Recently I wrote about the in-between season when winter is disappearing from the Adirondacks but spring has not yet entered. Today I would like to share thoughts on what follows from that in-between season; namely, the mud season. Mud. Everywhere there is mud. Mud. Mud. Mud.

The fish, unaware of the change in seasons, wait expectantly for a minnow from a fisherman’s hole in the ice but there are not any fishermen on the ice. In fact there really is not any ice.

The dirt roads that branch off of route 8 are mired in mud. Signs were erected on these roads: “Warning! Be careful of the path you choose.” What this meant was that the dirt roads could be impossible to navigate. They were filled with muddy ruts from lumber trucks loaded with pine on their way to the sawmills. If you got caught in one of those ruts you could be in serious trouble! Eventually the roads will harden and will once again be safe to drive on but then we can look forward to being attacked by black flies. The obstacles never end!

Beyond the muddy tracks that spread from our front lawn to the lake, the perimeter of the tennis court is covered in mud. Usually, in the midst of summer, this stretch of land is lush with an assortment of sunflowers and cosmos. The cosmos, pink, white and peppermint stripe, give a wonderful color to the surroundings and the sunflowers that soar to the top of the tennis court highlight the summer days. Not now. Now it is only mud.

However, underneath the mud, cosmos seeds from the previous fall are resting and preparing themselves to emerge above ground as the weather warms. Spring is present–under the mud. Unfortunately you cannot yet catch a glimpse of the season germinating under the mud.

Perhaps all of this is a metaphor for the ending of the winter of the human spirit. We have felt bereft but if we are patient we come to life again. All that is necessary is to tend to the shoots that dwell within each one of us.

Spring exists. It is only hidden for the moment.

Sheltering