It rained the other night and I have to confess, it scared hell out of me. Seems like when I was a tot back in Kansas, rain was more frequent and softer. In Colorado, it seems to be either feast or famine, so to speak. We lived about a mile from Bull Creek and it always had water in it, but when we got a good rain the little Bull Creek became a raging torrent and overflowed it's banks and came up the highway clear past the sand pit and almost to our corner. I remember wading up the highway and the crawdads scooting away from me. The scoot backwards, you know.
Strong Street was dirt. Well, all the streets were dirt in that area. Mostly the dirt was soft, but when it rained it would have puddles standing on it. (Having a little problem here with proper English. Do the puddles stand IN the road or ON the road? Since they were on the road that sounds right, but since the actually were a part of the road they could be in the road.) You choose.
Any way, after a rain the puddles were there and the sun shone brightly on them. Now I am sure some of the water seeped into the earth, but it took a while and I remember seeing pollywog's swimming in the water, but it could have been mosquito larvae. Who knows. There is something so primal about wading in a mud puddle, that it defies description. To feel the cool mud ooze between my toes was second only to walking on dried mud.
I do know that eventually the water was gone and the sun beating down on the puddle would cause the silty dirt to dry and crack. The cracks would the curl on the edges and separate. If I could be really patient, the sun would continue drying and then I was left with a big dried out patch of curled up mud. The happiest memories are in the remembering, and I can still close my eyes and recall walking very slowly across the dried up mud in my bare feet. The fragile mud curls made only a tiny crackle and I would walk slowly back and forth to be sure I mashed them all. I have not had an experience like that since I left Nickerson.
Mud in Nickerson was also good for making mud pies. The mud held together because parts of the road had clay. My best friend, Barbara had a brother who nicknamed me "Mud Pie" and that name stuck until we went to high school. Just happened to remember that.
The reason I am thinking of this is after our rains, there is a place in my driveway that water stands in for a short time. I was looking at that yesterday, and the quality of the mud is not the same as Nickerson. And for some reason, I do not see it making the curls like Nickerson mud made. I suppose there is more gravel in my driveway. Nickerson was sandy, hence the Sand Hill Plum Jelly that the Amish make and sell.
So as I start my day today, I will put on my shoes and socks and not even look at that puddle over there. Some things can only continue in our memories and the days of sand and shovels and mud pies are over and are best left in the far recesses of my mind where I can use them as my safe place when life becomes too tedious and I need to escape.
Strong Street was dirt. Well, all the streets were dirt in that area. Mostly the dirt was soft, but when it rained it would have puddles standing on it. (Having a little problem here with proper English. Do the puddles stand IN the road or ON the road? Since they were on the road that sounds right, but since the actually were a part of the road they could be in the road.) You choose.
Any way, after a rain the puddles were there and the sun shone brightly on them. Now I am sure some of the water seeped into the earth, but it took a while and I remember seeing pollywog's swimming in the water, but it could have been mosquito larvae. Who knows. There is something so primal about wading in a mud puddle, that it defies description. To feel the cool mud ooze between my toes was second only to walking on dried mud.
I do know that eventually the water was gone and the sun beating down on the puddle would cause the silty dirt to dry and crack. The cracks would the curl on the edges and separate. If I could be really patient, the sun would continue drying and then I was left with a big dried out patch of curled up mud. The happiest memories are in the remembering, and I can still close my eyes and recall walking very slowly across the dried up mud in my bare feet. The fragile mud curls made only a tiny crackle and I would walk slowly back and forth to be sure I mashed them all. I have not had an experience like that since I left Nickerson.
Mud in Nickerson was also good for making mud pies. The mud held together because parts of the road had clay. My best friend, Barbara had a brother who nicknamed me "Mud Pie" and that name stuck until we went to high school. Just happened to remember that.
The reason I am thinking of this is after our rains, there is a place in my driveway that water stands in for a short time. I was looking at that yesterday, and the quality of the mud is not the same as Nickerson. And for some reason, I do not see it making the curls like Nickerson mud made. I suppose there is more gravel in my driveway. Nickerson was sandy, hence the Sand Hill Plum Jelly that the Amish make and sell.
So as I start my day today, I will put on my shoes and socks and not even look at that puddle over there. Some things can only continue in our memories and the days of sand and shovels and mud pies are over and are best left in the far recesses of my mind where I can use them as my safe place when life becomes too tedious and I need to escape.
