TERRA NOT SO FIRMA 

Vermont is touted as the only state with five distinct seasons: spring, summer, fall, winter and mud. (Some say “stick season” should be counted as the sixth, but we’ll take that issue up in a future post and stick with five for the time being.) And since Vermont is the state in these United States with the most number of unpaved roads, mud season makes itself known far and wide and “deep”.  Now mud season has yet to arrive, but he’s coming up the block and bellowed out an “I’m on my way” this weekend just as a friendly reminder that he’ll be arriving at the door step soon enough.

There’s no one month in Vermont when the weather isn’t finicky; Vermont is unofficially recognized for weather that changes faster than a politician’s opinions on the election trail, but March is particularly schizophrenic. Now there is, as the Great Bard might phrase, a “method to this madness”, as warm days and freezing nights provide the impetus needed for Vermont’s many sugar maples to send their sap up out of their roots and into wooing buckets and lines for collection of the clear, sticky liquid, which is then transformed into golden sweetness by an age-old alchemy effected by combustible hard wood, the surface area of an evaporator, the encouragement of tall tales and the nourishment of raised donuts. And if you’ve ever spent some time working or “jawing” in a sugar house, you know exactly what I mean. And if you haven’t, you need to add a “sugarin’ visit” to that bucket list of yours and visit Vermont during open maple sugarhouse weekend:

http://www.vermontmaple.org/events.php

But to return to the thought that triggered this convolution, this weekend brought warm weather and rain. Dirt roads, driveways, walks and parking lots were converted to ice rinks and dirt roads brought to rack and ruin. Now since I’ve been blessed with a pickup truck, I have a responsibility to haul sand and gravel for family, friends and neighbors not so blessed. So off I went to the town sheds for gravel this weekend, the shed I visited being dependent on the particular town of residency of the intended recipient of the sand. You see each Vermont town has its own “sand policy”, some allow you to pillage just a mere bucket or two from the public store and some are a bit more generous with their tax-paying citizenry. Well one of the sheds on my list is located off a dirt road that was particularly rutted by sudden warmth and frequent travel. I did what all Vermonters do, I steered for what appeared to be the firmest path of road and did quite well until I met a fellow traveler coming my way. He moved a little and I moved a little; we both sunk a trifle, smiled a knowing smile at one another as we passed, and then wallowed through the sucking mud, sinking ever deeper until the next patch of road that gave each weary tire a kindly boost up from sea level and onto “terra somewhat more firma”. That being said, I’m not in favor of paving the roads, as macadam brings an inherent air of urbanity that quells many a rustic charm. And if you’ve ever been axle deep in mud, and I have, then you recognize that I paint “charm” with a broad brush.

But almost as quickly as itinerant mud season beckoned “hello”, Old Man Winter shouted back, reluctant to end his reign so soon; the thermometers dropped and snow covered every trace of that muddy interloper, except for the kidney-jarring ruts that greeted our town plowmen as they sought to clear a path through the foot or so of freshly fallen snow this morning.

Now I hope it’s snowing where you are because misery loves company, but sunny or snowy, smooth road or rutty, I hope you traverse today’s section of life’s journey with a smile on your face and a spring in your step.