We slogged around in the mud all day today on the farm. Where we have a good layer of stone it is just squishy underfoot, anywhere else is a sloppy mess that quickly proves (or disproves) your boot’s claim to waterproofness.<\/p>\n
The mud is a nuisance but I love the change in seasons. By afternoon today we’d shed our coats and were sweating in the thin sunshine. It felt great.<\/p>\n
The mud reminds me of one of my favorite poems. It’s good to muse over it while relaxing after the first day’s work in the mud time. <\/p>\n
Two Tramps in Mud Time<\/b> by Robert Frost<\/i><\/p>\n
Out of the mud two strangers came
\nAnd caught me splitting wood in the yard,
\nAnd one of them put me off my aim
\nBy hailing cheerily \u201cHit them hard!\u201d
\nI knew pretty well why he dropped behind
\nAnd let the other go on a way.
\nI knew pretty well what he had in mind:
\nHe wanted to take my job for pay.<\/p>\n
Good blocks of beech it was I split,
\nAs large around as the chopping block;
\nAnd every piece I squarely hit
\nFell splinterless as a cloven rock.
\nThe blows that a life of self-control
\nSpares to strike for the common good
\nThat day, giving a loose to my soul,
\nI spent on the unimportant wood.<\/p>\n
The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
\nYou know how it is with an April day
\nWhen the sun is out and the wind is still,
\nYou\u2019re one month on in the middle of May.
\nBut if you so much as dare to speak,
\nA cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
\nA wind comes off a frozen peak,
\nAnd you\u2019re two months back in the middle of March.<\/p>\n
A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
\nAnd fronts the wind to unruffle a plume
\nHis song so pitched as not to excite
\nA single flower as yet to bloom.
\nIt is snowing a flake: and he half knew
\nWinter was only playing possum.
\nExcept in color he isn\u2019t blue,
\nBut he wouldn\u2019t advise a thing to blossom.<\/p>\n
The water for which we may have to look
\nIn summertime with a witching wand,
\nIn every wheel rut\u2019s now a brook,
\nIn every print of a hoof a pond.
\nBe glad of water, but don\u2019t forget
\nThe lurking frost in the earth beneath
\nThat will steal forth after the sun is set
\nAnd show on the water its crystal teeth.<\/p>\n
The time when most I loved my task
\nThese two must make me love it more
\nBy coming with what they came to ask.
\nYou\u2019d think I never had felt before
\nThe weight of an axhead poised aloft,
\nThe grip on earth of outspread feet.
\nThe life of muscles rocking soft
\nAnd smooth and moist in vernal heat.<\/p>\n
Out of the woods two hulking tramps
\n(From sleeping God knows where last night,
\nBut not long since in the lumber camps.)
\nThey thought all chopping was theirs of right.
\nMen of the woods and lumberjacks,
\nThey judged me by their appropriate tool.
\nExcept as a fellow handled an ax,
\nThey had no way of knowing a fool.<\/p>\n
Nothing on either side was said.
\nThey knew they had but to stay their stay
\nAnd all their logic would fill my head:
\nAs that I had no right to play
\nWith what was another man\u2019s work for gain.
\nMy right might be love but theirs was need.
\nAnd where the two exist in twain
\nTheirs was the better right \u2014 agreed.<\/p>\n
But yield who will to their separation,
\nMy object in living is to unite
\nMy avocation and my vocation
\nAs my two eyes make one in sight.
\nOnly where love and need are one,
\nAnd the work is play for mortal stakes,
\nIs the deed ever really done
\nFor heaven and the future\u2019s sakes.\n<\/p><\/div>\n
We dug a posthole today. About 14 inches down we hit the “lurking frost” in a very real way. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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