Mud

It was a dark morning. The sun was still down, but a soft glow appeared over the eastern mountains. It looked like a sunset, but it was just the opposite. The sun would be up soon. Maybe it would drive some of the clouds away. There was a slight breeze from the north, the yellow leaves on the aspen trees were fluttering toward the south a bit. The warm mornings and the sweltering days of Summer were gone. Fall snuck in. Thankfully.

Looking out the kitchen window of the farm house, he decided his flannel shirt might not be warm enough this morning so he pulled on his old denim jacket as well. Some smudges of dried mud flaked off the jacket and fell to the floor at his feet. He kicked the crumbled mud under the bench by the door. Not going to pick it up this morning. It’ll all get swept up later. He wondered what his wife would think.

No matter. For now the mud was staying. He was standing in a small room just off of the kitchen. “That’s why it’s called a mud room,” he muttered out loud and smiled to himself. He swung open the door and stepped outside onto the side porch and onto a well used doormat. He kicked at it, putting it in place. Semi-dried chunks of mud bounced off the door, into the mud room and off the exterior wall. More mud. He was going to have to get the broom and sweep it up, later.

“Come on Belle,” he hollered over his shoulder. The border collie came running, bounded through the door and leaped off the deck. Zac loved the loyalty and exuberance of border collies. Belle was the third border collie he’d owned over the years. He had named all of his dogs, Belle. His mom named the first collie Belle many years ago. A big, black border collie he grew up with and loved. So, Zac kept naming his dogs Belle.

He stepped off the porch and a single raindrop bounced off the bill of his Wyoming Cowboy’s cap. The well worn cap had seen plenty of rain. Usually, Zac enjoyed the rain. Rain was a bonus, a necessary part of farming. But it had rained yesterday and the day before, and the day before, and late October rain usually meant a couple of things, first plenty of mud. Second, possibly the prelude to a long, cold, drawn out winter. It would never get warm enough to dry out the mud before the snow arrived. And Wyoming got a lot of snow.

He missed his wife more than he thought he would. Everything felt dreary. He looked up. The clouds seemed to be dispersing some. Another drop of rain hit him on the chin. He glanced at his watch, 7:10 am. Belle was looking at him waiting for something to do. “What’re you lookin’ at? Brenda won’t be here for seven or eight hours, he explained. We’ll be done and have supper ready by then.” Belle looked at him with one gray eye and one brown eye, cocked her head. “Never mind, Zac smiled, let’s get on with it.”

The sun was up over the horizon now, it was brighter and maybe a degree or two warmer. Zac thought he could actually feel a little bit of warmth on his back. The somewhat muddy road started at the barn and headed West to the pumpkin field. Not many pumpkins were left, maybe a pickup truck load. This group of pumpkins had been planted late so they were harvested about two weeks later than the primary harvest.

The worn road that led to the patch was lined with beautiful, Red Maple trees. The leaves of the old trees changed from yellow to orange and then red every year. Most of the leaves were down now, forming a beautiful orangish-red carpet he and Belle were walking on. “Probably gonna be too wet to rake these up. We might as well wait until Spring.”

The road opened up to a small field, mostly empty except for dead vines and wilted leaves. The old 1949 Ford pickup was down at the far end waiting to be filled with the last pumpkins. A couple of cold drops of rain hit Zac on the back of the neck. The briefly brightened sky got dark again. “Rain’s coming Belle. We’d better hurry.” They started for the truck leaving the red leaf covered driveway behind. Zac could feel the rain picking up, pelting him on the back and bouncing off his cap. The truck was still thirty yards or so away but he could see rain drops bouncing off the windshield. “We’re gonna get soaked Belle. Maybe we should put this off a day. Cut the pumpkins in the mud tomorrow.” He looked down at her. Belle didn’t care. She trudged along, she was wherever Zac was. “Okay, then, he chuckled. We’ll pick in the rain.”

They walked on towards the lower field and the truck. The rain was cold. The mud was building. They came to the top of a slight rise on the outside edge of the field. Zac was having a hard time seeing through the rain but he didn’t think he could see any pumpkins. That was impossible! He picked up the pace, boots sloshing in the rain and mud. "They’re gone Belle. But why steal a truck load of pumpkins? I never saw anyone back here. No new tire tracks.” He walked on toward the empty pumpkin patch, the rain as persistent and annoying as ever.

The old green Ford looked shiny when it was wet. “We’ll get out of this downpour soon, Belle. Run the heater, warm up and drive this old clunk back to the house.” Zac paused, put his hand on the hood of the truck. The field was empty. Just stems and leaves. Someone had taken the pumpkins. He shook his head, “Well Belle, somebody needed them worse than us I guess.” Belle looked at him, cocked her head again almost like she knew what he said. “Let’s get in.” Zac dug the key out of his pocket and walked to the driver side door and stopped. Froze, like something was wrong. The sight didn't register at first. It took him by surprise.

The back of the old truck was filled with shiny orange pumpkins. Someone had cut them for him and loaded the truck. He was stunned. He stood there in the rain and mud for another minute and wondered. He smiled, “Huh. Get in Belle before your soaked to the bone.” He opened the door, knocked some of the mud off his boots and he and Belle climbed in. “Now, who do we have to thank for that?” The Ford’s starter ground away for a few seconds and then it caught. Sounded just like a very old 1949 Ford six cylinder. He turned the heater to high, eased the clutch out and started down the side of the field toward the maple tree lined driveway and the farm house, the back tires occasionally slipping in the mud.

The windshield wipers barely worked on the old truck, but they worked good enough. Zac turned down the driveway onto the carpet of wet, red maple leaves. He drove past the last set of trees and made the slight right turn toward the house slipping on the muddy drive, creating another set of deep ruts that would have to be smoothed out in the Spring. It was about 9:00 am. Still early. And, besides being wet and muddy, he had a pickup truck full of late pumpkins. “Guess I’ll stop and change clothes before we take these pumpkins to the co-op, Belle.” He parked the truck next to porch on the mud room side. It was overcast and dark enough he noticed the kitchen light was on. “We leave that on?” He looked at Belle, shook his head and shrugged. Come on. "The mud room is going to get muddy.” They got out of the truck, into more mud and stepped onto the porch. He reached for the door knob. Belle barked. Someone was standing there.

Zac jumped, startled a bit. Then he realized who was waiting for them. "Dang you scared me! You’re home early.”

“Would you rather I was still in Cheyenne?” Brenda smiled and opened the door. “Boots off outside. I’ll get a towel for your helper and a broom so you can sweep the mud room. Oh, and I made breakfast.”

Twenty minutes later Zac was changed and sitting at the kitchen table getting ready to have pancakes and sausages. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining a little. From where he sat in the kitchen he could see the front of the pickup. It had mostly dried and it wasn’t as green or as shiny now. But, it still had bright orange pumpkins in back. “Zac, you must have gotten most of the pumpkins up yesterday. You weren’t down there very long,” Brenda said.

Zac took a sip of thick, hot coffee, “Well, that’s a mystery. The field was empty and the truck was full when we got there. Someone must have cut them last evening when I was in town buying groceries. I guess. I can’t think of anything else. Don’t know who did it. I’d like to return the favor someday, though.”

“You help a lot of people, Zac. Maybe someone was repaying you.”

“Maybe. Still, that was beyond nice. Are you coming with us to deliver the pumpkins?”

“Of course,” Brenda answered. “It’s good to be back. I'll need to stop at the store to get some bittersweet chocolate and condensed milk anyway.”

“Making something special?”

“A Mud Slide Pie. Mom gave me a new recipe.”

Zac smiled. Mud.