Mud season

It’s mud season in Vermont, the shoulder between winter and spring when the ground thaws. When we first bought our place there, I was in town at one of the shops and saw a t-shirt that read, “I 💛 mud season.” The text was paired with an image of a yellow cartoon pig driving a Jeep. It was smiling and waving. I figured I’d buy a pair of rubber boots and be all set.

The first time I drove in the mud was in April that year. I was driving my husband’s pickup truck and was doing okay on an incline until I reached a flat section where the ruts deepened and softened. It felt like the best bet was to keep going and not slow down, which turned out to be true, but I was bucking over uneven ruts in some spots and plowing through pudding in others.

Getting down was another story. I kept glancing at the brook down an embankment to my right. I made rigid micro-turns with the steering wheel – leftrightleftrightleftrightleftright – trying to navigate around each mound and ditch in the road. The front wheels didn’t respond as quickly as usual, and the back tires sloshed from side to side. I braced across that three-mile drive, and when I finally got to the bottom, my right leg began shaking so much that I couldn’t keep my foot steady on the gas. I pulled over, pressed my hand into my thigh, and took some deep breaths.

That winter, we had a few warm periods, and the ruts froze into place. I learned that I preferred firm ruts to soft, but it was still a wild ride. Roughly 60 to 70 percent of Vermont’s roads are dirt. I began tracking mud updates on the local listserv, where I’ve also seen posts about a stray cow eating tomatoes in someone’s garden, and a wandering peacock wearing a collar. At one point, the listserv reported that it was best to avoid the Royalton Turnpike altogether. A plow was stuck there. The Vermont accounts I follow on Instagram post mud-season jokes like, “pick a rut and stay in it.” I never know if that’s good or bad advice.

I didn’t tell my husband, but I began packing rubber boots whenever I left the house alone, in case I got stuck and had to walk. There’s no cell service on our road. Over Christmas, I baked cookies for some of our neighbors. On my way back up to our house, I had the horrifying thought that I’d done this, in part, to befriend them in case I ever get stranded.

Thinking about driving in the mud ramps up my anxiety. I find myself scurrying for information, for control. The woman at the grocery store said she bought good snow tires. That heightened my anxiety because I didn’t have those. What’s the plan if I get stuck? What if I lose control of the car? Who will be there to help? When this comes up during meditation, I softly name it: “disaster planning.”

I’ve tried to talk myself out of this kind of thinking. Because I’m an adult, a mother, someone who founded and ran a company. I’d taken much bigger risks and done scarier things than driving in mud. What was wrong with me?

One weekend, mud became a focus for my mindfulness practice. I decided to sit with these feelings and see what was up. On Sunday, I woke up with a revelation: I felt shame and embarrassment about my fear of the mud. I’d been trying to carve that part out before anyone caught on. So I went downstairs and told my husband that I was afraid of driving in the mud, and was trying to let that be okay.

And then I drove down our squishy road. Suddenly, I was talking to myself differently. Go slow. Take as much time as you need. You’re scared. That’s okay. It’s actually reasonable. We’re just practicing. Permission breathed through my body. My grip on the wheel loosened a bit, and my body relaxed. Instead of steering against every rut and bump, I pointed the car where I needed to go, held the wheel steady but lightly – and holy crap, I was moving in the right direction. When I came back and told my husband, he said, “Yeah, you kind of have to be the mud.”

This year, I admired a brave soul who was new to town and just put it right out there on the listserv that she wanted advice for driving in the mud. Someone responded immediately: “#1 Do not drive in mud unless you have to.” She included a list of ideas for consolidating errands and suggested driving early in the morning before the roads thaw. Further down was the information I’d been missing: “Stay out of the ruts! Ruts create ridges…ride the ridges. Don’t speed, but keep up momentum. Don’t spin your wheels if you get stuck.”

I’m in the market for a new car.