It has been a wet, wet spring, raining three weekends in a row and many days in between. No planting has been done, between rain, sports, work, and more rain. Greens are coming up in the garden, but it needs a lot of grooming. Hot, sunny yesterday was the perfect day for the annual run to get manure to spread before I plant my vegetable garden. I have done this annually at the barn I ride at, and my veggies come in heavy and beautiful in a few months.
Bob agreed to accompany me this year. We swung by the barn to borrow a stack of big buckets, which would be washed out before being returned. We backed the car next to the manure hill (or so it seems), slowly maneuvering down the muddy tracks to park where we would have easy access to the back of the Explorer.
“Be careful. It’s a little boggy,” I warned as we grabbed our shovels and pitchfork from the seat.
Three steps into walking towards the drier side of the pile, I stepped down—down–down–through the seemingly solid surface, until my leg was swallowed to my knee in a swampy mixture of manure, straw and water. Shock first, as I worried how far the disgusting mixture would go, but it hit some mucky bottom as it reached my knee. It was slowly sucking me down–is this what quicksand feels like?– and to turn I had to put my other leg into the mess to balance myself.
“Don’t come in here!” I yelled unnecessarily to Bob, who was watching, shocked.
“Oh, my God. This is so gross!” I exclaimed as I tried to step up from the crap-filled water without falling further into it.
I high-stepped to get out the manure swamp, feeling loose material spray up the back of my legs. When on solid ground, I glanced at my now-coated shoes and socks, muddy water sliding down my legs.
We began laughing hysterically. I was thankful I was not by myself, or I might have freaked out.
Clearly, we were not getting any manure today. My shoes were so mud-soaked, they squished with each step. After a few minutes of laughing, I climbed into the back of the car, onto a rubber mat and towel. Bob drove–arm over his nose—while I gingerly removed my shoes and socks. They both went immediately into the garbage can when we arrived home, then I scrubbed myself off by the hose before I entered the house.
In the laundry room, I wrapped a towel around my waist, then threw my shorts outside to join the stinky shoes in the dumpster. I then took an indoor shower, scrubbing legs hard with a washcloth hard to remove the dirt, water, straw and manure from my legs.
I think I was still laughing. That was the funniest thing that has ever happened to me. And clearly the most disgusting.
And now I can truly say that I was “knee deep in SH#$%T.” I hope that you never are. C