What I Really Want for Christmas

While I appreciate a 50-degree, sunny day in December, I'm dreaming of frozen ground.

It seems like my farm chores, winter, spring and fall involve trudging through mud.

The mud is so prevalent that it's become part of the weather report in my journal:

Cloudy skies, 36 degrees, mud. 

Windy, 41 degrees, mud.

Another muddy day.

Meteorologists would point out that mud is not a weather term, but I doubt many of them are walking through it, in fear of falling or losing a boot.

The mud is worse around the gates.

I'm sure the mud seems worse this year, as we're past due for spreading gravel under gates--and one of our pastures was just planted this spring. New pastures have more bare space, and few roots to pull the water downward to those underground reservoirs.

But maybe, I think, I've just become old and crotchety and obsessed with the weather (and mud).

Or, maybe we've had a lot more rain.

I check the rainfall totals for the nearest weather station, about 30 miles from us. To date, we're about six inches above normal.

And then, because I can be a data geek, I check the rainfall for 2017, and see it's about 10 inches above normal.

That's a lot of extra water--and a lot of extra mud.

December 19, 2018--Light winds, sunny skies, high of 50 degrees, MUD.