Mudslinging

There is a picture in my parents' photo album of my sisters and I wearing mud suits (one pieces splash-pants and jacket) in the late 1970s. We are playing outside in the mud in May. The following picture is of my face, splattered in mud. One of the other girls had thrown a handful of mud at me; literally slinging mud. I made the crankiest face possible while my mom suppressed a grin into the camera.

After supper tonight the Sprouts wanted to head right back outside to play with our little neighbour (who they are delighted to have living next door now). For about ten minutes there was blissful peace while they made mud pies and various other ditch water delicacies. Then Jo went careening into the ditch to get a shovelful of water to add to his bucket. Unfortunately he didn't quite lift his feet high enough as he stepped down the bank.

Howls of upset rose into the air and he stomped up onto the porch. He was plastered with splashes of mud from head to toe. I tried to restrain my smile as he moaned his distress. He wasn't hurt, just irate that he was wet, muddy and cold when mere moments before he was having so much fun.

I had a flashback of muddy spring days in northern BC when I was a Sprout. And I didn't envy the poor guy at all.