My lovely family, those two saints, dear husband and dear daughter. The answer to my problem was simple and also enjoyable.
This morning at 7:30am, just as the sun was rising over the mountains when the temperatures were a pleasant 17 degrees, I bundled up and headed out the front door with my pup. We walked a couple of miles south into the juniper forest on top of the frozen solid dirt trail. I had to take off my coat due to my excessive layering. As the dry mud shed from my heavy winter boots, I felt inspired by my new adventure. I think this could be a regular practice. Maybe mud season isn't so bad after all. Meanwhile, anyone got a good recommendation for someone who can lay some pit-run on my road?
