Mud Race

Sloughhouse mud is interesting stuff. The soil is very sandy here, so it's hard to make good mud. Wasps can barely manage a nest. Swallows can't get the mud to hold together long enough to make a nest. It's hard to even make a decent mud pie, but the kids always try.

Bob and his friends used to play in the mud a lot when they were kids. They "swam" in the irrigation ditches, which are especially nasty a day after the water has been turned off and there's a layer of slime in the bottom.

I have quite a few fun stories from Bob's younger days, beginning when he was barely two. He dug a hole in my flower bed and ran the hose into it. When I checked on him, he was wallowing in his mud hole. I asked what he was doing. "I'm a fwog," he answered.

At three years, Efren's granddaughters asked one day if they could take Bob for a walk around the field. They were maybe 7 and 9 years old and were still dressed in their church clothes. They were gone quite a while. All three of them came back covered in mud from head to toe. They proudly announced they'd gone all the way around the field in the irrigation ditches, on their hands and knees.

When he was 7 one winter, Bob took off his clothes and rolled around in the mud in the horse pasture like a pig. I got it on tape, it's great bribery material. The lady who lived across the horse pasture called to ask if I knew what my son was doing. What answer would have been more indicative of an irresponsible parent, "yes" or "no"?

The next year Bob and his friend Sam, another local farm kid, played in the mud a lot. They had been out in the fields for quite a while when Sam's mother called and said the school bus driver had recognized them peeking out of the weeds near the highway. I checked and, sure enough, there they were, looking like kids out of Lord of the Flies. They were playing spies. They couldn't figure out how they'd been recognized.

On Thursdays that summer the Jehovah's Witnesses used to visit. They were wonderful ladies and I enjoyed talking to them. One of the ladies brought her son one day. He was the same age as Bob and Sam. The boys asked if he could go outside and play with them, which he did. The new kid was wearing his good visiting clothes and shoes. Unfortunately he didn't take them off when he joined the other two in the mudhole. I had to loan his mother some towels so she could pack him home.

When the boys were old enough to have motorcycles (11 years old is old enough for the farm roads) they loved nothing better than to come back totally muddy, then spend hours cleaning the bikes for the next run.

This year the guys at the corn stand were approached by people who wanted to put on a Mud Race. Their organization would set up an obstacle course around the fields. They would charge people to race through the course, and the profits would go to charity. It sounded like a weird idea to me, but one of our goals here is to share the "country living" experience with the public. Public support comes in handy when the county government has yet another stupid idea for us.

I thought Bob and his friends might actually enter the mud race, but they didn't. It was 250 strangers.

I took some pictures to show you. This race was a timed event, not a mad dash where everyone leaves the starting line at the same time. It was set up around the long, narrow 80-acre field, which is mostly Christmas trees and has 4 roads that cross through it. At the end of the field is a large pit. It is used as a catchment basin for irrigation water. The water runs between rows of trees, the excess is directed to the hole. This is because farmers are not allowed to let their excess irrigation water run into the creek. It seldom has much water in it, the farmers are very good at conservation.

The hole comes in handy for other things, too. A friend of ours once shot some scenes for his movie there. But I digress.

On Saturday the hole was turned into this:

There was a plastic slide at one end with a lovely muddy area below it. Just in front of the dam were two ropes so the runners could climb out of the hole.

Here's a racer slogging his way through the mud.

This couple is climbing out of the hole. I thought the fellow on the right was really clever. He was with the young lady on the left. He always managed to stay with her and was encouraging her all the way.

This guy was even more clever.

He stayed with the baby and they watched Mom race. (I'm not assuming this, I asked him, of course.)

Here she comes over the logs.

At the end of the race there was a shower so people could leave our good topsoil here where it's needed.

After the race closed down for the day, the new generation of local kids got to play on the slide and in the mudhole. I'm just as happy there were no muddy clothes to deal with, though I miss the days when there were small kids in my house.

I wish I understood Spanish. I'll bet the farm hands had some interesting comments about those crazy city people.