During my growing up years, I lived on a farm that was located about a mile and a half from the closest paved road.
In the summer, great billowing clouds of dust on the packed dirt road would surround vehicles, sometimes making it dangerous to see if someone was coming at you or about to crash into you from behind.
In the winter, the county kept it plowed for the most part, since we tended to get quite a bit of snow.
But just about this time of year, when the snow would melt and we sometimes had spring rain on top of it, all that dirt would turn into a messy, rutted, quagmire that lasted for about three weeks. Eventually, the county road crew would come and blade it and occasionally even put down a layer of gravel.
Until that happened, though, it was nightmarish mess. Sometimes the best you could hope for was to get in a rut and stay there until you hit the pavement. One year, it was so bad we ended up with three vehicles stuck in the road in one day.
Mom, my sister, and I were on our way to town. We made it down our lane and turned onto the road. A neighbor had a feedlot just a few yards down the road that sat on a slight incline. As the snow melted and the rains came, I think every oozing thing on the ground in the feedlot eventually slid out onto the road. Anyway, Mom managed to find a rut and stay in it until we hit a big pothole and from there, the car was stuck. Like up past the hubcaps stuck.
I was outvoted as the one who had to get out and walk back to the house, and tell dad of our predicament.
He got the pickup and went to pull Mom out. Only the pickup ended up stuck. He then had my brother bring the tractor (thank goodness for CB radios before we all had cell phones). Guess what? The tractor got stuck, too.
One of the neighbors had a huge piece of heavy equipment that they finally used to get us (and the other vehicles that had also tried and failed to make it through) unstuck.
You can read about some of the adventures of my youth in the scenes they inspired (and continue to inspire) in many of my sweet romances.
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USA Today bestselling author Shanna Hatfield is a farm girl who loves to
write. Her sweet historical and contemporary romances are filled with sarcasm,
humor, hope, and hunky heroes. When Shanna isn’t dreaming up unforgettable
characters, twisting plots, or covertly seeking dark, decadent chocolate, she
hangs out with her beloved husband, Captain Cavedweller.
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6 comments:
Too funny, Shanna, and a Great memory!
Loved your post. Mud-fest 2020 is here at my house. So thankful for those knee-high rubber boots. Of course in a few months I'll probably be wishing for rain. can't win lol.
I am so glad I lived in the city. We didn't have those problems unless someone had a dirt drive.
I feel for you Shanna, but your life kind of sounds like fun when you were a kid. But I would have survived maybe half a day on a farm.
Reading your story is like sitting down with an old friend and reminiscing.
Oh, thanks for the comments, ladies! I do not miss the mud these days, but feel for you Gini!
Wow, well when I was growing up we didn't have much mud, but we had sand and dirt! My dad built us a house in a new development in the desert . Our house was the second house built there. When it was windy the dirt would be blowing all over the place. Whenever we got dropped of at our bus stop after school, we would get home with our hair full of of dust and the dirt blowing all over, we would feel our scalps and it was full of dirt, needless to say of course that during the horrible windy days we had to wash our hair , a lot of times more than once a day, but that's part of the memories that makes our growing up years more memorable. As the town started filling up with more houses, it wasn't as bad anymore. Thank goodness. Thank you for sharing your story Shanna, God Bless you.
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