We’re at that slippery divide between seasons, transitioning from slipping on ice, to sliding on mud. March always throws both at us.
Setting aside a month for a bellicose and unstable guy like the god Mars was not a good idea. In the Great Lakes region, it’s a pugnacious season, and full woolen body armor is still recommended.
Full of bluster and false promises of warmth. We don’t always see the lion-to-lamb thing – – it’s more “In like a blowhard, out like sheep dip.” Still icy winds and snow, and then mud, that’s still pretty chilly when it soaks through the seat of your pants after an embarrassing slip’n’slide. No flowers yet, and the only efflorescence going on around here is crusty deposits from road salt and chemical runoff.
I read an article recently about the old discussion over the number of Eskimo terms for snow, apparently going on at least since “The Handbook of American Indian Languages” was published in 1911 . I don’t want to reignite the debate, and I don’t want to think about snow for a while. Just want to build a little birdhouse in my soul & a little Florida room in my mind.
But if my enthusiasm for ice has cooled a bit, it does occur to me, we really don’t have nearly enough terms for mud. I only know a few, like Muck & Mire.
This prompted me to look those two up – – I always thought they were the same thing, but in the final scene, we find out, Muck is the slimy one, and Mire is the deep one.
My personal favorite is “gumbo,” since as we squelch through the muck & mire, we often release all sorts of fragrant gasses and spicy odors. Sometimes as things warm up, some paths, maybe the more aerated ones, give off a kind of nice composted smell, and sometimes a rich bouillabaisse aroma, that’s not unpleasant at all.
I’d be interested in any terms you use for mud (colorful is good, I know I don’t have to ask you to keep it clean).