Three days of unrelenting snow fall, albeit tantalizingly
white, fluffy and yes beautiful was followed by today’s snow showers and
mud. Mud oozing with melt
off. This made for a careful dog
walk, while Rex found the perfect spot to deposit. For days now, while wearing my fashionable suede boots my
right heel would get wet, only my right heel. This is expected with slushy conditions, but I also found
that I got wet in mud, despite my careful walking. Closer inspection revealed a
spidery web of cracks in the sole of my boot. Spring is nearing.
I can feel it, but can I manage another month with these boots?
So comes the notion of spring. A season that both sooths the senses waking to the sound of
chattering birds or wrangles the adult psyche when one realizes clean floors
are impossible during the time of mud.
So every soul in New England who is responsible for house cleaning tries
to avoid the stuff when walking outside, but that is also an impossible
notion. So, the only solution is
to wear rubber boots, daily. You
know the kind that rise up to your knees in case of a flash flood. My old trusty navy blue pair also
sprung a leak. For weeks now the
local stores have taken great care to attract the consumer with huge displays
of the rubber boots that now rival great museum quality art with the funky
colors and designs. The bright
yellow rain boots of my youth are hard to find.
Just a week ago, I passed one of those big displays in the
Ellsworth Tractor Supply store.
Last week, in the throngs of winter, spring seemed so far away, but
today with the tease of mud I needed those boots. Carrying a mental list: cat food, check on the details of
‘Chick Days’, rubber boots, I pushed through the main entrance of the store and
headed without a cart to the shelves of bags of cat food. Indoor, outdoor, kitten food, weight maintenance…
the forty pound bags were lined up neatly on the shelves. My husband quickly followed behind,
grabbed the familiar light green bag of indoor formula (the only kind that
seems to keep the hairballs at bay) and we headed toward the back of the store where we
conjured images of fluffy balls of chirping spring chicks all hankering for
food and the warmth of the heat lamp.
My husband lugging the bag through the store, made a quick dash for the
check-out. I swiped my debit,
grabbed my slip and my husband was already in the car, when I realized I did
not buy my boots. The display was
no longer. I cocked my head this way
and that standing on tip toes in an attempt to see the artful footwear as I
walked out the store, but all I saw was Carharrt tee shirts and cowboy
boots. No rubber rain boots.
The forecast midweek calls for another wicked
snowstorm. I am just hoping that
the snow and cold will last, just until I can don my brand new not so yellow
rubber boots. Just in time for the
mud.
