Mud.
It’s an abstract concept to the average town dweller. You might think you know what it is. It’s something you remember playing in as a kid in your parents backyard. Maybe you like hooning about in it in your 4×4 on the weekend. Perhaps you went camping once, and it rained and you got some on your hiking boots on the way back down the walking trail to your car. I know. I’m making great sweeping generalisations presuming what you do and don’t know about. You may even feel slightly indignant. Believe me, it’s not intended that way, and I’ll explain why.
An hour ago, I surfaced from a nap. I say a nap, but it was more just something I did for the pleasure of being recumbent somewhere warm, dark and relatively quiet to process my thoughts and concerns for the day. On emerging, I made a coffee and went outside to sit on the front porch and soak up the early afternoon rays of thin winter sunshine. I even rolled up my pants legs to let the sun and the soft breeze caress my skin. It was a wondrous moment; I felt almost euphoric sitting there with my coffee and my cigarette, basking in the warmth of the day. This morning seemed like a distant memory.
‘So how is this relevant?’ I hear you ask. I’m getting to that. You know how when you’re fit and healthy and you can’t quite remember what pain feels like? Or when you’re in pain, and you can’t remember what it’s like NOT to have pain? Well, mud is a bit like that. When you’re sloshing through it at 4 am in the driving wind and rain and it’s seeping inside your wet weather gear, you think you’ll never be warm and dry again; in fact, you can’t even remember what that feels like. And likewise, sitting out there on the front porch this afternoon, I almost forgot that when I get back to the dairy this afternoon, the mud’ll be there waiting for me, just like it was this morning. And this mud isn’t just wet dirt either. Imagine a thin soup of 9 months of powdered cow manure, pollen, dust, dead insects, soil and all manner of other detritus that’s effectively been buzzed up in a blender then left to sit somewhere for a couple of weeks to ferment. THAT’s the mud I’m talking about. Sticky, wet, malodourous mud. Not a very appetising thought is it?
And the mud and the moment on the porch this afternoon made me think: the little things in life – a hot shower, a gentle breeze, the smell of fresh laundry on a warm day, of freshly brewed coffee, a phone call from a friend you haven’t seen in ages, of just a single, simple moment of silence in your day is so precious, you should stop for just that moment, close your eyes and savour it for all it’s worth. Because, later today, or maybe tomorrow or even next week it’ll just be another abstract concept that you just can’t quite remember. Take the time to enjoy those precious little things, because ultimately THAT is what life is all about.
dairylove 