Well, I think we can finally say spring is here.  What a relief that brings for us kids. We can now go outside without all those clothes on.  No need to wear mittens, leave the jackets inside and best of all no need to wear shoes on the weekends. This was a time for renewed energy for us.  During the winter months, our circle of travel became smaller and smaller. It was as though doors were opened and fences taken down and the world was open to us and our imagination.

   There were 5 of us youngsters in the age of less than 8 years of age and we were quite a wild bunch.  We were not destructive, but our imaginations keep us busy. It was mud season and we could make all sorts of villages.  We would dam up the small flows of water and create villages. Each would create their own area. Getting covered with mud seemed to be the end game, even though at first this was not the task. But as it would happen, one would splatter the other then the war was on. It was so much nicer throwing mud balls then snow balls because they were not as cold.  We did not have to worry about getting dirty because there was usually a small flow of water where we could wash all the mud after the battle. Getting all muddy and wet was not a problem because the sun was out, and the snow was gone. We made sure we did not have school clothes on. Heck, we would not be let out of the house if we had school clothes on. And because the sun was out, we had to be outside too.  Just the thought of squishing the mud up between the toes was enough to draw us outside for the day. Running and jumping into the mud puddles splashing everyone was even better. It was fun, it was freedom and no threat of being scolded. About the only rule we, the boys, had was we could not pick on little sister because she was the last girl in the tribe. Other than that, it was just all out fun.

   As the laughter and fun gained momentum, little sister began feeling left out of the games.  So, we convinced her to make some mud pies and cook them for supper for us. She thought this was a most excellent idea and went inside and got a pan to put the mud pies on.  Of course, she needed a little of help and we graciously helped her make the best mud pies possible. Some of us boys, gathered up special mud that was next to the barn. There was always a big pile just outside a special window in the barn. We carefully mixed it with the mud and made some special looking cookies.  Once the pan was covered with mud pies, we suggested to little sister that she take them inside and cook them in mom’s new gas oven. We calculated they would cook best at 400 degrees for twenty minutes before they could be eaten. They would be just right by supper time. So little sister, trusting her older brothers did as we suggested.  

   Now as luck would have it, mom came back from downtown shopping and us boys became very scarce.  Little sister was waiting for her pies to finish cooking. When mother entered the house, she let out a war holler and demanded what in heck was cooking.  I guess the mud pies with the horse manure began to smell a bit. Little sister was just reprimanded for turning the oven on but got sympathy for trying to help.  

   Another spring event that I have to chuckle about is picking spring flowers.  A couple from Mass. Was staying in a cabin nearby. I would go over there and help him for a quarter or two.  On one occasion, he commented he forgot to buy the wife flowers for her birthday. I took him out into the woods and showed him some nice bright red and white flowers.  He thought they looked awesome and picked a handful of them to take into the house. He asked me what the name of the flower was so he could tell the wife. With the straightest face I could muster, I informed him they were trilliums. They grew wild through out the woods.  

   He took them into the house and put them in a glass of water on the table.  He wrote a nice happy birthday to the wife and used the flowers as an example of what he thought of her.  Such bright and beautiful red and white flowers. When the wife came home and entered the house, there goes that war holler again. Except, she was not of any Indian tribe I knew about. She very quickly found the flowers and the note and the smell.  It was about this time the hubby decided we would go do something somewhere else. I then informed him that the flowers had another special name. I was ready to leave and go home when I informed him, we usually called them “Stinking Benjamins”. This was another good day.  

Have a nice spring day ya all.