I am an unusual parent. I like mud. Okay, I don’t like it on the kitchen floor, but I really do love the sight of the squishy, gooey stuff made by leftover puddles. Maybe it’s the latent biologist in me…
I love seeing children’s brightly coloured boots and chubby fingers exploring the wonderful texture. I love the earthy scent that reminds me that green things will soon be growing.
Mud speaks to me of movement, of change, of growth and of moving forward.
I grew up near the majestic Bay of Fundy. In places along the Minas Basin, there are vast mudflats which are exposed at low tide. In our teens, we would have great fun messing around and getting dirty in it. The mud would stick to everything. It would stain our clothes.
It wasn’t until much later, as an adult, that I learned Fundy’s mud is teeming with life. Species of life there can withstand the cold, deep, salty churning of high tide, and the dehydration, sunshine and exposure of low tide. Every year more than 2,000,000 birds feed in the mud. The biological diversity is mind-boggling, precious, and fragile. (One web page to check out is: bayoffundy.com/articles/intertidal-zones/). Fundy mud deserves respect!
Mud, for all it’s negative connotations- who wants to have their name “drug through the mud”- is actually a sign of life. A sign of hope. A blessing in disguise. For the ingredients that make mud- earth, water, warmth- are the very things we need for life. I, for one, give thanks for mud!
Clam Dig in the Bay of Fundy. I am the little person in the photo. My dad is trying to keep my white pants clean, I think! Notice how the mud stretches to the horizon...